A/N: Oh you people. I'm getting rather addicted to reviews and that is all your delightful faults. So, this came to me while I was working on the sequel to Beyond The Sea and has nothing to do with that universe at all, but it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. Spoilers for Season 5 (all eps) and yeah, well, I hope you enjoy it?
_a fragile line_
She goes to Lady Edith as soon as her absence won't raise questions. The staff and family are distracted by the Russian refugees and none of them have taken particular notice that Lady Edith has not come down.
She takes the tiny photograph from the locked drawer in her dresser and makes her way back down from the servants' rooms, takes the back stairs up to Lady Edith's room.
The girl is still crying, she can hear that through the closed door. (And she is still just a girl, may be a mother now, may have a lover that is missing, have been jilted at the alter but she is still only just past being the child that fell asleep in Elsie's sitting room because it was the only place her sister would not look for her.)
She knocks softly, opens the door even though Lady Edith doesn't permit her access, likely has not even heard her.
The young Lady is laid out across the bed, head buried in her pillows, her sobs shaking the mattress beneath her.
How many times, Elsie thinks, has the girl lain just like this these last few years?
Haven't they all faced enough, surely this house and the people in it deserve some happiness now.
"M'lady." Lady Edith jerks and sits up, wipes at her red face with harsh hands.
"Oh, Mrs Hughes. I've missed Rose's tea haven't I? Can you tell the others that I'll take dinner here tonight? I have the most terrible headache."
That much is likely true enough, the way her eyes squint in the dim light.
"I will m'lady, I'll have Mrs Patmore prepare something light for you, Daisy will bring it up when they've finished the dinner."
"Thank you, Mrs Hughes."
Her thumb rubs over the photograph, isn't sure whether this will help or make everything worse. She looks at Lady Edith, the red eyes, tear tracks still wet and glistening, the pain there that Elsie understands but will never truly know. Whatever has happened today with Mr Drewe's visit, there is likely little Elsie could do now to make the girl feel worse.
"M'lady? I thought you might want this, it survived the fire."
Lady Edith's face crumples again when Elsie holds out the photograph, but her fingers eagerly reach for it. Fingertips running gently over the image, her focus somewhere else now.
The Lady pulls her face away from the photograph after a few minutes, eyes wide with fear as she looks up and meets Elsie's gaze.
"Do you, that is, this is a picture of Mr Drewe's charge, the girl I've taken an interest in. Thank you for finding it, I would- I would hate to have lost it."
"Of course." A moment and then; "I'll never ask questions, m'lady, I'll only say that she is a beautiful child."
Lady Edith blinks away tears and Elsie turns, heads for the door. She has disturbed the young Lady enough for today, if she wants to talk, she knows now that Elsie will listen as she always has.
She closes the door on the choked "thank you Mrs Hughes" and heads down to the kitchens to talk to Mrs Patmore.
Her footsteps seem heavier than they did coming up.
-c-e-
Mr Carson waits for her outside her parlour after dinner, hands full with a silver tray of tea and biscuits.
"I have a lot of work to do, Mr Carson." She isn't angry with him, isn't disappointed. He is entitled to his own opinion and this time, she isn't even sure which side of it she really falls on herself. Oh, she feels awful about poor Archie, for Mrs Patmore and her sister, wishes something could be done to get the lad's name put on his home town's memorial, or that he had never been killed at all. But she does understand Mr Carson's argument, even if she does not agree with it herself. Knows that it would be hard to convince the members of the committee of the boy's worthiness to be on there.
Only she can't help but imagine if it were William's name they were arguing about, how she and his family would feel to not have him remembered that way. He did not run, their brave boy, but had they not all at one time wished he hadn't wanted to go at all? The war took both boys in the end and she wishes it didn't matter if it was a German bullet or an English one. But it does.
"-s Hughes." A hand at her elbow brings her back to Mr Carson's face, the familiar lines of it wrinkled in concern. "Are you quite alright?"
"I'm sorry Mr Carson, I was away with the fairies for a moment there."
She opens her door and waves for him to enter, drops herself into her chair while he settles the tea tray on the table beside her.
"Not pleasant fairies, I fear."
She looks to him, confused, not really following him at all tonight. She has been distracted all day. All week if she can bring herself to be honest.
He hands her a cup of tea, stirs sugar into his own and settles himself in the other chair. "You still have a frown on your face, Mrs Hughes."
Yes, she supposes she does.
"You said some time ago that you could feel a shifting in the ground beneath you, Mr Carson. I believe that I can too."
"And that concerns you?" His voice, his gentle grumbling voice begins to loosen knots in her she thought might only ever get tighter.
"It does, Mr Carson. I am afraid of what might not survive the shake-up."
She turns away as his face saddens, remembers when things were easier.
They sip at their tea in silence, the first true moment of peace she has had all day.
Draining the last dregs from her cup, she can feel his eyes on her. A comforting weight, after feeling as though she has been under too many watchful eyes today.
Eventually she hears his intake of breath, the straightening of his jacket as he prepares himself to speak.
"Something is bothering you, Mrs Hughes. Perhaps a great many things." She looks at him, takes in the sincere concern that furrows his brow. "You can tell me, you know." He reaches out, places his hand over hers on the table. "I'd like to help."
"I know, Mr Carson and I do thank you for that." Could it be that easy, she thinks, to just tell him everything and let him steady her? Would she feel more of the stillness he has brought to her this evening if she finally spoke out all of her fears and worries while he listens? But of course; "Some secrets are not mine to tell."
He nods, dips his head just a little, but if he is disappointed he at least seems unsurprised by her answer. "And the others?"
"Those are mine to keep or tell." She says, turns her hand over and lets his fingers fall into the spaces between her own.
"And will you tell me them, Mrs Hughes?"
She smiles, squeezes his fingers tightly and meets his eyes.
"I will Mr Carson." His thumb rubs circles on the back of her hand and his eyes are so soft. "Soon, I think. Very soon."
End.