The cricket match has already begun by the time she arrives to watch. One girl runs ahead of her, eager to catch up on what she's missed, the blue ribbons holding the plaits in her hair glimmering in the sunlight. Elsie adjusts the weight in her arms, squinting as she tries to make out where would be best for her to settle down. Of course there's a clear divide, a clear who is who because there are tents set up for those who came to represent the big house. The ladies have their chairs and refreshments handed to them off silver trays while the many people from the village who smile at her as she walks past them, careful not to disturb their line of sight, must make do with blankets on the grass. As must she.
Years ago, when she first gave up her chatelaine, her dark clothes and stern glares, she didn't know quite where to stand. Felt a traitor when she appeared to cheer and clap the men on, dressed in white. A polar opposite to what she once was Amidst the trepidation, she had made sure to reserve these feelings from her husband, wringing her hands as she strayed away from those she abandoned, instead making small talk with people she now sees every day. It wouldn't have done to worry him, not when that very match of 1900 she not only carried the name Mrs Carson for the first time but also his child.
Now when she settles her basket onto the floor, thanks one of the village girls for helping her lay out the blue gingham blanket she hurriedly packed before leaving their cottage, she's deliberate in where she stays. Right on the border, the precipice of what she was and is. Her past and present intermingled comfortably for she knows she need not feel any shame as to who she's become. A wife and mother. Nothing and everything had changed but she would not bear any guilt for making a choice, one that was open to all of them.
"It's lovely to see you, Mrs Carson," Lily, a young girl from one of the local shops, says softly. "We thought you'd miss it."
"Oh, I nearly did. This one woke up in quite a mood after her nap." She admits. Gently, she tries to lower Davina onto the ground, only to be met with the stern resistance of the little girl's arms tightening their grip around her neck.
"Well, she's only little, isn't she?" Lily moves to rub Davina's back, causing her to shirk away. Elsie can feel a wetness on her skin grow, Davina's tears, likely more from confusion than upset, making their way onto her neck as she buries her face into her mother.
Elsie smiles apologetically, "I think I'll try walking with her for a bit. Try and settle her." She places a kiss on her little one's hair. "Perhaps you'll find your usually spirited self."
Seeing Davina's small nod, Lily sits herself down once again. "Not to worry. I'll look after your things then, Mrs Carson."
As Elsie walks, whispering her observations to Davina in hopes of evoking a laugh or the sweet giggle that rang through their house every day. She tells her of the weather, how lovely it is that there's not a single cloud in sight, how the sun is just what they need after last week's rain. She speaks of how her Da was playing just this moment, in the cricket whites she had woken early to press for him, but would soon have time to come say hello. Slowly, her girl begins to understand why she's outside and babbles on in response, Davina's bright hazel eyes never losing sight of where her father was. Elsie's been talking inanely for so long that she wonders how many times she's walked back and forth near the cricket boundary. Luckily the men are good players this year and she's not had to dodge a wayward ball.
The servants are busy replenishing the snacks which are quickly depleting. She thinks they must be sweltering under their black clothes in this heat. All the men from the house are playing so it's all hands on deck, the female servants carrying all the weight for the serving and preparation. She can see Anna and Gwen wiping sweat off their forehead as they hand trays of food to the other maids, Daisy is running back and forth, likely passing on messages from Mrs Patmore to the housekeeper. Mrs Wolfe, her replacement, has an almost imperial look to her as she supervises their movements. There is one man, who she presumes to be his lordship's valet, who albeit being restricted by his cane makes an effort to help out.
Around this time in the match, Elsie would have been sharing a remark with her charges, directing some of the staff to give something to the village folk. There would be a lightness to the ongoing, a smile shared between them all. Mrs Wolfe could pass for a statue with the way her appearance remained stoic and withering. Elsie knew that her successor had a firmer, more authoritarian grip on her role, that they would not see eye to eye when she had handed over her books but Mrs Wolfe was the best they could find during that tumultuous time, the Dowager having just lost her husband and the estate in shambles over what that entailed.
Elsie Carson is in a white blouse and cream skirt, giving a delicate nod in recognition that she knows she is being watched and can see Mrs Wolfe turn, heading back towards the house, the valet- a Mr Bates, she believes- at her side. Mrs Carson knows she mustn't pay this type of subtle judgement any mind, not when she waved her white flag so clearly and had surrendered to the "other way" just after rising to the final rank of Housekeeper. She knew hard work just like the rest of them, and can understand better than most that being a servant was back breaking work.
Anna and Daisy wave at her, the former kindly, the latter enthusiastically. At least not all of them still took her for a selfish woman after all these years.
