The Mistletoe Scheme
Rated: K
Pairings: Carson/Hughes, Clarkson/Isobel (yes, that´s a first)
Disclaimer: It could not be less mine. Julian Fellowes wrote Downton Abbey, which is produced by Carnival Films for ITV Network.
Spoiler: Contains spoilers of season 2 and my theory on who killed Vera Bates. So read at your own risk!
Summary: Basically how Elsie saves Christmas.
Genre: romance/humor
A/N: This story pretends to be all grown up and adult, because as such it can contain an unrestricted amount of words. So yes, I went over the 5000 words limit – not that I assume anyone is counting.
Many thanks to my beta Stuckinpast for proofreading!
My response to the mistletoe challenge. And the prompts are: Kiss under the mistletoe with one half of your ship and another character, A drunken Mrs. Patmore, Chocolate, Peppermint or anything other edible item, a telephone conversation – suggestive or other otherwise, knives, Shakespeare or Dickensian quotation. There were several more, but these are the ones that I used.
He could not imagine a scenario where the preparation's for tonight's Christmas dinner could have gone more disastrously wrong, Charles Carson realized, seething as he overlooked the utter chaos that was usually Downton´s efficient and highly praised kitchen.
Mrs Patmore was slumped in a chair, an occasional hiccup coming from her, her face flushed to a most unbecoming shade of purple, her bonnet dangling from one ear and her hair sticking out like unruly copper spiralled wires. Daisy was hovering over her, wearing a worried expression, swaying slightly herself.
´Are you quite al… alright, Mrs Patmore?´ Daisy inquired, her usually high-pitched voice sounding slightly slurred.
´I´m splendid, dear, absolutely splendid!´ Mrs Patmore bellowed, slapping the kitchen maid jovially on her back, almost breaking her in two. ´The Christmas cheer… hic… has caught on to… hic… me.´
Charles very much felt like pulling this hair out in sheer frustration. The most important night of the year and this catastrophe had happened. The first Christmas after the war, when everything should move like polished gold, restored to its former glory. More than that so – for after months of wallowing in endless guilt and – if one should ask for his opinion, self-pity – Matthew Crawley had finally regained his composure enough to accept an invitation to a Christmas dinner. Rumour had it that his mother had flat out threatened to murder him if he refused and Charles found that his respect and liking for Isobel Crawley had reached a new level. With Lady Mary´s marriage to the Richard Carlisle only two months away it might be the last chance for the highly suffered couple to do the sensible thing.
Apart from that, after a lengthy imprisonment and nerve-wracking trial, Mr Bates had finally been cleared of all the charges laid against him, concerning the death of his first wife. Indeed his mind was still reeling from the shock of finding out that the Dishonourable Evelyn Napier had been the cause of so much mischief. First murdering his friend Kemal Pamuk in cold blood out of sheer envy – not to mention his audacity of doing it inside the dignified walls of Downton Abbey – but also poisoning Vera Bates because she threatened to spill the story, framing Bates in the progress. The trial had been full of surprises to say the least.
At least Mr Bates was a free man now and allowed to enjoy his new-found bliss of being a father to the fullest.
His shock after finding the head housemaid married and pregnant (thankfully in that order) had been another blown to his already much-suffered nerves. It had been Elsie who had taken the girl under her wings, trying to make her as comfortable as possible as her condition progressed, accompanying her to London to visit her husband, guiding the young woman through the trial with a steadfast conviction that everything would be alright. Only to him – in the late hours of the night, safe in his pantry from the ears of the rest of the house, had she conveyed her worry, her fear that things would end in the grim way they appeared to be now. He had been worried and scared with her, trying to ease her distress, but knowing full well that in the end they could only face the storm together, unsure of its outcome.
Thankfully the outcome had been a happy one. And little Maggie – Margaret Elisabeth Bates – had been lucky enough to be held by both her parents only minutes after she was born.
After all these events, one would think the simple case of a drunk cook wouldn´t upset him to this extent. But yet, it did.
´She´s in a real state, isn´t she?´ The slightly more pronounced Scottish accent betrayed an annoyance that probably matched his own and once again he felt an enormous amount of gratitude for her support.
´I believe she hardly remembers her own name,´ he agreed grumbling.
