Hello everyone! It's that time of year for peace, joy, possibly gaining weight and happiness, so what better time to share a fic that contains complete sugary fluff?! Pretty sure this contains an abhorrent amount of British and American terms used interchangeably but I'd rather use a correct word in American, than guess and use an incorrect term in British. SO! This is my Secret Santa fic for Kissman. I hope you not only enjoy this story, but that you have a very lovely and merriest of Christmases!
She looks up from her book when she hears him enter the cottage. His overcoat and bowler sparkle with the water of the melted snow in the dim light of the fireplace. He shuffles, hurries out of his things, slips off his soaked shoes and immediately rushes over to greet her.
She smiles as she receives her customary kiss on the cheek.
"I apologize for being late, Elsie."
"How did it go?"
"As well as could be expected, with Mr. Barrow at the helm. Three weeks to Christmas and nary a sign of garland or a wreath! We always had the decorations up so promptly."
"They've a new butler, housekeeper and cook. All who have different customs and traditions. It's to be expected."
"I suppose, but still… It's disappointing."
She smiles. His love for propriety and Downton hasn't waned in the six months since they retired. She feared early on in their marriage that this characteristic of her husband's personality may agitate her, but he knows she doesn't feel the same loyalty to the Abbey and tries his best to keep his volunteering and opinions to a minimum. He's careful to only ever help out during larger, grander functions and it's been a wonderful, pleasant surprise. She feels he's growing fonder of spending his time with her and so, she happily tolerates the few and far between nights spent at the Abbey.
"Sit down and I'll get you something to eat. I've been warming your food for the past two hours! Hopefully the edges haven't burned."
He sinks into his chair and she hears his hands rub together furiously. She's thankful they've a large fireplace in their living room. It heats their cottage well and is easy enough to maintain during the hours he's away. She pops open the over door and is relieved to see his meal looks as perfect as it did when it was ready to be eaten several hours ago.
She quickly brings in his Shepard's pie and watches as he gleefully tucks into it. Before retiring she dreaded cooking for Charles for two reasons. One, she was rather rusty – her only taxing affair had been making jams from time to time. And two, because she feared with the palate he developed over the years, that her basic cooking would disappoint him. He's never once complained, and always compliments her and tonight is no exception.
This Christmas she fancies trying something a bit more audacious. If they set aside a sum of money now, they'd be able to afford some nice luxuries for Christmas: A turkey, wonderful Christmas pudding, a nice bottle of wine, or sherry. She'd also like some decorations, but those wouldn't have to be so extravagant. A wreath, some mistletoe, and perhaps a large evergreen tree. But these are all things she has yet to discuss with her husband, and she figures now with the snow accumulating on the ground outside and his abhorrence with the lack of decorations at the Abbey still fresh in his mind, is the perfect time.
"Shall we do anything special for Christmas, Charles?"
This is their first Christmas – not spent together, but their first Christmas alone without the chaos of downstairs, of work, of exasperating co-workers who tend to interrupt at every opportunity... She wants it to be absolutely perfect for him. And she wants to know exactly what he'd like for Christmas.
"What do you mean?"
"It's our first Christmas together – well, our first one alone. And I was thinking maybe we could do something special to make it our own."
"But we've got our traditions that we've had every year."
"Charles we cannot afford all of the luxuries that we had at Downton. If we set aside a sum now, we can use it for the holiday, but only if we start today. And even then, it wouldn't allow us anything of great magnitude."
"I see. And what would you like to do?"
"I'm not sure. I'd at least enjoy a turkey dinner. "
"Well, I think that can be arranged. I can tell you, I wouldn't mind having a more old-fashioned Christmas tree. With candles, glass ornaments, and the like."
"A tree with candles? My, that does take me back."
"We'd have to have one here – seeing as we don't have electricity. Besides, they make me feel young and it's traditional."
"It certainly is."
She watches as he returns to eating his food and thinks back on the traditions they've shared over the years. There's the classic dinner with the staff, and carols and gift exchanges upstairs with the family, but she thinks of their tradition with greater fondness. A late-night drink and exchanging a small, practical gift. Perhaps this year they should set a budget and finally give each other something more than practical and traditional. Something with sentiment.
"Charles, did you have any traditions when you were a child?"
"Not many. We had a tree with candles on it of course, and Christmas lunch. And Father Christmas came and left me small things in my stocking, but other than that, I cannot th– wait, no. There was one thing, but I wouldn't necessarily say it was a standard Christmas tradition."
"What was it?"
"My mother used to bake on Christmas Eve. Usually she'd make Christmas pudding, and simple biscuits – sugar and gingerbread. One year when I was young; I'm not sure what overcame me but I decided to watch her bake the biscuits."
"And did she let you help?"
"She did. We didn't have biscuit cutters, but she'd make shapes in the dough with a knife. Simple things like an evergreen tree, a candy cane, a stocking. The gingerbread men were the most challenging, and she was much better at making their silhouette than I was, but it was great fun. And once they finished baking, we would decorate the gingerbread men. They weren't always men –sometimes I tried making gingerbread ladies; however that venture was rarely successful."
"I can imagine!"
"And then it just sort of became a tradition I suppose. We made them together every year. It was somewhat of a secret, because my father would not have approved of me doing such a thing but, I did nonetheless and it was very nice."
She smiles after hearing his tale, an idea already forming. She quickly lowers her gaze to her hands in order to hide the plotting going on in her mind.
"Did you have traditions, Elsie?"