"Da!" Davina's happy shriek stirs her mother out of her wallowing and she pushes away from her, eager to climb into her father's arms instead. Elsie wonders for a moment why Charles is approaching them, surely she hadn't been so late? She looks around before she realises, ah, it's between innings . Nails pressing into her skin, Elsie hisses, "Davina, gently dear."
"Look who we have here," He tickles his daughter before leaning towards his wife, "I'm glad you came."
Elsie bites her lip, "She screamed bloody murder when I tried to change her. Took me a good half hour to get her to wear these." She points to the dress and socks Davina was wearing. They aren't white, a yellow colour instead and she's waiting for her husband to comment on how inappropriate it is as he gives his daughter a once-over.
Davina seems to have noticed the topic of conversation, tugging at the neck of her dress dramatically, "Da, I don't like them."
"You look a picture in them," He says, a beaming smile to convince her on his face. Turning to Elsie, Charles raises an eyebrow, "No shoes?"
"They're in the basket. You're welcome to try and get her to put them on but I'd rather think you'll accept this small victory alongside me."
"Touche, Mrs Carson." He concedes and she suppresses a smile, tries not to look smug.
She shifts Davina's weight again, moving her to her other hip. Davina was getting too old to be held so but at fifty years old, Elsie wanted to make the most of being able to. There wasn't going to be another Carson child, not at their time of life. Every moment, every last first was something she cherished.
Charles takes Davina from her arms, lifts her onto his shoulders, "Where's Alison?"
"Oh, off playing with the other children I suppose." Alison Carson, while a rather serious child by Elsie's standards, had an independent streak about her. She would often wander off when done with her chores or studies, a book in hand and heading to the nearby lake. Charles regularly said it was an inherited quality from her, and yet, Elsie likes to think- has reason to fully believe really, what with his Cheerful Charlie days- she gets it from him.
"I hope not with the Lindley boy."
"Now don't you start-" As she speaks, she spots her elder daughter. Laughing as she races alongside a group of children. Except that's not entirely true. She's racing against one child in particular. A boy.
Charles huffs, clearly dismayed, "That boy's interest in her is not entirely proper."
"They're children, Charlie."
"He's three years older than her." He stumps her there. Alison is only twelve, making Samuel Lindley fifteen. Elsie has spoken to him and his father on occasion, and has been given no reason to believe that there is anything going on. In fact, she always considered the boy to be shy, easily pushed by Alison to join in on whatever adventure she'd like to traverse. She watches her daughter win the race, muttering something to her opponent in triumph before she runs to Daisy, chatting animatedly. Charles speaks again, "I merely don't want her to be taken advantage of."
"How old is Daisy?" Elsie says quickly, notes the confused expression on her husband's face, "Do you know?"
"About Lindley's age I suppose."
"Surely not. Daisy's been working at the abbey for four years already." She whips her head towards him, sharpens her expression, "Do you mean to tell me that child was pulled out of school? Charles-"
"I'd like to remind you, as you well know, that I am not in charge of the female hires. We're also talking about the year this little angel was born. Daddy was a little preoccupied." He turns his attention to Davina, pointing to something or other in the distance.
Elsie resists the urge to roll her eyes. He's been trying to get the children out of the habit of calling him "Da", saying that it was too informal, too countryside-like, she's told him time and time again that it was a futile attempt, particularly as "Daddy" was hardly any better.
She'll have to speak to Anna about Daisy, she thinks. She was aware, having seen it done by her predecessor even, that there were housekeepers who were known to pull children out of class, specifically the ones with a skill useful in service, to be put to work. While she wasn't Mrs Wolfe's champion, she still couldn't believe that she was the type, could have the cold heart to do so. The thought sends a shiver up her spine. She pictures the meek interactions she's had with Daisy who to her appears to not have changed at all in the past years, a slip of a girl much like her oldest.
She feels a tug on her skirt, sees a head of dark curls and a timid look on Davina's face as she shuffles impossibly closer to her mother. Elsie follows her line of sight and straightens her back, softly running her hand through the locks of hair in reassurance.
"Mrs Carson, I hope you're enjoying the game." His lordship beams beside his butler, "It seems we've got our work cut out for us if we're to win this year."
"There's still time to change things around and with a team like Downton has, surely his Lordship will manage to do so."
"I do agree, Mrs Carson. You must go join the other women under the tents. I'm sure the little one would find some of the sweeter delights Mrs Patmore has prepared most agreeable."
"Sweets?" Davina peeps out from behind Elsie's skirt, her voice rising a pitch in excitement.
