Chapter One- Tinkerbell

December 1902

Elsie Hughes approached the kitchen with caution. It was well past midnight. Strange lights flickered as she reached the door. He was huddled over a small spirit lamp at the sink. She observed him for a while from the doorway and smiled.

Things were good between them now, though they'd gone through an awkward patch late in the summer. They had both been overly familiar during the whole bicycle fiasco and had over corrected their behavior. She had pulled back from him, never instigating any late night meetings and determined to turn down any offers. But there had been no offers of tea or wine after a long day. He had withdrawn from her as well.

They had muddled through August being civil but not friendly to one another. It had been a painful month and Elsie had begun to wonder if she'd made the right decision to remain at Downton, but then something had changed. Elsie didn't know what it was, but one day, he smiled at her at breakfast and she smiled back. He had poured her tea and asked if she had a moment to spare that evening to discuss some personnel changes that would accompany His Lordship's return. And, just like that, they were friends again; comfortable sharing a quiet sip of wine in the evenings and sharing the burdens of their work.

Thankfully, the teasing had returned too, though it was more guarded and there was perhaps less innuendo than before. "What are you doing, Mr. Carson? Mrs. Patmore said you were burning things in here and I did not believe her."

If she startled him, he did not show it. "What do you think, Mrs. Hughes?" He sprinkled something into the tall, thin chimney globe of his lamp. Bright yellow flecks sparkled and sparked to fill the glass with dancing light. He smiled proudly.

"Before I answer, might I ask what you are trying to accomplish?"

"I am trying to make a believable Tinkerbell."

She was not sure her hearing was working properly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson. It sounded like you said 'tinker bell'. What is that exactly?"

"She's a character from the story I am going to read with the young ladies. She's a fairy." He looked confused. "Or a sprite. I am not sure there is a difference."

"It has been a while since I was a wee lass who followed such stories, but I believe all fairies are sprites, but not all sprites are necessarily fairies."

He laughed, "It was a rhetorical question, Mrs. Hughes, but I am not surprised to find you have an answer."

"Oh, you'll find I've an answer for nearly everything, Mr. Carson. Except exactly what you are doing. And so, we are back to my original question."

"I want it to look as though I have a fairy trapped in this lamp. I've heard that you can burn different salts or granules to get an interesting reaction from the flame." He was not about to mention where he had heard this little bit of information. As far as he knew, she had no idea of his life on stage. Now if he could only remember exactly what the magician had told him. "I've been trying different materials, but I've narrowed it down to four. Which do you think looks more like a fairy?"

He took up some powder from a small dish. The flame burst and popped a lovely, yellowish green. "One?"

"Not bad. What was that?"

"Borax."

"You've been raiding the laundry?"

"I didn't take much." He assured her. "Now, two." He repeated his earlier action, using a different source. The light was brighter and almost pure white. It seemed harsh amongst the usual gas light of the kitchen.

"That's pretty impressive."

"Epsom salt." He answered her unasked question.

"Have you tried smelling salts?" She offered, enjoying the game now.

"Yes. And there is a reason they are so named. I'll not subject you, or the girls, to that." He winced at the memory of ammonia burning his nostrils.

"And table salt?"

"That was the one when you came in; the orange one. Now, what about this one?" His tone told her that she was supposed to like this one best. She hoped she could oblige him.

A strange, violet, almost white light flickered through the kitchen.

She was glad that she would not have to lie to him. "Oh. That's the one, Mr. Carson. Whatever is it?"

"It's a mixture of my own making; potash and salt peter." He boasted.

"Salt Peter? Are you trying to blow up the nursery?"

"Of course not. Actually the gun powder was pretty good on its own, but the sulfur was too pungent."

"And what exactly is pot ash and how did you procure it?

"Mr. Jarvis has been experimenting by adding it to the manure on some of the farms. It's supposed to be a source of Potassium for the crops. I don't really know anything about it, but it burns something lovely, doesn't it?"

"It does make a lovely light, Mr. Carson." She smiled at his obvious delight and pride. This was the unguarded side of Charles Carson that he saved only for the girls. Sometimes she was lucky enough to catch the edges of it.

"Well, that's decided. I think I shall sleep very soundly tonight. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." He swept the remains of his experiment into the sink and washed them down.

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Carson. Good night, Mr. Carson."

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

She smiled as she climbed the stairs to bed. Silly goose. Just when she thought she had him figured, he was still able to find ways to surprise her.

TBC

Disclaimer: Kids, don't try burning stuff at home. Adults, do whatever you want.

A/N- I have moved the original production of Peter Pan up two years. I began with faulty research, but enjoyed this story so much, I choose to ignore reality. The book that first introduced Peter Pan, 'Little White Bird', was published in 1902, which is how I got my years wrong. But there are no pirates in Peter's adventures in 'Little White Bird' so I'm sticking with the play. My apologies to anyone who cringes at anachronisms as much as I do. I feel your pain, but it was easier to move Peter Pan than it was to move the Second Boer War.