The Veil
Deep in thesis writing, but here is a little drabble based on a recent interview with Michelle Dockery. All under a cut due to S03 spoilers.
Happy Monday! :)
“And, without giving too much away, I can tell you that Carson’s and Lord Grantham’s faces say it all when she floats down the main staircase of Downton draped in white.”
~ Michelle Dockery
“Friends?” said Edith anxiously, her hands holding the veil hovering over her sister’s face, as if it was really important that this point be settled that very moment.
Mary rolled her eyes but affectionately. “Always. Now let go or I won’t return the favour for you.”
Her sister’s lip wobbled and she impulsively leaned forwards and kissed Mary’s cheek before letting her hands fall. The veil cascaded over her face as Edith stood back.
“You look - you look so beautiful.”
The last thing Mary wanted to do was cry. She took one final look at herself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the blushing, beaming bride whose wide eyes stared back at her from behind the white gauze, and almost pushed Edith out of the room.
“So do you, darling, and if Sir Anthony doesn’t realise it this time then I’ll have to step in to help as your officious married sister.”
“Don’t be too obvious, Mary; you wouldn’t want to steal Sybil’s thunder.”
“Oh, I have every intention of stealing Sybil’s thunder, just you wait!”
“Yes,” murmured Edith as they turned the corner and came out at the top of the stairs, “I suppose you will.”
But as usual nobody was listening to her. At the bottom of the stairs stood Papa, Sybil carrying the bouquet in preparation, and Carson holding the door open for them all to leave. They had not been talking particularly loudly but all of a sudden a hush fell. Mary was aware only of her heartbeat and she paused as if she could feel their reaction surrounding her.
“Papa?” she questioned, never having seen that look on his face before.
The silence continued and suddenly warmth blossomed over all the living statues standing in this ancestral hall as a beam of sunlight shot through the open door lighting a golden trail down the stairs to the hall. Then two things happened at once.
Sybil raised the hand not holding the flowers to her mouth and sniffed audibly. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, breaking the reverential atmosphere, “I don’t mean - it’s just - all the time at the moment, I’m afraid- you look - “
And the front door itself slammed shut. For the first time in over thirty years of service Charles Carson had forgotten his place.
Happy Monday! :)
“And, without giving too much away, I can tell you that Carson’s and Lord Grantham’s faces say it all when she floats down the main staircase of Downton draped in white.”
~ Michelle Dockery
“Friends?” said Edith anxiously, her hands holding the veil hovering over her sister’s face, as if it was really important that this point be settled that very moment.
Mary rolled her eyes but affectionately. “Always. Now let go or I won’t return the favour for you.”
Her sister’s lip wobbled and she impulsively leaned forwards and kissed Mary’s cheek before letting her hands fall. The veil cascaded over her face as Edith stood back.
“You look - you look so beautiful.”
The last thing Mary wanted to do was cry. She took one final look at herself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the blushing, beaming bride whose wide eyes stared back at her from behind the white gauze, and almost pushed Edith out of the room.
“So do you, darling, and if Sir Anthony doesn’t realise it this time then I’ll have to step in to help as your officious married sister.”
“Don’t be too obvious, Mary; you wouldn’t want to steal Sybil’s thunder.”
“Oh, I have every intention of stealing Sybil’s thunder, just you wait!”
“Yes,” murmured Edith as they turned the corner and came out at the top of the stairs, “I suppose you will.”
But as usual nobody was listening to her. At the bottom of the stairs stood Papa, Sybil carrying the bouquet in preparation, and Carson holding the door open for them all to leave. They had not been talking particularly loudly but all of a sudden a hush fell. Mary was aware only of her heartbeat and she paused as if she could feel their reaction surrounding her.
“Papa?” she questioned, never having seen that look on his face before.
The silence continued and suddenly warmth blossomed over all the living statues standing in this ancestral hall as a beam of sunlight shot through the open door lighting a golden trail down the stairs to the hall. Then two things happened at once.
Sybil raised the hand not holding the flowers to her mouth and sniffed audibly. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, breaking the reverential atmosphere, “I don’t mean - it’s just - all the time at the moment, I’m afraid- you look - “
And the front door itself slammed shut. For the first time in over thirty years of service Charles Carson had forgotten his place.