´Well, she´s hardly fit to hold a spoon, let alone cook dinner for a large party,´ the housekeeper stated calmly. ´I think it would be best to get her to bed as soon as possible to sleep off her… indisposition.´
Squaring her shoulders, Elsie walked over to where the cook was siting and took her arm as decisively as she could. ´Come on, Mrs Patmore,´ she stated firmly. ´I think it will best if you turn in early this night.´
As she steered the intoxicated woman passed him, Charles noticed to his dismay that she was leering at him – there was no other word for it – quite lustfully.
´I could do with some company,´ she lisped, eyeing him hungrily.
He stood there, filled with horror, until he heard Elsie´s clipped, more-stern-then-ever (or so he chose to believe) response. ´That´s quite enough, thank you, Mrs Patmore.´
´Well, don´t you think he´s quite a sight to behold?´ The cook swooned.
His shock had just began to wore off when Elsie´s reply startled him to the core of his being.
´Yes, I think he´s absolutely beautiful, but we need to get you in bed now.´
Realizing she was probably just humouring the inebriated woman, Charles released a shaking breath and turned to more pressing matters. How was he going to ensure tonight´s smooth service of the dining room after the disastrous events of the past hour?
He blamed himself mostly. He should have labelled those blasted bottles, so that there would have been no confusion. He should have checked and double-checked them before he handed them over to Mrs Patmore. He should have objected in the first place that she wanted three bottles of cider for a simple bowl.
Instead of three bottles of cider – of a light alcoholic variety - he had given her three bottles of gin. He should have been pleased with her limited knowledge of alcohol, but considering the circumstances, he couldn´t help but wish she had been a little better informed. Never noticing the difference, she had poured three bottles of gin in a fruit bowl that was supposed to be served as a dessert during tonight´s dinner party.
Treating the staff on a cup of bowl that evening after dinner had been her idea as well and he hadn´t thought any harm could come of it. After all, after all the hardships they had endured this past year, they deserved some form of recognition. In retrospect, it had been one of the most ill-judged decisions of his life.
His own duties had kept him detained from dinner, so he hadn´t had a drop. Elsie, as he was told later, was called away from dinner just before dessert was served. Mr and Mrs Bates had decided to forgo the treat, the first because he was still wary of alcohol after the experiences of his past, the latter because she was feeding her daughter. But the rest of the staff had happily tucked in to the rather tasty dessert and so the consequences were severe now. The amount of bowl they had consumed wasn´t enough to leave them completely intoxicated, but they certainly appeared more… giddy then before dinner. He wondered very much if they would be capable of serving the dining table that evening.
Of course, without dishes, there was precariously little to serve. And now that Mrs Patmore had been put to rest to sleep off her stupor the question that very much remained was: who would cook tonight´s Christmas dinner?
Naturally he would serve, as would Anna, who much to his relief had agreed to lend a helping hand. He let his eyes wander over the footmen. Henry, the new boy, was slumped over the table at the servants' hall, unable to sit up straight any longer. He was out, there was no question about it.
Thomas… Thomas would probably be able to serve tonight, but just about. He was still standing, which was more than could be said for some. Unfortunately alcohol didn´t do anything for his already sour personally and as he stood against the wall, watching Daisy´s frantic antics in the kitchen, Charles could see the disdain and indifference drip from his face. If Thomas was to serve tonight he would have to keep a close eye on him.
If there would be anything to serve, of course. For a little while he entertained the thought that Daisy might be able to coordinate the preparations of dinner, but watching her now he realized that would only happen when hell froze over. (Really, when had he taken over Elsie´s sayings?) The kitchen maid was jumping around the kitchen without getting anything done, desperately wringing her hands, looking like she was about to cry, red blots appearing on her cheek and neck.
´Mrs Patmore is safely tucked away,´ the decisive voice announced the return of the housekeeper who, without ceremony knotted an apron around her waist and tucked her hair beneath a bonnet.
´Let´s see what we can do about dinner then!´ she announced while fastening the buttons at the back of the bonnet.
´You are going to cook?´ he asked absolutely flabbergasted.
´Yes, Mr Carson,´ she replied smiling.
´Do you know how to cook?´ he asked, his incredulously not decreasing in the slightest.
´I can´t boil an egg to save my life, but unless you have a better idea?´
Since she admitted freely that she was highly unskilled in culinary matters, he found her optimistic tone rather puzzling.
´Mrs Hughes, may I remind you that the Crawley family will welcome some rather distinguished in less than half an hour,´ he began tersely.
´Again Mr Carson, unless you have a better suggestion? Believe me, I´m all ears.´
He knew when he was defeated. ´Very well,´ he muttered raising his hands. Making his way back into the servant´s hall, he lined up the servants that were more or less capable of performing their duties tonight and double-checked their appearance.
