TW: character death
At the age of 6, she was reaching an age where she slowly understood what was happening. The war had been raging for 4 years. That was the word the adults often used.
"William is going to the front. He's fighting in the war for our country," while others returned from the war, often wounded. They couldn't walk anymore, had burns, or were missing an arm. Emma was slowly starting to grasp that the word "war" carried no good connotations. And she had to learn this in the hardest way possible. The day the news came that William Mason and Matthew Crawley had been severely wounded.
It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes, who explained to her exactly what had happened to William and that he would be happy if she could read him a book during the time when everyone else went about their work.
Emma entered William's room. She held the book tightly in her hands. William still lay weak and bandaged, but his face lit up when he saw Emma.
"Emmi," he whispered softly, reaching out his hand. She gently took it and held it lovingly. "I'm so glad you're here."
Emma smiled warmly and carefully placed the book on her lap. "I'm glad to be here too, William. I want to read you my favorite book."
She began to read calmly and clearly as William listened attentively.
"The mole had been working hard at spr-ing," Emma stuttered and showed William the word, "spring-cleaning," he read aloud, and so it went on throughout the reading. Emma made a great effort to read clearly without making mistakes, but some words were simply too difficult. Especially since she had only learned to read through Lady Sybil's help.
His eyes rested on her, and his face lit up with joy. She had to pause repeatedly to allow William to rest and alleviate his pain. But she continued reading, page after page, chapter after chapter. Time seemed to stand still as Emma's voice gently filled the room.
As she reached the penultimate chapter, she felt a tear forming in her eye. She had missed William so much and wanted nothing more than for him to recover.
"You're a fantastic reader," Mr. Mason praised, who had just entered, "Please read the rest of the chapter." And that's what Emma did. With a kiss on William's forehead, Emma left the room.
The wedding of Daisy and William was the very first wedding Emma was ever allowed to attend. Looking back, she would say it was perhaps the saddest wedding she had ever witnessed. Although the room was beautifully decorated with flowers and garlands, William lay heavily wounded in bed, and Daisy didn't seem particularly joyful. In fact, no one seemed happy at all. The old Dowager constantly dabbed at her eye with a handkerchief. She claimed to have a cold, at least that's what the Dowager said.
Slowly, the priest's speech was coming to an end. Emma felt a hand resting on her shoulder. Her father gave a gentle squeeze. It didn't hurt; rather, it was a loving gesture of comfort.
"You may now kiss the bride," the priest concluded his long speech.
Here and there, Emma heard the servants quietly sobbing to themselves. She didn't understand why they were so sad at a joyful occasion. She was very happy for William and Daisy. Although she had imagined weddings differently, she somehow liked this small wedding.
After Mr. Mason, the Dowager and Lady Edith were the first to congratulate the newlyweds. They were followed by Carson, Hughes, and Patmore, Anna and Bates, and finally Emma.
"Congratulations to both of you," Thomas said politely, suppressing a smug grin and any sarcastic comment. It hadn't been the right moment to be mean to William or Daisy.
"Thank you, Thomas," William whispered. His voice was growing weaker and weaker, "Same time tomorrow, Emmi?"
"Yes," the girl smiled. She was very much looking forward to reading William the final chapter.
However, this time there was no tomorrow. When Emma came downstairs and saw the sad faces, she felt a strange sense of unease. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes spoke to her in the butler's office. At that time, she didn't question why her father wasn't the one delivering the sad news. That realization came later as she grew older. In the end, it didn't matter who conveyed the message to her because it wouldn't bring William back to life. The only logical explanation was that Thomas was simply unavailable at the time, busy with Dr. Clarkson and the convalescent home, and the staff didn't want to lie to the child about why she couldn't see William.
Thomas probably wouldn't have enjoyed finding out that Mr. Carson comfortingly embraced his child, got her biscuits and cocoa from the kitchen, and listened as she read the story of the mole to him.
"The rat sn-o-r-ted and stuck his hands deep in his pockets and st-a-...," Emma showed Carson the word, "stammered," he read aloud for her.
"And stammered around," Emma began reading the next line. As Emma finished the chapter, they reminisced about the time they spent with William. Emma didn't remember much about their time together, but when her dad went to war, William was always there for her. He played and painted with her, just like Daisy, Anna, and Mrs. Hughes. With William, she would ride piggyback through the corridors of the lower floor, and she loved her nickname.
And because Carson wanted to maintain his strict and authoritative image, Emma promised never to tell anyone about their afternoon.
"I was starting to worry about you. Where were you?" Thomas spoke as he exhaled smoke from his lungs. Emma wasn't really sure if her dad had been genuinely worried. He was far too relaxed and far too rarely with her.
"Now I'm here."
"What's with the attitude?" Thomas wondered. Emma shrugged, "You never play with me." William - the young man would play hide-and-seek or they would have a tea ceremony together with Daisy. He was always up for fun. While she was glad to finally have her dad with her, she had hoped he would want to spend more time with her. But all he did recently was work, smoke, or engage in "adult talks" with Miss O'Brien.
"Because I have to work."
"But you're not working at all. You're just smoking," Emma disappointedly observed. With the cigarette still between his fingers, he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Is it just him, or does the child have a relatively sharp tongue?
"Wise words for a 6-year-old girl," Carson chuckled.
Thomas didn't like this at all. He put on his famous sulking servant face as he sternly observed the child. In her left hand, she held a book, and Thomas offered to read to her, but the child shook her head, "I can read by myself." Thomas bit his lower lip, "What would you like to do then?"
"I'll look for Isis and play with her." With her head slightly lowered, she turned back to Thomas at the door, "I wish William were still here and that you had died in his place."
His freshly lit cigarette dropped out of Thomas's mouth, landing on the dining table and leaving a small burn mark. Unable to react to this comment, he just watched as Emma finally left the room. He was shocked by Emma's words. The harshness and coldness in her statement hit him unexpectedly. He felt a stab deep within himself and could hardly believe that such hurtful words could come from such a young girl.
"Congratulations, Thomas," O'Brien smirked, "Your child must really hate you."
Miss O'Brien's sarcastic comment hit Thomas hard. He felt like a failure. The weight of his own guilt and self-doubt bore heavily on him. But he was too proud to show his hurt and didn't let it show.