A short bit of silliness for the St. Patrick's Day challenge. Not to be taken too seriously.
Disclaimer: I do not own them except in DVD form and never shall.
Elsie Hughes made her way wearily back to her parlor with a slight headache. This day had certainly been one of the longest she had faced for a long while. After the ordeal of preparing Lady Grantham for bed, she was sorely regretting her generous decision to allow Miss O'Brien the evening off in celebration of her Irish heritage. Elsie sniffed loudly even though she was the only one to hear it. She certainly had never had St. Andrew's day off to celebrate her heritage, and she was quite a bit closer to her tartan roots than Miss O'Brien was to her green ones. She'd have to see what the household would think of her taking November 30th off to celebrate at the local pub. Too bad it was over eight months away.
Taking a deep breath to dispel her annoyance, Elsie reminded herself what had put her in such a generous mood. Charles, frustratingly lovely man that he was, had procured a bottle of fine Irish whiskey to share with her tonight. He had then proceeded for the past two days to inform her teasingly of some of the ideas he had for how exactly to share that fine amber liquid with her to celebrate the Saint's day. By mid-day today, she would have been willing to send the entire household down to the pub with her last year's salary to celebrate if it meant she could get the man alone sooner. Now, of course, after having to cover both Miss O'Brien's duties and her own, it was much later than she would have normally made it to her parlor, and she was much more tired than usual. It wasn't that preparing Lady Grantham for bed was that difficult, but her nerves had been put on edge when Lord Grantham had opened the door no less than three times in his anxiousness to get in bed with his wife. It had made her feel like she was in a race, and she was as anxious to get out of the room as he was to get into it.
She walked down the last flight of steps to see that the servants' hall was dark and empty. The celebrants had come back just before she went upstairs and no doubt Charles had shooed them all off to their beds. There was no light from his pantry, but flickering light filtered into the hallway from her open parlor door. She smiled in gratitude to think that he was waiting for her in there. He would no doubt politely commiserate with her annoyance while he took skillful steps to divert and alleviate it. Her cheeks and her center heated a little with the memory of a few of the locations he had told her he would like to drink the whiskey from. Stepping through her door she was surprised when he didn't greet her, and even more surprised when she didn't see him in his usual armchair. She stood puzzled for a moment until she heard a grunt and loud snore from the general area of her settee.
Walking over to look at him, she saw that Charles was lying on her settee in his shirtsleeves with tie and collar loose. He was on his back with mouth open, feet hanging off the end of the settee and one arm falling over the side, hand trailing the floor. She looked at him in astonishment. Tonight's assignation had been all his idea and now he was asleep? What on earth could have happened? Then she glanced over at the bottle and empty glass sitting on the table beside the settee. Well over half the bottle was gone already. The man had gone and gotten himself drunk. Now she was really annoyed and no chance of release in sight. Looking at the bottle again to judge exactly how much was missing, she decided to take a chance. After all, he was a large man. Surely it would take more than half a bottle of whiskey to make him completely useless.
She poked him with her finger gently at first, then a little more forcefully, before finally pushing hard against his side with her full hand. He started in his sleep and snorted, then promptly rolled over and directly off the settee to the floor with a loud grunt. Eyes opened slowly and he gave her such an adoring smile that she almost forgot to be angry.
"Hullo, Elsie, you're upside down," he said, smile widening.
She knelt to help him off the floor, "Charles, I am not upside down, but you are decidedly topsy turvy."
With a struggle, he sat up and leaned back against the settee. "Topsy turvy? I have no idea what you mean," he said with all the dignity that a man sitting unsteadily on the floor could manage.
"Exactly how much of that 'lovely Irish whiskey' did you have?" she asked, losing patience with her inebriated butler.
"Oh just the merest drop," he said cheerfully, holding his thumb and forefinger together in illustration.
Elsie sighed. He was never this cheerful unless he was well and truly drunk. Well, and also after they'd…, but there'd be none of that tonight. Not in the state he was in. He'd be of absolutely no use to her whatsoever, frustrating man. She had half a mind to leave him here, but only half. It wouldn't do for a drunken, half-dressed butler to be found in her parlor in the morning. Even after St. Patrick's Day that would be difficult to explain.
"Charles," she said through gritted teeth, "I believe you had a bit more than a drop."
"I did?" he asked still smiling at her in adoration. When she waved the half empty bottle in front of his nose, he said, "Well, I suppose I might have had a bit more than a drop."
"Aye," she agreed, "Come along and I'll help you to your bed."
"I'd like nothing better," he said with a lecherous smile as he struggled to his feet.
"Alone, you big oaf," she said with a light punch on his chest, "There's no way I'd join you in the state you're in."
She turned from him toward the door and muttered under her breath, "You'll likely be asleep before your head hits the pillow and of no use to me."
The cheerful fuzziness had disappeared from his voice when his arm snaked around her waist and he drew her back against his chest, "Oh, you'd be surprised, Elsie."
Elsie's gasp of alarm was cut off by his kiss after he turned her quickly in his arms. He pulled his head back and smiled down at her, "Have you never heard of a decanter, love?"
She followed his gesture toward her side table and saw a nearly full decanter of amber liquid. She looked back at him in amusement, "You old trickster. Did you plan this whole thing?"
His hands trailed down to her bottom to draw her closer against him, "Not until you were taking a frustratingly long time upstairs. I knew you'd probably think I started without you."
"What else was I to think?" she asked a little breathlessly because he had begun to nibble his way along the muscles of her neck, "I find you passed out on my sofa, ohhhh that feels good, an almost empty bottle beside you."
"Did you really think I would forgo an evening with you for a bit of whiskey?" he rumbled against her neck.
"Mmmm. No. Yes," she murmured, "I don't know. For heaven's sake, Charles; stop all the talking."
He chuckled a little too smugly for her taste and she made a mental note to make him pay for that later before pulling him down for a hungry kiss. Perhaps St. Patrick's Day wasn't so bad after all.
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