´Very well,´ he began in the firmest voice he could muster. ´We all know that this evening started off as badly as possible, in a manner very unbecoming to the dignified house of Downton.´
Lily, one of the housemaids, giggled uncontrollably, her face flushing bright pink. He stared long and hard at her with scolding eyebrows until she had arranged her face back in an emotionless expression.
´The guests will arrive in twenty minutes and neither them, nor the family must ever know what has happened here tonight. So I rely on your discretion and performance to ensure it doesn´t happen. Lily, Grace and Emily,´ he indicated the housemaids with a nod of his head, ´will post in the hallway to greet the guests, take their coats and direct them to the drawing room. Once the dinner bell has rung and the party is settled in the dining room, Thomas, Anna and myself will serve the courses.´
´Are we going to serve baked air, sir?´ Thomas asked sardonically.
Staring him down took considerable longer then Lily, but at last the footman averted his gaze.
´The preparation of dinner is perfectly under control, thank you,´ he replied gravely. ´Now before you all go, there is one last thing…´ The stench of alcohol coming from his staff had increased during his speech and was now impossible to ignore. Retrieving a brown paper back he handed out handful of mints. ´Do eat them all,´ he urged them, ´and try to speak as little to the guests as possible.´
Once the staff was duly instructed hewent upstairs to assure Lord Grantham that everything downstairs was running smoothly, deciding that a little white lie never hurt anyone. However, his brief conversation with his Lordship provided him with a bit of information that could easily dispel the hard-wrought sense of control in the kitchen. Particularly, it would upset Elsie.
Deep in thought he returned to the kitchen to see how she was faring. The kitchen was a blur of activity and at least he could smell something was cooking.
´Daisy, I find it very hard to believe Mrs Patmore would put chicken in a fish soup!´ Elsie was saying exasperated. ´Think girl, where did she leave the ingredients for the soup?´
´Uhh… I think… I think…´ Daisy was thinking on her feet frantically. ´I think in coldbox where she usually stores the fish.´
´Well then, get it!´ Elsie urged.
But when she made her way over to where Charles was standing she was smiling broadly. ´Everything will be alright,´ she told him reassuringly.
´Really?´ he asked, unable to hide his surprise.
´Yes really,´ she replied, elbowing him in the ribs slightly. ´Have faith, thou who hast little.´
He grinned at her flippancy and felt himself relax slightly for the first time that evening.
´You see,´ she confided in a hushed voice. ´I´m not actually doing any cooking. Mrs Patmore had already prepared most of the meal and the kitchen maids know full well what to do. They just need a little guidance.
´I must say I´m a little relieved to hear that,´ he replied, unable to help himself.
She raised her eyes at him, the corner of her mouth quivering slightly with barely concealed mirth. ´You do realize I have now access to Mrs Patmore´s extensive knife collection, do you?´ She reached out and brushed her fingers across the blade of a particular sharp one.
His smile falling, he realized he still had to inform her about what he´d heard upstairs.
´I was… talking to his Lordship,´ he began hesitantly. ´And I heard that Dr Clarkson will have a female companion this evening.´
´Did he ask Isobel to accompany him?´ she asked, her eyes brightening considerably.
´No…´ he replied, feeling his heart sink. ´No, Mrs Crawley will come together with Mr Crawley. Apparently Dr Clarkson has a female visitor over for Yule.´
´What?´ She whirled around, her eyes blazing with anger and her hand firmly gripping the knife. ´He did what?´
´Elsie… the knife…´ he pointed out carefully. ´Don´t shoot the pianist… I´m only conveying the message.´
´The nerve of him!´ Elsie seethed, while he took the knife from her and gently placedit out of harm´s way.
´Well, there is no understanding between them, so I suppose he is free to invite whom he wants,´ Charles ventured carefully.
´No understanding between them,´ Elsie snorted. ´If he thinks that he´s as blind as a mole and not deserving of her. I cannot believe he´ll bring this companion here and parade her around in front of poor Isobel. After the year she´s had…´
´I think ´poor Isobel´ as you put it, is more than capable of standing her own ground. In fact, this notion has me far more worried at the moment.´
Elsie grabbed the knife again and stepped up to the counter, cooling some of her anger on innocent carrots. ´Well, then I certainly hope Dr Clarkson knows what he´s doing.´
Isobel Crawley breathed in the Christmas splendour of the grand house as she looked around the hall. Elsie had really outdone herself this year. Of course protocol dictated that she complimented Cora on her fine decorations, but she knew it had been the housekeepers careful planning and taste that had brought this about.
