Set during the Christmas Special, but contains no spoilers. Written for the 'love letter' challenge on the LJ lovebelowstairs comm.
Elsie was relaxed into her parlour's small settee when a sharp knock suspended her quiet peace.
"Come in," she said with a sigh, struggling to sit upright and straighten her back for her visitor. So much for the time off at Christmas, she thought.
The door opened to reveal Mr Carson. "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mrs Hughes," he said as a greeting.
"Of course not," she said in a soothing tone, quickly waving him in and gesturing towards the other end of the settee as an invitation for him to join her.
He somehow lowered his lofty frame into the chair, his knees positioned awkwardly, too high to be comfortable. Upon them he rested a plainly wrapped package.
"I see you were testing out your gift from the family," he remarked pleasantly.
She picked up the bottle of toilet water lying in her lap. Removing the small silver stopper from the bottle's neck, she offered him an assessment.
He took an experimental sniff. "Lavender; my favourite."
"Really?" she teased the usually austere butler.
"Yes. It's a sensible fragrance, don't you think?"
"I'm not sure," she replied, vague. Sensible wasn't exactly the usual way to describe a scent... Or the most romantic.
"It's not too sweet, or cloying," he added with a small smile.
"No. And I suppose that is a sensible thing for a woman in my situation," she conceded sadly, returning the bottle to the table behind her to join the other gifts from the Crawleys: an embroidered handkerchief, a small prayer book and a pincushion.
"There is one gift you missed," Mr Carson said once she'd turned back to him.
He held out the present he'd been balancing on his legs.
"The family-" she started, but he shook his head.
"Father Christmas," he murmured.
She lifted her eyebrows.
"Open it," he encouraged.
She took the package, held it up to her ear and gently shook it.
"Don't break it," he warned, his most serious tone making her startle and look to the expression on his face, where she gratefully only caught a twinkle of mirth dancing in his eyes.
She smiled, and then slid the brown paper and string off the gift, uncovering a box with a F. W. Woolworth and Co. logo stamped upon it.
"You got this in London?" she asked, running her fingers over the box, its contents still a mystery due to the generalised goods available at that store.
"I didn't purchase it anywhere, Mrs Hughes. Father Christmas is the one who has magical connections with all the leading department stores."
"Mr Carson, when did you ever get to be so affected by the spirit of the season," she gently chided.
"You'd be surprised, Mrs Hughes," he whispered.
Chewing on her bottom lip, Elsie flipped open the box's lid.
"Writing paper?" she breathed. The box also held a neat pile of envelopes, all a pretty pale shade of yellow.
"Perhaps Father Christmas hopes you will start to correspond with your sister on a more regular basis."
She sniffed, tracing her finger along the floral border embossed onto the paper. It was a most feminine design, a scattering of purple and yellow wildflowers: foxglove and primrose and orchids and broom and thrift. All flowers from her childhood in Scotland.
"I don't know what to say... Or am I quite sure how to thank you, Mr Carson."
"I'm quite sure you never listen to a word I say anymore, Mrs Hughes," he grumbled with a gruff tone. "The gift was found beneath the tree, clearly marked 'to Mrs Hughes, from Father Christmas'."
And with those stern words, he rose, as usual still managing to look graceful despite his size.
"Well, I'd better be off," he announced. "Let you have some time alone before the family once again makes demands on your time."
She scrambled to her feet when she realised he'd already stepped through her doorway's threshold.
"Mr Carson!"
He met her gaze. Her heart thumped uncontrollably in her chest, and her mind whirled, robbing her of whatever practical remarks she was intending to utter.
"Happy Christmas, Mr Carson," she finally managed.
He allowed his hand to rest on her arm for the briefest moment, squeezing gently. "Happy Christmas, Mrs Hughes," he said in return.
She watched his rigid back as he walked along the hallway towards his pantry. Suddenly, he stopped, turned around, and took the couple of steps needed to be once again by her side.
"Mr Carson?" she prompted, uncertain.
"Perhaps, Mrs Hughes, Father Christmas is also hinting that you could correspond with the other members of staff when they are required to travel to London with the family."
She blinked. A decadent thought of him reading her intimate longings, indulgently written for his amusement and gratification, flashed through her mind.
"I don't know...the London housekeeper could..."
He leaned forward as she stammered, and spoke directly into her ear, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. "You could always add the tiniest trace of lavender water onto the envelope," he suggested. Although his words were innocent, she flushed as if he was proposing some sort of immoral tryst.
As she sagged against the door frame, he stepped back and again held her gaze. Finally, after what seemed like a million years to her, he gave a faint nod and retreated into the sanctuary of his pantry.
Slowly, she closed her parlour door, but found herself immediately retrieving her fountain pen.
Selecting the top piece of the writing paper, she settled into her settee and rested the prettily patterned page against one of her housekeeping journals.
Dear M, she wrote, and then paused.
After a long moment of thought, she placed the pen to the paper and carefully altered the last letter she'd written until it became a 'C'.
Smiling, she finished her opening phrase: Dear Charles.