Epilogue Three: September 1928
Downton Abbey:
It was well after midnight, but Charles and Elsie were expecting their visitor.
"Good evening, sir."
"Good evening, Carson, Mrs. Carson."
"We've fed him and he's sleeping now." Elsie reported.
"He's not too fond of the new baby, I'm afraid." The new father sighed, wishing his stepson could learn to love his baby sister, knowing it would just take time.
"It's an adjustment." Charles commiserated.
The butler and housekeeper had arrived at their cottage for their half day to find the young master sitting on their front step.
'I'm running away.' George had informed them.
'You should leave a forwarding address or your mother will worry.' Carson recommended sensibly, earning a small scowl from his wife.
'I'll write when I find work.' The very serious six-year-old told them. His words were bold, but his face and voice betrayed his fear.
'At least you didn't steal any silver.' Charles noted.
Seeing the boy's confusion, Elsie thought quickly. 'If it's work you need, I've been thinking of hiring a houseboy.' George cheered up at that.
'What does it pay?' He asked.
'I'm afraid it does not pay much; room and board and every night you'll receive a penny and a kiss.'
He seemed to consider it. 'Is that what you pay Carson?'
'Mr. Carson is a butler; he gets paid more than a houseboy.' Elsie explained, trying to keep a straight face. "What if we throw in a bedtime story?"
'Very well, that seems fair.' George agreed.
Elsie had instructed the boy on how to set the table while Charles called the main house and informed them of the whereabouts of the young master.
The three of them had enjoyed a friendly meal, after which Charles read the lad a story and Elsie paid him his kiss and his penny.
"He'll come around." Elsie comforted the worried stepfather. "He had his heart set on a brother."
"The men at Downton are certainly outnumbered," their sleep deprived guest chuckled.
"Upstairs and down." Charles agreed. "What with all the nannies and nursery maids and governesses."
"You gentlemen don't have a problem living in a matriarchy, do you?" Elsie jested.
"Not so long as I have you to protect me, love." Charles said. "I hate to wake the lad, sir. Why don't Mrs. Carson and I bring him back first thing tomorrow?"
"That's probably for the best. He'll have to accept the new state of things eventually, but there's no need to force him. It is still early days."
"How is Lady Mary doing?" Elsie wanted to know. It had been a difficult delivery.
"She is doing better. She's resting well, but panics whenever she wakes up, demanding to see me and the baby and George."
"One can't blame her for that, given the past." Elsie sighed. "How is little Violet?"
"I think she is already proving as opinionated as her namesake, but Lady Grantham says she reminds her of a young Lady Edith. Is that a good thing?"
"In the short term, I am afraid not," Charles admitted, "But, in the long run, I think it bodes well."
"I'm more concerned with the long run, so that's fine. If you truly don't mind looking after Master George tonight, we would be so grateful."
"He's always welcome here."
"I am glad to hear it and even more glad that George knows that he is welcome. If he never runs away past the gardens, we'll count ourselves fortunate." He sighed again and ran his hand through his hair as he smiled. "I'll bid you goodnight, then."
"Good night, sir." Carson replied. He stood in the doorway with his wife and watched the figure disappear around the garden wall. "He's no Mr. Matthew, but I believe Mr. Napier is a fine man."
"It took Lady Mary long enough to recognize his qualities, but she got there in the end." Elsie agreed. "Me, I've always preferred the quiet, dependable sort." She kissed him gently.
"There is a rumor that butlers are to receive more than just a kiss."
"All pay rises must be negotiated with management." Elsie answered, her lips never leaving his.
"The negotiations are my favorite part." Charles slipped his arms around his wife and …
"I'm thirsty." A little voice whined. George was standing at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his eyes. He was wearing one of Charles' white, short sleeved undershirts which nearly swallowed him whole.
"Hold that thought, Charles." Elsie whispered before turning to the child. "I have just the thing for a thirsty boy."
