A./N.: Hello everybody. This is my first Downton Abbey story, so please be kind. It's a little scene I experienced with my own grandmother. If you would like to read more, please drop me a review.

Disclaimer: I own only the plot but not the characters. No infringement intended, only entertainment.

Surrogate Mother

Elsie Hughes regretted only one thing in her life. That one thing stood out like a sore thumb in her otherwise pleasant life. When at first her mother had questioned her decision to enter service as a housemaid, Elsie had laughed off her concerns.

"Ye dunno that ye never'll marry and have bairns of yer own," her mother had said, eyeing her appraisingly.

"Oh mother, I don't wanna spend me life like ye … trapped on a farm birthing bairn after bairn and losing half of them because I canna feed them." There was enough truth in her words to sting and she could see tears forming in her mother's eyes.

"And what will you do when ye find a man ye're fond of enough to change yer mind?"

"I don't want a husband and children, mother. I want to be my own mistress," Elsie's words were determined and final, but her mother couldn't help to voice her doubts once more before giving up on her stubborn daughter.

"Ye say so now, but every woman carries the desire to have bairns in the depth of her heart."

Now many years later – when it was too late – Elsie finally understood the wisdom of her mother's words. It was true, she had to admit that to herself, as painful as it was, that she regretted never having borne children of her own. She was forever reduced to be the surrogate mother of her charges downstairs and of the one motherless child upstairs. The one currently sobbing in her arms, utterly exhausted but teething and the pain kept little Sybil awake. Elsie walked to and fro with her in her arms, trying to sooth her and lulling her into sleep. She had tried everything she could think of by now. But nothing had worked so far. Not the Brandy (she had begged Mr Carson for it, making it clear it wasn't for consummation) she had rubbed on Sybil's gum. Not the rocking and soothing noises. Not the warm milk. Nothing!

It was frustrating.

And yet she didn't scold the little girl. It wasn't her fault and it hurt her more than it hurt Elsie seeing the girl in distress.

But her legs were getting too heavy to keep walking (she had a job that required a lot of running hither and nether) and she thought, she better sit before they give way under her. Stumbling over to Tom's bed, she sat down heavily (to hell with rumbling the sheets, she can do it up later again) and slumped back until she lay on her back with Sybil sprawled over her stomach and chest. The child was still sniffling wetly, her face being rubbed into Elsie's bosom to somehow alleviate the pain. For a moment Elsie thought her mind was playing her tricks, but then Sybbie moved against her some more and she felt it again. As the infant moved against her breast, rubbing her cheek and face and nose into her bosom, Elsie felt it grow heavy and a deep ache settle in it. Instantly she felt fear overtaking her – what if the Doctor had been wrong and it really was cancer? But then again it was in both breasts and not just in her left one. When it finally hit her, Elsie had the sudden urge to sob her heart out.

Over the years she had closed off her heart. She had learned that a professional distance was essential for her sanity in her profession. The people she worked with were her colleagues and not her children … as much as they were acting like ones most of the time. Some had breached her walls; Anna, William … Mr Carson … no, Charles, she always thought of him as Charles never as Carson the Butler. From the family upstairs only Lady Sybil had jumped the fence and been closer to her than any other. As a small child she had often come down to visit Elsie and be comforted by her. It was as close to having a child on her own as was possible. She had been blessed with many moments Lady Grantham would have had a right to as the girl's mother. This situation now was wholly different, though. For the first time in her life Elsie understood 'maternal instinct' and how a woman's body reacted to a child. Lady Sybil had been three and toddling about, already weened, but her daughter was now searching the only comfort she knew about, and Elsie was wholly unprepared to find her body willing but unable to give that comfort.

"I am sorry, lass," she whispered hoarsely, kissing the girl's head and snuggling her closer to her body. Thinking quickly, Elsie came up with something she could offer instead. Softly she began to sing a Scottish lullaby her own mother had often sung to her and her sister.

After a while the song had an effect; Sybbie began to quieten and her small body relaxed against Elsie. The sleepy weight of the baby and the memory of her mother singing to her worked in tandem to send Elsie into a state of relaxation. Her eyes drooped shut and her breathing evened out. Soon she was fast asleep, her arms securely wrapped around the small bundle on her torso.