I know, I know, but the plot bunnies would not be appeased until it was written! Slightly AUish.
Her voice startles him. Instantly familiar and yet he had forgotten it entirely, replacing it in his head with some other kind of Scottish. It's much softer, he thinks, than when they were children and she was new to Downton and he could barely understand her. The accent is rounder now and warmer. "Charles..." The R rolls in her mouth and he has to choke down a sudden wave of emotion. It is shame and humiliation and relief and joy and anger and embarrassment and nostalgia.
"Elsie? Why...? How...?"
She steers him away from the stage door. "Your last letter worried me, Charles."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."
She leads him along the streets and he helplessly follows, feeling sick to his stomach. The wind is chilled, a testament to the winter practically upon them. He hunches his shoulders against it and jams his hands into his pockets. She is dressed more sensibly than he, with a scarf and gloves, but her cheeks are soon stained red from the cold.
They turn off the busiest roads and onto quieter ones and then into a pub. The heat is like a physical wall when they walk in, a large fire burning away merrily in a stone fireplace. The pub is not rowdy like the ones he has become accustomed to living in. It is quiet with a low rumble of voices as older locals dig into servings of meat and potatoes. His stomach growls.
They choose a booth and she orders them strong tea and dinner. The tea arrives first. The taste of it nearly overwhelms him. How long has it been since he has had any? He had never even realized that his lifestyle with Griggs has fallen so low that all he can remember is the taste of cheap alcohol. (Cheap alcohol that he only recently realized Griggs almost never pays for.)
He is grateful that she is silent as they eat. The simple pub food is near a divine experience after raw, burned, greasy, or stale meals snatched on the go. When she pays for the meal though, the sick, hot shame returns to burn through him. The manners his father drilled into him insist that he pay, but the past years of living quickly quell such sentiment. He does insist on contributing a few pence for the tea. She very almost refuses, but he catches her eyes and silently pleads with her to allow him to keep some dignity. Her mouth shuts and she quietly accepts his coins with a nod.
"How is Downton?" he asks, desperate to keep the subject away from him.
"Quite well. Busy with the preparations for the holidays."
The obvious question is how she managed to take the time off to come find him, but that would lead to subjects he is still unwilling to discuss. He struggles to find another. She fills the silence by ordering another pot of tea. He abandons the conversation and allows the silence to stretch on.
Eventually though, she does approach the subject. "Are you happy, Charles?" Her voice is quiet.
"Well, I-" he blusters on, trying to rephrase the reasons he had given on his departure from Downton into the past tense, as if he has found what he had been looking for.
"Charles." Her voice is reproachful. "I have read your letters."
He sighs. "Griggs has proven rather irresponsible," he admits. A significant understatement. It is a credit to her that she does not say she told him so.
"Harry left to get married. The position of second footman is open."
She watches him over the edge of her tea cup. He shakes his head, regret nearly overwhelming him. "If you are suggesting that I apply for the position, Elsie, I can assure you they would never hire me. My presence would bring shame upon the household."
"No Charles. Only you are feeling shame, and only from your pride. There is no shame in finding a good position and working hard."
He looks at her carefully. It has been four years since he left her as a girl of sixteen. He would have never called her awkward, but she has definitely grown into herself, she radiates a quiet confidence and surety. He wonders what he looks like. Some old, worn-down tramp on the streets likely.
He doubts Downton would take him back. They know him there, they all know what he left to do. God help him, he hadn't made a secret of it. Elsie is sheltered. She has never lived in the larger cities and doesn't know the evil deeds that men can get up to without second thought. Mr. Thorgood will know. Even Mrs. Jones will likely be able to guess at the very least. Even if he has tried to ignore it all as best he can, much less become involved, he knows what they will think of him.
"If you don't wish to work at the Abbey, Uncle Benjamin's farmhand quit. There's an empty room and honest work to do." She interrupts before he can reply, "I will not leave you Charles, not until I am assured you have found something better. Your mother and I will not be receiving some telegram from the police asking us to identify your body."
He can't help but smile, even if it does come out to be more of a grimace. "Your confidence in me is reassuring as always."