She filled a glass of water for him and began to shepherd him back up the stairs. "Can I have another story?"
"It's time for everyone to sleep." Elsie explained. "Even storytellers."
"Can I sleep with you and Carson? That bed is too big and the tree outside the window makes too much noise."
Elsie looked at Charles who shrugged in defeat. Apparently, a kiss was all he was going to get tonight.
-00-
December, 1932
Downton Abbey:
The vacuum valves were almost warmed up and the radio was crackling. The radio had been a gift to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Carson when they retired just before the Season last year. Charles listened to the news every morning and they both listened to the music programs most evenings.
The past few years had not been easy for the Crawleys or for England. The London Stock Exchange crash in September of 1929 had been bad enough, but when New York followed, the world economy had been thrown into chaos.
The speculators were the worst hit so Downton had actually survived the crash largely intact. The estate's income had suffered briefly, but was already bouncing back. Mr. Napier's family, the Branksomes had not been as fortunate. They were not bankrupt, but they did sell what was left of the family lands and relocate to London.
Some of the money from the Branksome estate was used to see Downton through those first rough years.
With the tightening of the belt, there was less entertaining and less need for staff. Mr. Carson, Mrs. Carson and Mrs. Mason managed to maintain the standards of Downton on a budget, but the decline in style and substance finally led Charles and Elsie to ask for retirement. It was not worth climbing up and down the stairs to serve tea to the family when they could just as easily invite the family to their cottage.
The residents of Downton, past and present, upstairs and down, were regular visitors to the cottage, especially the children. Charles taught them about the history of England and read them Shakespeare in the garden on sunny days. Elsie baked scones and sang Scottish airs with them on the rainy days. Retirement was not as quiet or relaxing as Elsie and Charles had anticipated, but they enjoyed their visitors immensely and were never bored.
Though the years had cooled their passions somewhat, Charles and Elsie still very much enjoyed the physical intimacies of marriage. Dancing, caressing, kissing and cuddling were more common now than more explicit intimacies, but the sentiments and pleasures remained constant. They were both very satisfied with their lives.
Christmas was approaching and the Carson Cottage would soon be overrun by the children visiting almost all at once. A small pile of wrapped toys and books sat under a tiny tree in the corner of the cottage. The gifts were addressed to the cottage's many anticipated visitors; Elspeth Bates, Michelle and Anthony Gregson, Sybbie and Isobel Branson, George Crawley, Violet and Reginald Napier and the Molesley Triplets, Charles, Gerald and Corina.
Little William Kent was still too small to visit on his own, but there was a small toy for him as well for whenever his grandmother might bring him by. Not that they had far to travel. The Kents lived next door to the Carsons. Everyone had been shocked when Daisy and James declared themselves publicly, but Beryl supported them and was rewarded with a grandchild just over a year later. At least once a week, she came over to help Daisy and would spend most of the day with her two closest friends. Often, Mr. Mason would join them, but when he did, he only had eyes for the baby.
Tonight, however, it was just Charles and Elsie, enjoying a quiet evening at home with a small glass of sherry and a spot of music on the wireless. Charles was excited tonight because Jack Ross and his band were the featured guests on the program.
Elsie preferred the Sunday programing of hymns and sermons to the jazz, but she was also looking forward to hearing Mr. Ross. She was in the kitchen, hurrying to finish the washing up before the program began.
"Elsie, they're starting!" He called her in from the kitchen excitedly as the orchestra began to play. "They're playing our song!"
She stood behind the sofa wiping her hands on her apron. She listened for a bit, but then sniffed at her husband. "Daft man, that isn't our song. You're not going senile on me, are you?" She shook her head and turned away. Charles was always trying to find songs to tell her how he felt. He'd call them 'our song' though nothing could ever replace their true song; the one he had used to first tell her 'I love you still.'
Charles reached over the back of the sofa and grabbed her hand to keep her from going. "I may be nearly eighty, woman, but that doesn't make me daft."