She noticed the Christmas cheer was definitely in full swing. Even the servants seemed excited and flustered. And if her eyes didn´t deceive her, Mr Carson had turned into a tuxedo-clad version of Father Christmas, insistently handing out sweets to various members of staff. Never known for steering away from a little madness, she made her way to the drawing room, passing the library as she went along. A familiar voice that made her skin tingle and her heart race could be heard from inside and involuntarily she stopped.
Her friendship with Dr Clarkson – Richard, as she now called him in the privacy of her home or his office, had progressed considerably over the past few months. Something was shimmering between them, she´d recognized the signs weeks ago. The way his eyes lingered on her face, the way he held her hand just a bit longer then was strictly appropriate as they shook hands – and they seemed to be shaking hands an awful lot lately, the way he appeared to be breathing in deeply whenever he brushed passed her in the hospital.
She was not to be outdone either. During the last board meeting she had reduced him to a flustered mess of wrecked nerves by simply brushing her foot across his leg several times – purely by accident of course – and playing eye tag with him all through the meeting. Something was brewing and since the game was as much fun as the reward, she didn´t feel the need to hurry at all.
She was abruptly brought back to the presence as she heard his voice in a one-sided conversation.
´It´s such a shame, my dear. I do hope you´ll be able to arrive here on time.´
´It has been too long, I am very eager to see you again. There is so much I need to tell you.´
´Well, I think this will be a very special Christmas indeed. I don´t think I´ve ever been happier. So do hurry here and make me the happiest man on the planet.´
It took her only a second to realize he was probably on the phone. But who was he talking to? Who was this woman he so desperately wanted to see, who would make him the happiest man on the planet?
Her heart was shattering. It sounded juvenile and melodramatic, but there really was no other way to put it. Her heart was shattering as she realized he had chosen someone else. Blinking furiously she resolved not to cry. She would not give him, or anyone else for that matter to see her crumble.
´Mrs Crawley!´ his sudden voice behind her tested that resolution to the limit, but she swallowed with difficulty and persevered. ´Dr Clarkson,´ she replied, even managing a small smile as she turned around.
His eyes swept over her and widened slightly in appreciation. She had dressed with him in mind, but now she only felt insulted. He took her arm and when before his touch had excited her, it now only managed to made her feel hurt.
´You look remarkable well, Mrs Crawley,´ he complimented her. ´If I may say so.´
´No, you may not!´ she almost snapped at him. But instead she smiled politely and continued walking towards the drawing room, hurrying him along. If he was surprised at her subdued manner, he didn´t show it.
The drawing room was crowded and Isobel wondered irritated why Cora insisted on hosting so many people. Lord Strallan was there, staring wistfully at Edith when he thought she wasn´t looking, while Edith gazed fondly at him the few seconds he did look away.
Richard Carlisle stood directly behind Mary, a bored expression on his face, but his hawk-like eyes following his fiancée's every move. There was something about the man that made Isobel´s skin crawl.
She greeted Cora and Robert, avoided the Dowager Countess and gulped down a glass of punch in one go, propriety be damned. There was a little relief when she found a few moments to chat with Mr and Mrs Branson, although there newly wedded bliss was a little too much to bear.
When Carson appeared in the door she expected him to announce dinner was ready. Instead he announced the arrival of another visitor and upon seeing Richard´s eager face her heart broke just a little more.
´Miss Joanna Clarkson.´
For a wild, ridiculous moment she wondered if he had already married her, but then his voice filled the room. ´Lord and Lady Grantham, it is my pleasure to introduce you to my sister, Miss Joanna Clarkson.´
Relief, glorious, soaring relief swept over her at his words. It was his sister… When Joanna Clarkson had been introduced to her host and hostess, Richard steered his sister towards Isobel with a determined glint in his eyes. ´Mrs Crawley, allow me to introduce you to my sister, Miss Joanna Clarkson. Joanna, this is Mrs Isobel Crawley.´
Joanna extended her hand, grinning broadly and Isobel felt she could have hugged the other woman out of sheer relief.
They chatted amiably for a while, Richard apparently eager on the two woman to like each other and Joanna more than willing to oblige her brother and be amiable. Even if it was to his expense.
´I don´t think there was a time in his life where Richard did not want to be a doctor,´ she told Isobel. ´I think he was nine years old when he opened ´Clarkson´s Wildlife Hospital.´ It was a nice initiative, but with various successes.´
´Really?´ Isobel asked interested, her overactive imagination already conjuring up the images.