He is desperate to leave this life but he is not sure he can endure the entire village knowing his failure and his shame. The farm is better than Downton Abbey but he would still face the whispers, gossip, and suspicion of people who had known him since he had been born. He had let them down, every one of them. Nice boys did not end up in the places and company he had. Surely at this point it would be better to run away from it all. He could not enter Service somewhere else - not without a reference. He is a terrible liar, the employment agencies will never believe he is leaving a life as a farmer or a shops assistant. Perhaps he could become a shops assistant. Surely in one of the larger cities there would be an opportunity that wouldn't scrutinize his background...
"Charles, where are you staying?"
"The stage loft in the music hall," he admits reluctantly.
They had used to stay in decent rooms, before Griggs discovered the pleasures of what could be bought with money and thieving as a method of procuring more. Now Griggs will pay for his room with stolen money or not pay at all and land the two of them a day's job playing maids. Charles tries not to spend his earnings. He buys the cheapest food, snatches his sleep in odd corners that are free or close enough. There's a pocket on the inside of his undershorts that he had sewn himself where he keeps his precious money. It's his emergency fund and he fears the day he will have to use it.
"I have two rooms at the Swan Inn."
"Two?" he repeats dumbly.
She tilts her head at him, a look he remembers so well, which clearly indicates he is being thick-headed again.
"You booked a room for me before you even found me?"
"No. I saw you first, and then I booked a second room before I went to your performance." His cheeks flush scarlet at the thought that she had seen him up on the stage acting the fool he knows he actually is. "Your mother gave me the money."
"I see."
"She worries, Charles. She wants you to come home. She would have come herself but she thought I would be better able to persuade you."
The guilt is heavy in his stomach. "I never wanted her to worry."
There is a pause.
"Come get a proper night's sleep in a real bed and make your decision in the morning," she urges.
He regards her earnest face and takes another sip of hot tea to delay his answer. The warmth of the pub and the good food are beginning to affect him. Combined with a sheer weariness over what his life has become, he feels as if he could sleep for a year. He cannot disappoint Elsie. They had been the very best of friends and he cannot bear to see her face if he turns her away and returns to the music hall for the night.
He nods.
They finish the pot of tea and she pays for it, pulls him out of his seat, and leads him along. He is struck by how much stronger and wiser than her years she is - and kind. Elsie Hughes has always been kind, even if she does not tolerate stupidity well. He has been more than stupid, but here she is buying him proper food and offering him a proper room with a bed to sleep in. He does not deserve her friendship.
The Inn is simple, but spotlessly clean, and blissfully quiet. As she leads them up the stairs, he recovers his wits enough to protest for her reputation. "I told them you are my brother," she explains.
The bed is neatly made. On it rests a folded pair of pajamas, a comb, and a toothbrush. "You've grown a bit but I think the pajamas should still fit well enough," she worries her bottom lip with her teeth, watching him. He has to blink away tears that suddenly threaten to fall, simply overwhelmed. "Promise me you'll still be here in the morning. No matter what decision you make, promise me you won't sneak off in the night like a thief."
He startles. Elsie Hughes never begs. Demands, requests, asks - yes. Never begs. "No, I won't" he agrees, no he won't flee, and then realizes he's trapped himself. He will not go back on his word to her, no matter how great his shame or guilt. He will see her in the morning.
She lingers for a moment, watching him, something indefinable in her expression, but finally she bids him goodnight, "I'll see you come morning," and departs for her own room next door.
He unfolds the pajamas, holding them up. They smell like home. He sits heavily on the bed. He wants nothing more than to return to Downton, to pretend this part of his life had never happened, but he is not sure that the village will let him forget, he is not sure he has the strength to face them. Maybe he can borrow some of Elsie's strength. Bloody stubborn Scot, he thinks fondly. She has never been cowed by anything.
He is too tired to think about anything more. He strips and pulls on the pajamas, and then carefully tucks his undershorts with all his money in the hidden pocket underneath the pillow, leaving the rest of his clothes strewn about the floor. With the lights out he crawls under the covers. He could swear the mattress was made of clouds and the sheets of the finest silk. Within seconds he is fast asleep.