Set slightly pre/during-S5, using one line of S5, Ep. 1 dialogue (but not in this chapter!). The line has stuck in my head and will not be dislodged. I decided to do something with it (in later chapters…). In so doing, I wanted to explore the marked change in the Chelsie demeanors. Here we go. This was hastily written tonight. Heaven help me for any typos. And finally, my blanket legal disclaimer is on my Author page. Please visit accordingly, you lurkers from Masterpiece Theatre, etc.
There was a calmness about Charles Carson as he strode through the village. There was a perceptible lightness to his gait. A feeling of serenity imbued his countenance. Despite his concern about the state of politics and the continued antics of his underbutler and footmen, the butler of Downton Abbey was mellowing perceptibly. His gravitas and rigid adherence to manners and propriety persisted, but the hard edges of his stoic edifice were softening.
Perhaps it was the consequence of age – his hair was growing more silver as the years pressed onwards, he squinted more and more as he made notations in the wine ledger. Perhaps it was the relief that flowed from the successful partnership between earl, daughter, and son-in-law. While other great estates were floundering, Downton remained standing strong. In reality it was all of those things, and more.
Charles Carson turned a new page in his life – he began taking half-days more often. If he was honest with himself, the number of half-days waiting in reserve amounted to months he could have spent away from the house. Something had always held him back, previously.
But now, he went to the pictures, read by the lake, and took tea in small shops in the village or in Ripon while reading the latest news. It was truly relaxing, just as Mrs. Hughes said it would be. He smiled at how she campaigned for him to utilize his time away from the house, time so diligently earned.
It was just another evening sharing a nightcap in his pantry when she saw through his bluster. He was seated in front of his desk, she sat ramrod straight in his reading chair. In a dazzling instant, she identified the source of his unease with being away from the house.
"Mr. Carson, taking an afternoon to yourself doesn't lessen your devotion to this household. Visiting with members of the village, breathing in the fresh air by the lake, will do you some good."
"I don't see how visiting with members of the village will do me any good, Mrs. Hughes. They know me through dealings with the household."
"To be sure, they know the butler of Downton Abbey. But, what about the 'man'?"
"What about 'him'? I am the butler."
"But you won't always be, and you don't always have to be right now, Mr. Carson," she remarked with a wave of the hand. "Just, be 'Mr. Carson', man."
"I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Hughes. They village seems to know enough of my life story as a 'man' as it is, including my life as a Cheerful Charlie," he reminded in a slightly morose tone.
Then she realized it. His life had been lived in extremes – as a butler and as a Cheerful Charlie. The words were out of her mouth in an instant – quiet, challenging. "Or can you be just 'Mr. Carson'?"
Save for his widening eyes, every muscle froze. The unwelcome truth – that the answer to her question was an unequivocal negative – lingered as an oppressive atmosphere.
But before the sting of her verbal lancing set in completely, she soothed his affronted ego with her honeyed tones. "I don't mean any harm, Mr. Carson. I only want the best for you."
His eyes challenged hers with hurt and anger before he turned away, almost immediately resigned. The lilt to her voice did as much as her steadfast, earnest interest in his wellbeing. But it didn't change the reality of things, not yet.
At last he spoke, quietly, looking off towards his side table under the interior window. "I know, Mrs. Hughes. I beg pardon."
As much as she ruffled his feathers, the final blow that caused him to relent from his refusal to take his half-days was not even directed at him. It was a revelation she made to herself, as much as to him.
"I should be begging pardon, Mr. Carson. But the truth is, if you're reluctant to just be 'Mr. Carson,' I can understand that, more than you know."
He returned his gaze to her in an instant, intrigued and concerned. She didn't hold his eyes for long, focusing instead on the basket on his desk. "It is difficult for me, even, to part with the persona of Mrs. Hughes. I'm no more 'missus' than a maiden spinster or a wee bairn." It pained him to see her like that – so vulnerable. She needed steadying.
At the sight of her chewed lip and furrowed brow, he fought desperately against the wild impulse to take her hand, to tell her that he saw her as an individual – a woman. Ashamedly, he had first acknowledged to himself she was a breathing, vibrant woman when he thought she was on the brink of death. And now he had the memory of her warm hand in his. The housekeeper didn't take his hand on the beach in Brighton, Elsie Hughes did. She needed to know his beliefs.
But that was for another time, a time when Charles Carson could speak, not Carson, Butler of Downton Abbey protected inside his pantry. Instead, he sighed into his small glass of sherry as he sat in front of his desk. "I'm bereft of excuses, Mrs. Hughes, I relent."
Upon looking tentatively at her under his furrowed brows, he was amply rewarded. Her softening expression flooded his chest with warmth, his mind with confidence. "You win, on one condition."
His look was challenging, if not playful. The side of her mouth unconsciously pulled upwards as she waited for his terms.
