Early June, 1927 – The Carsons' Cottage
Elsie awoke to the muted but heavy litany of rain on the cottage's roof tiles. She listened to the thrum of it for a few moments, like faraway chanting. The staccato of raindrops creating an early morning duet with the deep, peaceful breathing of her slumbering husband beside her. After a few moments, she rolled towards the window, where the faintest grey light was hovering. The deluge was fierce, slapping against the pane, demanding her attention. Getting around today would be messy and sodden.
And still, she grinned. Despite the weather, in the face of the weather, today was a special day.
"Not the nicest day for a wedding, is it?" Charlie's voice rumbled from behind her, his arm pulling her back into the fold of his warm torso.
"Nae, that's an understatement, to say the least," she smiled, pressing herself against the waiting, familiar topography of his torso and limbs. She'd have to get up, and soon, but a few minutes wouldn't make much difference, not in the grand scheme of things. "But they'll manage, we'll all pitch in, help them manage. I've rarely seen a pair so pleased with each other; they've been acting like green ones and making cow's eyes at each other every time I see them together."
Elsie thought of the couple getting married today, and her grin broadened. One of the traits that had always recommended Mr. Molesley to others was his boyish enthusiasm (which had been an obstacle to success for him in the past, in her humble opinion, on more than one occasion), but his delight in Miss Baxter, as the woman who would be his bride and wife, was rather charming to see.
"Sometimes, it feels as if the whole bloody staff, past and present, are wedding each other this year," he breathed into her hair, the words tart but the tone gentle. "And this is the one to start us all off."
She towards him, really laughing now. "There's at least a handful of wise phrases that apply to that particular observation, Mr. Carson, but I suppose the two most apropos would be 'Do as I say, not as I do,' and the proverbial pot discussing the kettle…"
His face looked thunderous and she pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle her mirth.
"You and I are different, Elsie," he replied, his forehead creasing. "Our situation, our…arrangement. Now everyone who's ever worked at Downton feels the need to marry, and, it seems, all at once."
"I daresay we are, Charlie, but not the way you mean," she brushed the tips of her fingers over the short bristles on his cheeks. "You'll never hear me complain about how my life turned out, Mr. Carson, not a bit, as it's all quite satisfactory to me, especially in this moment. I am as content, as they say, as a pig in mud. But Charlie…while it worked out in the end, things might have easily not, I think. This might never have happened, but for a few rather large omissions on my part, and a few brave schemes on your part. We got lucky, that's what happened, that's all."
"What's this all about?" He propped himself up, genuinely concerned. She sat up at well, crossing her legs under her nightgown, watching the rain fall in heavy sheets outside. "Elsie? I was mostly teasing, you know…I wasn't trying to be insensitive." He sighed and cleared his throat. She heard him pause. "I am just grateful to be here, now, love. Where we were meant to be."
"As am I, ye old booby, that's what I'm trying to say to you," she turned back and leaned into him. The tears she'd felt pushing at her throat were gone; she could feel them retreating, though her heart still felt tender. "You and I, Charlie, could have been here much sooner, had we been of a slightly different generation, like Miss Baxter and Mr. Molesley, or the Bates. Unless you're trying to tell me ye've not loved me all that long, Mr. Carson?" Now her voice sounded like itself, and she grinned, tucked in the crook of his arm, looking sideways up at him.
"Was there ever a time that I didn't love you?" He leaned over and kissed her thoroughly, and she made a move to speak. "If so, I don't suppose it's even worth talking about, is it?" He pressed his thumb against her lips, and she sighed. She took his hand in hers, and pressed her cheek against it.
"Are you regretful, then, that it took us so long to get here?" His forehead crinkled in that dear way that he had.
"Aye…sometimes. But there's no one to blame, or, I suppose, everyone to blame. 'Twas the world we grew up in, the world we worked in…and the world that brought us to each other, in the first place. I cannot regret that. But I'd be lying, if I don't look at this younger generation now, the rules…more flexible…than they were for us."
"You know how I feel about that flexibility," he replied.
"I know the changing world sets your teeth on edge, Charlie. But I can't say I'm not glad that people can find each other, make each other happy – and not have to choose between making a living and living their lives, completely," she shrugged. The tears were back. She was getting soft, maybe, as she got older.
"Well, you've convinced me, then," he brushed her tears away, unwound her slim braid. "And I think, Mrs. Carson, before we brave all that Mother Nature is doling out, we'd best make up for lost time.
"I couldn't agree more," she laughed and pulled him down into the warm and waiting sheets.