On The Feast Of Stephen
Elsie stood by the tiny window, almost on tiptoe to see out, her fingers almost white as she pressed them against the glass as she watched the snow, the flakes falling as a curtain, crisp and white against the black sky. It was still early, before dawn, and the great house had a stillness about it, creaking pipes and the distant sound of kitchen maids tiptoeing along the corridor the only accompaniment to her moment of indulgence.
It took her back to her childhood, to Christmases on the farm when she would trudge through the snow to gather the cows; to those few minutes when she was allowed to be a child. While the boys were indulging in snow ball fights and building snowmen out of the slushy snow she would lie on the ground and flap her arms, staring at the last of the stars as she created perfect angels. Finally, almost half frozen, she would jump to her feet, herding the cows back to the milking parlour, running and slipping in the snow as she tried to warm up. Sometimes she longed for those days, for her innocence and her freedom, but then she remembered what she had now, the life she had devoted herself too and it all seemed like someone else's life.
With one last lingering look at the snow, a final image of her mother on the doorstep holding a steaming mug of milk, she gave a deep sigh and set about preparing herself for the day ahead.
-0-0-
"Good morning, Mr Carson," she said with a smile as she peered in through the open doorway to his pantry. Her eyes briefly scanned the room, taking in everything before he rose and commanded her attention. The curtains were drawn, the fire already burning, the ledgers carefully stacked at the corner of his desk and she knew without asking that he had been up for sometime, the reason for his early rising no doubt very different to her own.
Charles glanced up from his book, a small smile forming on his lips. "Good morning, Mrs Hughes." He rose to his feet, leaning forward slightly in an almost bow, adjusting the waistcoat that barely covered his broad chest. "I see we're both getting an early start."
Elsie took a small step into his room, crossing the threshold finally. "I couldn't sleep," she offered by way of explanation, knowing he wouldn't pry further. There would be no point in telling him that she had been watching the snow, remembering snow angels and cocoa from her childhood. He would only find her frivolous. "I was going to make some tea, would you like some?"
He nodded, acknowledging that his few minutes of reading had become an hour, and that he was actual parched. "I would. Maybe one of the kitchen maids could fetch us some."
"They have enough to do. I'll make it." In truth she liked to do little things for him, for them. She had never had a husband, he had never had a wife, their friendship was as close to domestication that either of them would ever come. Now and then, when he was so inclined he did kind, simple acts for her too, and she appreciated each and every one, and she hoped he accepted her gestures in kind.
"And we can take it here together. The family won't be awake for a few hours and the maids are going to be occupied," Charles announced, moving around the desk to rest against it. "Maybe we can sit by the fire." When he had woken after too few hours sleep he had been chilled to the bone, the fire while frivolous seemed a necessity on this morning if he was to get anything done. It didn't escape his notice that she was almost white with cold, her dress too thin for the time of year. A few minutes and a little heat would, he hoped, bring colour to her cheeks.
Elsie turned to leave, her smile widening as a thought occurred to her. "Would you like me to make some toast?" She heard the groan rather than caught the face he pulled. "I'll take that as a no."
"You know how I feel about that damn contraption," he grumbled. "Besides Mrs Patmore will be starting breakfast shortly. I wouldn't want to upset her."
"That'll be a no to a couple of shortbread fingers then too," Elsie commented with a light teasing tone, one eyebrow arched as she turned to look at him.
He shrugged nonchalantly. "I think I might be able to manage one or two."
"Or three or four, knowing you," she muttered under her breath as she crossed the hallway to the kitchen.
Charles pushed himself away from the desk and moved to the drafty window that overlooked the courtyard, although overlooked was a slight exaggeration. His view was of ground level and the legs of the bench where Thomas liked to sit on his break. This particular morning his view consisted of a good three inches of snow which had built up against the pane over night.
He let out a deep groan as he considered what the sudden turn in weather would mean for the house. There would of course be positives to the situation; Mrs Crawley and the Dowager would most likely stay at home so there would be two less guests for dinner. However it also meant that the family would be less likely to venture outside the house. Whilst they enjoyed a walk, even over a snow covered estate, the young women were unlikely to venture out while it was still falling quite so heavily; designer gowns and delicate heels were hardly practical for such conditions. Trapped inside the family would get bored and require constant attention which meant more work for the maids and Mrs Hughes. Then, with the family all in attendance, his Lordship would want a formal luncheon. Well, he mused as he continued to stare at the blur of white, his mother had always told him there was no rest for the wicked, and heaven knows some of the staff had been bordering on that of late.
"You look like you're miles away," she said softly. She had entered the room as quietly as she could so not as to disturb him but found herself watching him, feeling almost guilty for intruding and she had to say something.
"It's still snowing," he commented, turning from the window and moving to take the tray, swatting her hands away when she protested. "I was just thinking . . ."
"That we're in for a busy day," she finished for him.
He nodded, as he placed the tray on the small side table. "And a long one. I'll get one of the hall boys to exercise Isis, keep him from under foot."
Elsie settled herself in one of the two formal chairs and smoothed down her dress. "Make sure he has a few old towels handy. I don't want the flipping thing treading snow all through the house."
"And I thought you had a soft spot for him," he teased, pouring steaming hot tea into two cups.
"I think you'll find, Mr Carson, that as much as some things, and people, may annoy me, I still have a soft spot for them," she offered, meeting his eyes and taking the proffered cup of tea. The heat from the fire was starting to move up through her body, banishing the aches and pains and she relaxed a little.
"Useful to know," he replied, smiling a little, bringing his cup to his lips as a bell rang down the corridor.
Elsie moved to stand and he waved her down, "Stay where you are, drink your tea. I'll take care of it." It wouldn't be the last time it rang, he was sure, and he didn't see any point her attending to whatever the problem was when he had been up for hours. She was just starting to have a healthy glow about her and he thought she might need a few more minutes. "I'll attend to whatever it is and be back." Charles took one step then turned and grabbed a biscuit from the plate before heading back down the corridor.