"I will take my half-day more often, unless a major event is just around the corner, provided you take your own half-day with more regularity." His raised eyebrows and lowered chin were as distracting as the twinkle in his eyes when he leveled his final admission. "Don't think I haven't noticed you skipping here and there."
Mrs. Hughes shook her head to prevent the spread of a nearly irrepressible, toothy smile. But she couldn't tamp down on her laughter. "I'm not sure if I would be the pot or the kettle," she admitted to his amused expression. She sighed inwardly. Elation filled her every pore as they successfully made it over a potentially rough patch.
Even if she hadn't admitted her own worries of being something other than Mrs. Hughes, she knew he would have noticed something was off. He did notice everything, even if he didn't always share his observations. If they could ever characterize what they shared as something beyond professional regard, his attentiveness would make him the most dedicated of friends.
She smiled and breathed, "Alright, I agree. And we both win, Mr. Carson."
They sealed their mutually-beneficial deal with a raised glass of sherry.
Raising his gloved hand briefly, Charles Carson eyed his parcel with some satisfaction before he entered into the yard. Inside it rested two small confectioneries. They were from the tea shop Mrs. Hughes frequented in Ripon. It was quickly becoming his favorite place to take tea on his half-day.
As he opened the back door that led to the downstairs labyrinth of Downton Abbey, he first set eyes on the housekeeper, walking with confident, clipped strides down the hallway towards her sitting room. Her smile was as warm as the fire no doubt building in the library fireplace upstairs.
"So you're back then, and before dark?"
He handed her the small package with a small smile as he rested his hat on the coat rack outside her door. Quickly becoming a new tradition, they would sample their imported desserts over sherry and discuss their latest excursions out into the world as mere individuals.
"The house party is coming soon, Mrs. Hughes. I don't have time to stay at the pictures all afternoon like someone else I know," he remarked with a glint in his eye. Truthfully, he was still uncomfortable with each half-day, but he stayed out a bit longer each time, until today.
"I'll ignore that, Mr. Carson, for once," she volleyed back as she entered her sitting room. "I still say you would have enjoyed Through Fire and Water."
He grunted in response. A pedestrian adventure film adapted from a third-rate novel. It was hardly likely, he thought, unless she was sitting there with him. Temporarily halting, his eyes widened slightly at the thought before his sense of propriety chased the idea away to deeper recesses in his mind.
Mrs. Hughes had missed his pause, having entered her room while he lingered at the threshold of her door. He was right, though. The house party would likely drag on, interrupting any opportunity for a half-day. Lady Mary had invited an endless string of visitors, compounded by potential suitors for Lady Rose, as well as old family friends wanting to see the grand estate.
Wanting to change for dinner, Mr. Carson had turned to move on when she called out with a fierce, gleeful whisper. "Maybe you can see Bonnie Prince Charlie in a few weeks." He turned back towards her, his cheeks reddening by the second. The way she said "Bonnie" with such indulgence and rolled the 'r' in 'Charlie' were delicious treats to his ears, even if they were said in jest.
Swallowing, he responded. "Maybe you should see the film about the 'Young Pretender,' Mrs. Hughes."
"Perhaps I will, Mr. Carson. I'll be sure to take notes. Perhaps they just needed a Scottish woman at the helm to overthrow the King of England."
"No, I saw that film last month, Mrs. Hughes," he responded with a deep, indulgent tone of his own. "The Loves of Mary, Queen of Scots didn't end well for that particular Scottish lass, if I recall correctly." He was being facetious and it was glorious.
The sound of Thomas ringing the dressing gong cut through their playful, airy display. They silently surrendered their verbal battle before he headed to his office. Mrs. Hughes had moved on to the Servant's Hall to see if all was well. As she turned to retreat back to her sitting room a few moments later, she observed an unthinkable sight.
There was nothing stately about Charles Carson treading up the stairs that evening. If she didn't already know the year of his birth, Mrs. Hughes would have mistaken him for a much younger man.
Walking back to her sitting room, she smiled at the wrapped package sitting on her side table. Mrs. Hughes was sure of one thing – she was in store for more than one treat that evening. Mr. Carson, man, was coming to take sherry with her over a confectionery surprise. She smiled sweetly at the thought.
Someone STAHP me from writing the rest of this. My addled brain, completely avoiding my school work, is determined to establish a backstory as to the S5, Ep. 1 one line "No one needs to know everything…" This is…. so difficult.
A/N 1: Bonnie Prince Charlie is a 1923 film about Charles Edward Stuart, the romantic, Scottish-blood figure that believed he was the Jacobean heir to the Kingdom of Great Britain. His attempted overthrow in 1745-46, obviously, did not go well. Two of his modern-ish nicknames are "Bonnie Prince Charlie," and the "Great Pretender."
A/N 2: The Loves of Mary is also a 1923 film. I resisted the temptation to make a Lady Mary joke about 'Mary's Men.' That was also insanely difficult.