"That is true, Charles. You've been daft since the day I met you." She kissed the top of his head.
"That isn't a coincidence. It was entirely your fault. Now forget those dishes and come here, love!" He kept hold of her hand as he stood up from the sofa. "This is that new song I was telling you about. The one that makes me think of our days at the beach."
Charles led her around the sofa where he was standing, waiting for her. Smiling with a devilish grin, Charles took her into a dancing hold. "Just listen…"
'How can I tell you what is in my heart?
How can I measure each and every part?
How can I tell you how much I love you?
How can I measure just how much I do?
How much do I love you?
I'll tell you no lie
How deep is the ocean?
How high is the sky?'
Elsie held her husband close and smiled at the words of the song. The future might be frightening and uncertain, but she had her man to hold on to. She loved that every song he heard made him think of her. She knew that she'd hear him singing and humming this song in the coming weeks as he puttered around the house. She knew that she was still the reason that he sang.
'How many times a day do I think of you?
How many roses are sprinkled with dew?
How far would I travel
To be where you are?
How far is the journey
From here to a star?'
Charles leaned his cheek against his wife's head. Her hair was grey and wiry now, but it was still soft and smelled of vanilla and lavender. He wanted to tell her how grateful he was for her, how he wished he could have taken her to Paris or Rome, how he would have given her the stars if he could. But he hadn't the words. He hoped she would hear his love in this song.
'And if I ever lost you
How much would I cry?
How deep is the ocean?
How high is the sky?'
Elsie wrapped her arms around his neck and looked dreamily up into her husband's eyes. He smiled down at her, resting his forehead against hers, teasing her tiny nose with his great snout. Their lips touched lightly where their breath blended between them.
"How deep is the ocean, my dear man?"
"Deeper than I could possibly say, my love. Deeper than you could ever dream."
END OF EPILOGUES
Copy Write Notice/ The song quoted is 'How Deep is the Ocean' by Irving Berlin, published in 1932. The first recording was by Bing Crosby in 1933, but it could have been played live on the radio broadcasts before that. Ella Fitzgerald's version is quite good (duh), but not of the era.
FINAL AN/ I think that's everyone paired off. Did I miss anyone? Oh! I guess Rosamund and Mr. Kirkpatrick might have gotten married, but that's another story and I ain't writing it;)
This story is absolute proof of what Bilbo Baggins observed…"It's dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet there's no knowing where you'll be swept off to." This was meant to be a quick response to the Christmas Special, but took on a life of its own, thanks to your encouragement and became more epic novel than short story. 125 chapters seems a good round number at which to stop;)
Thank you for riding this wave with me. I hope it is as enjoyable upon rereading.
If you've enjoyed this and are lamenting the end, never fear! There are many Chelsie stories on my computer in various stages. After a little recuperation, I'll finish up 'Wading Through Blood' (where I will be handing out decidedly fewer happy endings), then revisit my main AU with the long promised 'Perpetual Motion' which will have some angst and tension within a married Chelsie world. Hopefully, there will be other tidbits sprinkled in now that this obsession has ended. My garden is quite overrun with plot bunnies;)
I may revisit this world in a WWII story someday to see how the war affects all those children and their parents, but it won't be soon.
A note, a review or a 'hey ya' would be awfully appreciated. Even if you don't have an account, or are reading this story in 2024 (during Downton's 15th season) please do drop me a line. I am always curious exactly how many people actually read these stories.
Shout out to those of you who followed and 'favorited' this story. You are too numerous (and awesome) to list, but you know who you are.
Special thanks to my ardent reviewers. There are about 17 of you who have slogged through this with me since the beginning and it really means a lot to me that you managed to find something to say about so many chapters. I would list you, but I'd be sure to miss someone and that would be bad. I am remiss about replying generally, but I will reply to each and every review left on this final chapter.
Once again, Thank You and Chelsie On!