"No, nothing really. We never celebrated Christmas growing up. Remember how lost I was during my first Christmas at Downton? I didn't understand the concept of mistletoe and that one footman – I forget his name – teased me about it."
"He wanted to catch you underneath it."
"Yes, well. He never did, I'll have you know!"
"But honestly Elsie, nothing? You have not one tradition you'd like to maintain?"
"There's nothing except what I've experienced at Downton and with you. And while I look back on those times fondly, I'd rather focus on the new traditions we will be making. I hope you don't find that too vague, or depressing."
"No; just a bit of a challenge to give you the most impeccable, perfect Christmas imaginable."
Elsie is a bundle of energy as she greets him at the door. Charles ran out early, claiming he had an errand to run in the village – most suspicious at ten o'clock in the morning on Christmas Eve, and even more suspicious that it took him several hours to return home, but no matter. His absence gave her the time she needed to prepare her kitchen and reflect on the best way to go about a situation such as the one before her. One could easily unwrap cookies, but the idea of the two of them sharing this moment together – making it theirs, is so important to her. Craving the element of excitement and surprise, she invented a plan while waiting for Charles to return home. A plan he'd hopefully comply with.
"Where have you been?"
"I told you Elsie, I was in the village!"
"For three hours?! What on Earth – never mind. Charles, I've something planned for the two of us to do this afternoon."
"We won't be late for Christmas Eve service, will we?"
"Of course not, I've left us plenty of time to complete our project."
"Project?!"
"Yes, now if you'll indulge me, please allow me to place this blindfold over your eyes."
"Elsie!"
"Stop whatever it is you're thinking this instant! We're not doing anything sordid!"
Passively, he closes his eyes and she gently and somewhat loosely ties the cloth around his head. Stepping back to inspect her work, she gives a routine wave of her hand over his eyes to certify that he is indeed, blindfolded. A small giggle escapes her – a giggle! but she suppresses it quickly and grabs hold of his hands, leading him to their kitchen table.
"Please sit down, Charles."
"And where are we?"
"We're in the kitchen – we've only walked eight feet! I've not even spun you 'round!"
"Right, I just wanted to make sure."
"Now, sit and we shall begin."
As soon as he's situated, she moves to stand next to him, eager to watch his face for any sign of reaction.
"Place your hands out in front of you, on the table. Tell me what you feel."
"Confused."
"Stop being foolish."
He takes hold of one of the items before him, "Alright. I feel something cool, and hard. Feels like a large bowl."
"That's right. Now feel around for something else."
"Oh, this is – it's mushy and obviously able to be molded and… it smells of – something, though I cannot place my finger on it. But since we're in the kitchen I shall assume this is dough?"
"Very good, Charles! Now there's one more thing in front of you, to your right."
He picks up the last object and his eyebrows furrow together in concentration. He turns the object over in his hands; lets his fingers trace the outline.
"Elsie, I'm not sure what this is. It doesn't feel hard enough to cut something, but it's used in the kitchen, right? It's a utensil? I don't –"
She moves behind him and swiftly unties his blindfold, revealing the last piece of the puzzle. Before him not only lay the object in question; but the rest of the ingredients for their exhilarating afternoon: A baking sheet, two knives, icing, candy-coated buttons, flour, sugar, milk, eggs and a large wooden spoon.
"They're biscuit cutters. I found some in Thirsk some time ago and bought them for this occasion."
"These are biscuit cutters?"
"Yes! See? A tree, a stocking and a gingerbread man. But, I wasn't sure you'd approve, so I made sure to have some knives at the ready, just in case."
He stares up at her in awe.
"You did all this, for me?"
"Of course I did! I love you, Charles. And I want you to look at the Christmases that we share – that we will share and love the time we'll spend together. Love what traditions we'll make together and…"
"View them most favorably of all?"
"I suppose you think that's rather selfish."
"I don't. Other than you saying you'd marry me, I think this is the most thoughtful thing anyone's ever done for me."
She lets out a short laugh to hide her blushing, "Get away! Now, you show me how talented you are with carving the shapes in the dough, and I'll show you how to appreciate the joys of a simple biscuit cutter."
They quickly set to work, kneading the dough and creating the shapes. Since the gingerbread dough was already prepared, they spent a large part of their time cutting and carving out the shapes. Unsurprisingly, Charles was not a fan of the biscuit cutters and swiftly switched over to his more comfortable tool. While he expertly cut out gingerbread men with his knife, Elsie whipped up the sugar biscuit dough. Perhaps her husband would not have done well as being anything other than a butler, but he possessed a knack for cutting shapes into cookies and that skill was not lost on Elsie as she watched in admiration as he gave one of his gingerbread men a tie.
And despite what he said a couple of weeks ago, he was quite good at creating gingerbread ladies as well.
"There now. They look nice, don't they, Elsie?"
"They look wonderful! You're a man of many talents."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. But I'm glad you think so. Now, what can I help with? Preparing the oven, cleaning up?"
"You needn't worry about any of that. I simply need you to keep track of the time."
"Yes, Mother."
"Don't call me that! I don't think your mother kissed you quite like I do."
And to prove her point, she gives him a rather searing kiss, full of joy and love and excitement for not only the holiday, but what the future holds for them both.
"No, she most certainly did not."
"Happy Christmas Eve, my darling."
"Happy Christmas Eve to you too, Elsie."
Who knows, maybe one day I'll write an epilogue to this of Elsie's perfect Christmas. Merry Christmas to everyone and happy engagement day!