Lord Grantham winks at the child and Elsie is thankful that Davina manages to endear each person instead of seeming impertinent when she interjects like this, "Indeed." He clears his throat and claps Carson on the back, "We'll leave you to it. Carson and I must return to the game now."
"There she is, Mrs Carson ." Thomas says, sipping on his helping of punch as he watches the Carson's interacting. "They look quite the picture. A pseudo happy family. Doesn't it warm your heart Miss O'Brien?"
"Don't be unkind." Anna hands over a tray to one of the maids, taking another from a kitchen maid and setting it on the table.
"I've not said a word against her."
"I hope she passes by to say hello," Daisy confesses, "She always brightens things up."
"And why should she pass by? She's moved on, hasn't she? Found her pot of gold at the other side of the rainbow," Miss O'Brien scoffs, "We're nothing more than servants from the Big House to her."
"She's certainly changed her tune. I saw her in the village the other day and she walked past me in such a hurry you'd think she was running from a monster." Thomas places a cigarette in his mouth, lights it.
"She wouldn't." Daisy remarks, somehow sounding confident yet uncertain at the same time.
"How can you be so certain? If she stops to speak to you, it's out of pity that's for certain. Young scullery maid who just wants a friend in her daughter."
"Don't pay him any mind, Daisy. Mrs Carson was likely in a hurry because she has two children to take care of and not because Thomas is worth the effort of running away." Anna eyes Thomas, defiant in her tone. "Anyways, we treat her kindly and a decent person always treats a person as they are treated."
"She's always been nice enough." Gwen folds some napkins, passing them over to Anna. "Gives you hope doesn't it? That there can be more to life than the confines of being a servant."
"Be careful with that talk, you'll make yourself out to be a liberal." O'Brien states, collecting a glass of punch and placing some food onto a plate.
"I'd say it strikes fear. Can you imagine Carson engaging in the creation of life? Mrs Carson must've wandered off a fair few times, if you catch my drift. Heading up to Scotland by herself, returning back with a bun in the oven." Thomas takes a slow drag of his cigarette, "Look at her, she doesn't even know what to do with herself."
Anna stops for a moment and peers over to the Carson's as they talk, or rather, the father entertains the little girl and the mother stares straight on. She does seem lost in thought, though she'd never admit it to Thomas of all people.
Sometimes, on her half days, she would visit her and have tea. She had nowhere else to spend her time really, especially since she wasn't interested in any of the boys and was becoming increasingly more career driven. She thinks that Mrs Carson could be her inspiration, her role model of sorts. And so, in her free hours she found herself at the Carson's cottage and helping out with the cooking or looking after one of the girls. Humming happily as she learnt how to make shortbread was hardly a chore.
The visits began one day when Anna noticed Mrs Carson was missing from mass. In actuality, it was the absence of the girls which drew her attention, the lack of a babbling toddler bothering Mr Carson during a church ritual was a sight to behold. The typically gruff man turned soft and kind in the mere presence of his child. On that day, there was none of that. Only a pensive Mr Carson who lagged behind in each of the hymns and prayers, quieter than usual.
"Is Mrs Carson alright, Mr Carson?" She asked, catching him off guard as they filed out of the church. He hesitated for a moment. She was only a housemaid at the time, practically on par with a scullery maid but she'd been close to Mrs Carson while she was still housekeeper, and had a great deal of respect for the woman who held her on days when her homesickness was particularly terrible. For some reason or another, he saw fit to trust her. Told her how Mrs Carson was ill and couldn't find the will to get out of bed, how he was unable to get away from the abbey to help her. Anna nodded, understanding what needed to be done. She patted his arm, "Leave it to me, Mr Carson."
A few months later, Davina joined them. A perfect little thing who barely screamed when she was a baby and never gave her ageing mother much trouble. Anna would try her best to help Mrs Carson with the laundry when needed, particularly in those early days when it seemed unlikely that she would recover from such a difficult birth. It's partially the reason why she can't stand Thomas' talk about them. He never saw her terrified of dying and leaving two children behind, or Mr Carson asleep on the sofa with a baby in one arm and his other little girl- and Alison was little, having gotten her mother's more petite form- wrapped around her mother upstairs in bed, as if, were she to let go, her mother would be there no more.
"Daisy! I've won the race." Alison joins them, bouncing on her feet as she peers at the food scattered across the table, "Sam thought he'd win but he always thinks that. A bit foolish if you ask me, to be so foolhardy. But I've won and I thought perhaps I might claim a prize?"
"These are for the family, Miss Carson." O'Brien bustles, not in the mood to pretend she has any patience for the child.
That would never stop the girl though. She turns to Mrs Patmore, who'd come out for air as she liked to jest, asking gently once more and explaining why she deserved at least a biscuit.
