A/N: Having been an avid reader of Chelsie fanfic for the last couple of years, I've finally plucked up the courage to write and publish a little one-shot of my own... As this is my first fanfic ever, any comments/constructive feedback would be greatly appreciated.
Hope you enjoy! xx
February 1926
It was late afternoon as Charles stood at the desk in his pantry, packing his personal belongings into a cardboard box. He regarded each item carefully, allowing the memories to wash over him in a wave of nostalgia. Such moments were rare for the Butler to indulge in, although today of all days warranted a bit of sentimentality, he supposed reluctantly.
After clearing out the desk drawers, Charles focused his attention on the mantelpiece, retrieving some of the assorted objects which sat atop it: a rectangular chest containing various bits and bobs, a porcelain fish ornament, a little glass jar filled with peppermints... On second thought, he decided to leave the peppermint jar; Mr. Stanton, Downton's former butler, had always kept sweets for the upstairs children and Charles had carried the tradition on. Once Lady Mary and her sisters had grown up, the jar had remained empty for several years, but was now stocked once again, in case of unexpected visits from Sybbie, George and Marigold.
Evoking another memory, was the mahogany mantle clock which Charles picked up from the centre of the shelf. It was old, but nonetheless glossy and unscratched, showing no sign that it had been gifted to Charles by his predecessor almost 50 years ago. "Punctuality and dependability lie at the heart of an efficient butler, Charles," the older man had told him at the time. Pausing to polish the clock's face, before packing it safely into a box, Charles sighed. Tomorrow he would no longer be Mr. Carson, Butler of Downton Abbey, he'd simply be Mr. Carson. Oddly enough, this thought didn't upset him as much as it had two months ago. Throughout the past week or so, he'd even begun to look forward to retirement and the freedom it would afford. Naturally, this optimistic demeanour had vanished with the arrival of his final day at work; in its place, was a jumble of emotions that rather unsettled him.
Reaching up to the last item on the mantelpiece, Charles struggled to contain the smile which spread across his face. As he looked down at the black and white photo of himself and his beautiful bride on their wedding day, he was again reminded of how lucky he was to have her. There was no doubt that Elsie's gentle encouragement and steadfast reassurance had helped him become accustomed to the idea of retirement and the unexpected circumstances surrounding his departure.
I couldn't have done this without you, Els.
A knock on the door startled him from these musings and he quickly stuffed the photo away as his wife entered the room, lest she should see him gazing soppily at it.
"You're almost finished then?" Elsie crossed over to where her husband stood at his desk, surrounded by cardboard boxes.
"It would seem so," replied Charles gruffly, suppressing his emotion by smoothing a hand over his waistcoat.
Elsie cast an eye over the room. It was still furnished and quite functional yet lacked the personal objects that had made it Charles' pantry. "I see you've left the peppermint jar here for Mr. Barrow," she remarked, in an effort to lighten the mood.
"Well... I have always done my best to uphold tradition, Mrs. Hughes," returned Charles, the twinkle in his eye belying his formal tone.
"Speaking of tradition, would you care for some tea, Mr. Carson?" Without waiting for a response, she began to prepare a cup, knowing that her dear husband would not forego their 4 o'clock tradition.
Especially not today.
She tried not to think of it with a sense of finality. Indeed, this would be the last time they would take tea together in his pantry, as they'd done almost everyday for the past 30 years. But new opportunities would most certainly arise... Her mind wandered to the future afternoon teas that they might share … In her sitting room, after he's spent an afternoon guiding Mr. Barrow on wine choices and silverware … Or on her half day, when they take a leisurely stroll into the village and stop at the tea shop on the way back … And perhaps, in the not-too-distant future, they will both be retired and enjoying afternoon tea in their own cottage, relaxing after a productive day spent tending to their garden. Or a day spent indoors, engaging in … other (just as satisfying) activities… Her cheeks warmed at that thought and she shook her head slightly to clear it.
Having poured Charles' tea, Elsie tactfully laid the cup and saucer on the small table, rather than giving it to him, knowing that the stress of today would have aggravated his troublesome hand.
They settled into the armchairs opposite each other and sipped their tea in contented silence for a few minutes.
"Do you recall the first time we did this?" he asked, referring to their first proper meeting and conversation as heads of the household, all those years ago.
"Indeed. I'd only been housekeeper a day or two. You rescued me from Mrs. Patmore's wrath one afternoon, by inviting me to discuss household matters over a cup of tea, if I remember correctly." She smiled fondly, thinking back to the days when frequent spats regarding the store cupboard key had dominated the relationship between herself and her greatest red-headed friend.
"Hmm, I wouldn't say that. I recall that the fiery Scottish housekeeper was quite capable of handling Mrs. Patmore's wrath on her own, without intervention from the butler," teased Charles, eyebrows raising. "It was during that first meeting though," he continued seriously, returning to the subject at hand, "that I felt sure we would work alongside each other quite companionably…"
How far we've come since then.
It really was strange, Charles thought, how those simple afternoons with Elsie had somehow become so treasured to him. What had begun as a mundane daily meeting to discuss household matters, had slowly developed into something more intimate for the butler and housekeeper. Oh, certainly nothing untoward had occurred between them during those hours in his pantry — although after our marriage it was a different story... But their afternoon time together became a rock upon which their friendship was forged; an ever-welcome calm spot amid the storm of activity that a grand house like Downton constantly sailed through.
Over the years, Elsie too, had cherished the conversations which would usually accompany their afternoon tea; oftentimes, discussions would stray from household business, to more lively topics such as books or politics, allowing Elsie to chip away at the Butler's hard exterior and get a glimpse of Charles Carson the man, not the butler.
"It certainly is the end of an era, Charlie," she lamented softly, noticing the faraway look in his eyes, which likely mirrored her own. Leaning forward, she placed her teacup on the table and reached out to clasp his afflicted right-hand in her steady one. "But it's also the beginning of a new one. One that we shall face together, whatever it may bring."
Charles gently tugged his wife's hand and she stood up, before coming to rest on his lap. The couple embraced, each closing their eyes for a long moment and taking comfort in the solid presence of the other.
"That we will, Elsie. That we will."