´Well, there was the time Richard tried to cure a rat…´ Joanna started. Isobel´s curiosity grew when she noticed Richard rolling his eyes and growing increasingly more uncomfortable.
´You really have to tell that story?´ he asked gruffly.
Ignoring him completely, Joanna continued. ´The rat was dead to begin with. There was is no doubt whatever about that. The rat was as dead as a doornail. And yet Richard was convinced he could revive it, if only he administered the proper care. And where better rest a death rat then in your elder sister´s bed?´
´You never did!´ Isobel exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at Downton´s well-respected doctor who had the good grace to blush.
´He very much did,´ Joanna interjected drily. ´I think I screamed the house down that evening. Father insisted no more animal care was to be provided in the house and I was given a doll, so in the end it was all resolved rather nicely.
Isobel eyed him with a definite fondness. As disastrous as his approach had been, there was a certain lovable quality to it. Very lovable in fact. He held her gaze, not averting his eyes for a moment as Joanna Clarkson rattled on.
´Of course , three years later he was more successful when he rescued and mended a seagull with a broken wing. I think the day he set it free, fully healed and able to fly again was the proudest day of his life.´
The room seem to fade away. Only the two of them excited. She stared into his blue eyes, seeing nothing but adoration and desire in them, causing her cheeks to flame and her heart to flutter.
´It´s rather warm in here, isn´t it?´ she managed eventually when she realized she had to say something.
´Perhaps you should step out on the terrace and get some fresh air,´ Joanna suggested smiling.
The guests had left, the family had retired and the dining room and drawing room had returned to their usual pristine state.
Against all odds dinner had turned out to be a success and despite the unbeatable confidence she had displayed all evening, Elsie couldn´t help but to breathe a sigh of relief.
´All well that ends well,´ a soft voice spoke next to her and she turned around smiling.
´You can say that again, Mr Bates. It was quite the evening.´
´I wouldn´t have want to miss it for the world,´ his voice was soft, but there was underlying hint of hurt in it and Elsie understood how heavily the anguish and trouble of the past year still weighted him down.
´It´s all in the past now,´ she consoled him gently. ´You are home and you have a remarkable wife and a beautiful daughter. You have been cleared of all charges and Vera can never harm you or your family again.´
The smile began slowly, but gradually seemed to fill his entire face. ´You are right,´ he replied softly. ´Of course you are, Mrs Hughes. And now that I have the opportunity, I would like to thank you for everything you´ve done for me and especially for Anna all those months I was in prison…´ he choked up slightly, but continue to stare earnestly at her.
´Oh really…´ she started, feeling incredibly touched and awkward at the same time. ´It was nothing…´
´It wasn´t nothing…´ he interrupted her. ´It meant a great deal to us…´ his eyes strayed away from her face and upwards and as she followed his gaze she chuckled lightly. Her ladyship had insisted on introducing an American tradition to the household and as such branches of mistletoe, held together by a red ribbon hung everywhere across the house.
An amused smile caused the corners around his eyes to crinkle and carefully he leaned closer and kissed her softly on the cheek. ´Thank you for what you did… for the three of us.´
The tears in her eyes were now close to spilling over and she blinked furiously, grinning and blushing like a fool. ´You´re welcome,´ she managed eventually, too overcome to say anything more intelligent. She watched him walk away, leaning far less heavily on his cane then he did when he had first come to Downton over seven years ago, still trying very hard to get her emotions under control.
Leaning against wall of the hallway leading up to the drawing room she felt his presence next to her before she even had to look.
´Should I be worried about this display of affection?´ he rumbled darkly. But she could hear the humour in his voice.
Raising her eyes to meet his, she wiped her face and shook her head. ´No,´ she whispered quietly. ´Not at all.´
´You´ve performed a small miracle tonight,´ he told her softly, after a few moments of silence.
´Why, thank you,´ she answered with a smile, thinking this night certainly seemed to be designed to boast her ego. ´I´m glad everything went well.´
´As am I,´ he agreed solemnly.
´Although…´ she frowned, catching his eyes again. ´How is Isobel doing? Who was that companion Dr Clarkson insisted to bring?´
´Oh…´ he started, grinning down at her with an air of harbouring a great secret. ´You´ll be surprised at that…´
´Tell me…´ she asked curiously as she fell in step besides him while they made their way downstairs.
