Broken Wings
Although it went against decades of training in manners and propriety, Charles Carson entered the housekeeper's office without bothering to knock, as was his recent habit. While he had protested half heartedly at his wife's insistence that he needn't stand on ceremony with her on his not infrequent visits to the Abbey, he found himself quietly reveling in the ease they had found with each other and the adjustments he had made in retirement.
To his momentary disappointment, Mrs. Hughes was not in. He stood just inside the door, hands clasped behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels as he pictured her brisk steps resounding through the far reaches of the Abbey, her critical eye seeking - and probably finding - shortcomings in the day maids' work, her lips tightening to a thin line and her eyes snapping with fire at shoddy corners on the bedsheets or thin layers of dust in the nooks of the lamp fixtures.
He smiled at the image of his wife setting things in order and moved to sit in the chair next to her desk with a sigh. If the staff could see the contentment in his face as he imagined their formidable housekeeper taking no nonsense and demanding the highest quality, there would be whispers and nudges indeed. But Charles Carson was oblivious to the picture he presented. His ear was cocked to listen for her unmistakable steps and his eye was on the door.
He didn't expect the squawk. Or the frantic scratching. Or the shuffling flutter that rose from the box on her desk. A box he hadn't noticed at all, captivated as he was by daydreams of his wife.
He rose from his chair with alacrity and leaned over the box. Two outraged, beady black eyes stared at him from the brown feathers of a rather smallish sparrow, nestled in several towels. As his eyebrows flew up in surprise, the bird tracked them avidly. When Charles abruptly straightened up, the little thing let out a screech entirely out of character for its size.
He continued to stare at the bird, who was flapping agitatedly in his makeshift nest. It was clear that one of his wings wasn't fluttering quite as well as the other.
"That would explain his presence in the box," he rumbled, "but it doesn't explain his presence in the house."
"I can explain that," rang his wife's voice from the doorway.
He looked quickly over at Elsie's amused smile as she shut the door behind her and walked towards him. The bird objected to this distraction.
"I believe he's fond of you already," she added.
"You say that like its a good thing," he replied, looking at the bird with disapproval.
"Better he likes you than not. His little beak is a sharp one." Elsie informed him, showing him several scratches on her wrists. Charles immediately took her hands in his and examined the scratches.
"Vicious beast," he muttered. "Why ever did you pick it up?"
Elsie rolled her eyes and turned her hands over to grasp his.
"One of those horrid barn cats was torturing the poor thing in the courtyard. I drove it away, then brought him in here to give him a chance to rest and recover. But I'm afraid his wing is injured."
"Should have left it for the cats," he grumbled.
"Perhaps. But I didn't. And I'm glad I didn't." At his exasperated expression, she squeezed his hands, smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek.
Charles' expression softened a bit. But then the bird chose that moment to set up a racket again and he glared at the box.
"What do you intend on doing with it?"
"I'll see if his wing heals up in a day or so and feed him up," she replied with a shrug. "Then I'll let him go."
Charles raised a skeptical eyebrow but didn't try to dissuade her. Instead, he watched as she poured a bit of water into a saucer and placed it carefully in the box. The bird ignored the offering, choosing instead to stare piercingly at Charles. Charles knitted his brows and stared back. Elsie looked between them and stifled a snicker.
"If the way he's staring at your eyebrows is any indication, I think he's a wee bit hungry," she said. Charles humphed and looked a bit affronted.
"Well he can't have them," he replied testily.
"Better not lean in too closely then," she advised. "He'll have to make do with a bit of seed instead."
"You weren't planning on bringing it to the cottage?" he demanded, popping up to his full height and looking at her in alarm.
"Well…I'm considering it..." she teased, enjoying the way he huffed and pulled at his waistcoat as he prepared to fight his corner. "...but I think I value your eyebrows too highly!"
"Elsie..." he grumbled warningly.
She laughed delightedly at having wound him up and he couldn't stop a smile at the sound.
"Let's have some tea while I've got a moment," she suggested. "Our feathered friend will settle back down."
Sure enough, the bird did quiet down as they chatted quietly, for which Charles was grateful. Tea with his wife was one the highlights of his day. He watched her as she brought her cup to her lips and basked in the comfortable silence that surrounded them.
"Why did you save it at all?" he asked quietly, nodding his head towards the box.
"I don't know, exactly," she admitted. "It just didn't seem like he had a fair chance with his wing the way it is."
"And you always try to give everything a fair chance," he said, taking her hand and thinking of Thomas, Ethel, Mr. Bates, Anna, and countless other broken ones who had passed under her care and supervision through the years.
"Broken wings can heal if the right care is taken," she replied with a smile, "and fly again."
"Don't I know it," he murmured.
They gazed at each other until the inevitable knock on the door signaled that their interlude was over. The bird responded to the interruption with an indignant flapping and squawking.
"I'll fly on home, Elsie," he said. "The garden needs tending."
"Go on then, Charlie. I'll be back at the nest tonight… without the bird," she added with a grin to assuage his suspicious eyebrow.
Before she got on with her day, Elsie peeked into the box to see the bird settling down for a bit of a nap. She covered the box with a pillowcase and crept quietly towards her door.
"I'm looking forward to some billing and cooing, and you're not invited," she whispered as she slipped out with a happy smile.