"Oh go on then. Have a slice of crumble while you're at it. I have another one at the ready just in case they want more."
Alison beams at her, "Thank you Mrs Patmore, I knew you'd understand." As she takes her slice, she walks around the table, sharing her winnings with Daisy. Her gaze never leaves Miss O'Brien's. The lady's maid coughs and utters something about seeing to her ladyship. There was something about the Carson girl's eyes which unnerved her. They were an almost icey blue, with long lashes and a cold look to them by default. Even when Alison smiled they seemed to be staring right into your soul.
"Best head on back to your mother, Miss Carson," Mr Barrow nods vaguely towards Elsie, "Lest your father find out you're distracting the staff from their duties."
"I doubt that. My Da wouldn't begrudge me some crumble, though I imagine you do. You play well Thomas. Surely if you were to try harder there will be some cake awaiting the Downton team." She wears a polite smile and stern gaze, speaking to him with the air of someone who knew they were being goaded. There was a finality to her tone he usually associates with the former Mrs Hughes. Alison speaks again, interrupting his line of thought, " She, on the other hand, is a definite sign for anyone to flee. I'll see you later, Daisy."
None of the servants bother checking to see who she is. The whistle sounds and Mr Barrow returns to the match.
"Now who did I just see fleeing this tent?" Mrs Wolfe asks. The woman has been part of the house for over a decade and never managed to get on with anyone, even her closest thing to an ally- O'Brien- often saw her as a nuisance.
"Only one of the village children, Mrs Wolfe. They're always eager to try some of the deserts we prepare each year." Mrs Patmore cleans her hands in her apron, "Now come along you lot. We have work to do." She ushers Daisy away from the tables and directs the kitchen maids to walk with her back to the kitchen. It is getting later in the day and there will be a large party for dinner, they'd best be getting on.
"Anna?" Mrs Wolfe tries, voice dripping with malice. Early on, it had become apparent to the staff that much like Thomas Barrow, this woman had no qualms with trying to draw a wedge between them. Pit a person to another, just to see who's resolve fell first.
"Just as Mrs Patmore said, Mrs Wolfe." She does her best to deter her superior, keen on not getting the cook in a pickle. Anna looks up from what she was doing, biting back a smile. "Mrs Carson, nice to see you. Can I get you anything?"
"Oh, nothing for me, thank you Anna. Although I do wonder if I could have a biscuit for Davina? She's been particularly quiet today and I'm sure it would perk her up a bit." Elsie stood tall, a polite smile on her face as she spoke, determined to not give the staff anything to poke fun at.
"And where is the little miss?" Mrs Wolfe peers about, folding her arms across her chest.
"With her sister." Elsie had seen Alison as she made her way to the tent, had given Davina to her, letting the two go off hand in hand to continuing playing with the other children around.
"Are you certain?"
"Quite so." Elsie grinds out, taking the biscuit Anna has handed her.
"Well then," Mrs Wolfe murmurs, smiling grimly before beginning to walk away again, "I'm sure that's someone else's child running into the outfield. I bid you good day Mrs Carson. It was a pleasure seeing you."
Mrs Carson turns sharply, Gwen is already running towards the field and Daisy and Anna come to stand beside her. Davina, small and decided, was making her way, one tiny step at a time onto the field and Elsie could feel her heart drop. On instinct she yelled, "Charlie!" because there was one reason why her sheepish little girl would dare to run off from her sister. Her husband would get to her sooner, she thinks, but she cannot get his attention and she sets off in a sprint and can feel a click in her hip protesting.
Gwen is nearly already there, ready to scoop her up. No one else has noticed, and it's just a silent ticking going in Elsie's head as she hopes and prays that the footman who is playing third man will catch the ball, that it will not slip out of his hands and hurt her little girl. The boy is not paying as much attention as he should and Elsie knows that Gwen is not impulsive enough, brave enough to interrupt a game and so she does instead, snatches Davina by her skirt and catches the ball instead. She can hear players from the village team begin to protest, amongst them she can make out the deep rumble of her Mr Carson and his lordship trying to calm them down.
Davina stares up at her, doesn't understand that had the ball hit her, she would have been hurt and begins to cry. Elsie can also feel herself begin to lose her composure, as she hugs her daughter tightly to her chest, throwing the ball in her hand vaguely in the general direction of one of the players. Gwen is close by, saying, "It's alright Mrs Carson, there's not a scratch on her."
"I told you she doesn't fit." Thomas utters under his breath to one of the footmen, William.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What kind of mother leaves their child unsupervised like that? I do wonder why she left service when that was her only vocation in life."