´The mysterious companion turned out to be Dr Clarkson´s sister,´ Charles started, his fatigue leaving him as he watched the animated face of the woman beside him. ´You would have liked her – she is a law unto herself.´
´At one point she came up to me and asked me in hushed tones if there was mistletoe outside on the terrace and if not if I could ensure that there was.´
´And did you?´ Elsie asked.
´I live to serve,´ he deadpanned, earning a giggle from the woman next to him. ´Somehow she managed to convince Dr Clarkson and Mrs Crawley to enjoy a bit of fresh air outside and they stayed on the terrace for the good part of half an hour.´
´Really!´ Elsie exclaimed, looking rather pleased.
´So I think it is safe to conclude your friend has managed to secure Dr Clarkson´s affections beyond the shadow of a doubt.´
´That´s just wonderful.´ Elsie answered happily. ´And to think we have Miss Clarkson to thank for it. Did she enjoy the rest of the evening?´
´She fell into conversation with the Dowager Countess,´ Charles answered, his voice as sober as ever. ´I suppose they´ve been swapping tactics on scheming all evening.´
They had reached his pantry and he turned to face her once more. ´I meant what I said earlier, Elsie,´ he said seriously. ´You have saved the Christmas dinner tonight. Truly, I don´t know what I would have done without you.´
´You´d be obliged to let them starve,´ she answered – just saying the first thing that came to her mind, his praise making her a tad uncomfortable. ´Say Charles… you never had a taste of that bowl, did you?´
´No!´ he exclaimed. ´And I´m glad I didn´t. What a disastrous excuse of a dessert that was´
´Well actually…´ she started mischievously. ´Even though it could take down a horse, it was rather tasty and I didn´t have the heart to throw it away, so I hid in one of the cupboards… so if you like, I could fetch the both of us a cup… just to celebrate the happy outcome?´
He pretended to deliberate on his answer a bit, but once he had assured himself that all the staff had gone to bed he nodded. ´Considering the circumstances, a little celebration toast seems to be in order.´ His eyes strayed away from her and focused on something above their heads.
´Will you look at that?´ he asked indignantly.
She followed his gaze and sighed deeply. ´Oh Daisy… I´m afraid she rather caught on to her Ladyship´s enthusiasm for mistletoe. She´s hung springs of it all over the house.´
´I see…´ he answered a little absent-mindedly.
When she looked back at him she noticed he was eyeing her rather intensely.
´I truly don't know what I would do without you,´ he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
´Charles…´ she began. But she had no idea how to finish, the way he was looking at her proving to be rather distracting. ´I´m not going anywhere,´ she eventually offered rather lamely.
He didn´t appear to hear her, his attention solely focused on her mouth, while hers wavered from the way his hands slipped around her waist to the way his lips seemed to inch closer towards her every second.
Once they brushed against hers though all her attention seemed to be guided by impulse only. As she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him she was aware of nothing else but him.
Not even the tiny squeak coming from the servant´s hall could divert her attention.
Beryl Patmore was sitting in her bed, stone sober and bored out of her brains. She perked up a little when the door to her room opened and Daisy bopped in, an excited expression on her face.
´Well?´ the cook asked anxiously.
´I caught them kissing underneath the mistletoe,´ Daisy squeaked happily.
´Which one?´ Beryl demanded to know.
´The one above his pantry,´ Daisy replied with a dreamy sigh.
´Good!´ Beryl said firmly, leaning back in her pillows. ´At least all this wasn´t for naught.´
´You didn´t really hate it, did you, Mrs Patmore?´ Daisy asked, her face falling.
´Hate it?´ Beryl repeated, her always quick temper raising again. ´What do you think? I had to ruin a perfectly good dessert, pretended to be intoxicated myself, pretended to make a pass at Mr Carson, right under Elsie Hughes´ nose, be escorted to my rooms, forsake my kitchen on the most important night of the year and lose you for the good part of the afternoon to hung that blasted weed everywhere so that those two thunderheads could finally get it on! Believe me, I did not enjoy one single second of it!´
´Well, at least it worked,´ Daisy offered rather timidly.
´Hmpf…´ came the unconvinced reply. ´Was there at least any of that bowl left?´
´No… ´ Daisy wailed, wringing her hands again. ´I tried to hold something back for you, but all of a sudden the whole pan was gone… I don´t know what happened!´
Disgruntled, Beryl pulled her pillows down and wrapped the sheets around her. Being a Samaritan was a very ungrateful business indeed!
Merry Christmas everyone!