This idea/ story has been written before and it has been written well. 713's wonderful Doors comes to mind, as does AussieGirl41's legendary Cottageverse. Kouw's lovely Umpire should be mentioned as well and only recently partiallyyours started her fantastic story Getting used to it. If you haven't read either of these stories, you should do so. They are gems. I'm sure there are countless others that I've forgotten but loved no less than the ones I've mentioned.
Still, I wanted to try my hand at the idea of Charles and Elsie's retirement as well and hope I've found a somewhat new approach. I'm rather excited about my first multi-chapter fic for this wonderful fandom.
My most sincere thanks goes once again to Kouw who provided valuable feedback and improvements. She spent a week beta-ing what I had already written while I was vacationing in Ireland. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Scenes from a Marriage
Elsie Carson looked out of her little kitchen window, sighing deeply as she surveyed the pitiful state of her back garden. She had had such high hopes for the little patch of green behind the cottage – before she had realized that she despised working outdoors. She should have known she would. She had never been very enthusiastic about helping at her parents' farm but she had naively imagined that it would be different once it was her own piece of land. Once her survival didn't depend on the success of the harvest.
But after a few half-heartedly planted flower beds and the realization that weed was something you were never likely to get rid of in its entirety, her enthusiasm had waned. She still took care of it from time to time (God knew Charles wouldn't roll up his sleeves to dig through the dirt) but the garden remained a farcry from what she had envisioned.
Just like retirement had remained a farcry from her glorious fantasies.
It had happened hastily, painfully and in an altogether undignified manner.
Considering the facts objectively she knew that she couldn't really blame the family; in current economic times their hands had been tied. She had seen the shimmer of tears in Lady Mary's eyes when she had told her staunchest supporter that the estate could no longer employ a staff that consisted of a butler and an under-butler. She hadn't asked him to retire, had left the sentence hanging but it was clear what she expected him to do.
So he had stepped down, had cleared the field for a younger man. To add insult to injury this younger man was no one else but Mr. Barrow. It had hurt him, she had seen it.
Maybe that was why when they had reconvened in her sitting room later that night after the announcements had been made, she had mentioned the possibility of retiring with him. In her more self-aware moments she realized that she had practically asked him to marry her.
He had only briefly been shocked by her proposal before exclaiming that it seemed like a sensible idea for her to join him in retirement. Less and less houses in Britain still employed housekeepers. A head-housemaid and an additional maid – both cheaper and ideally no long-term employments – could do the job just as well.
Sensible. How she hated the word. Had hated it then and hated it now. There was nothing sensible about her feelings. She still had her job two months ago. What she did not have at that point was the reassurance that he would manage on his own, without the family, without tradition to uphold.
But he had managed retirement well. Much better than she or anyone else could have predicted. Much better than she had managed.
She was still in the kitchen when he returned from that day's excursion into the village. She was putting the final touches to their dinner. Stew. Again.
While she wasn't a bad cook per se, she lacked the creativeness and inventiveness Beryl Patmore showed in her cooking. She didn't like to experiment with different ingredients and flavours, mainly because two of her attempts at doing so had hastily been discarded into the garbage can before Charles had had the chance to notices what an inedible mess she had created. Mrs. Patmore's time for instruction was limited, so Elsie mainly stuck to those dishes she was comfortable with – stew being one of them.
She picked up the serving dish and headed towards the small room in the back, which they had converted into a dining room – only to find him redoing the way she had set the table. She grabbed the bowl tighter in annoyance. She didn't think he actually noticed what he was doing. Setting a table properly had been part of him for so long that he didn't think twice about correcting something he considered to be done wrongly. Still, it left her with this nagging feeling of inadequateness, of being assessed and found wanting.
She put down the stew with more force than strictly necessary, nearly spilling it. Her behaviour earned her a set of raised eyebrows, which quickly returned to their original position upon observing the look of displeasure on her face.
"Is anything wrong?" he asked tentatively, never quite sure what he may have done wrong, how to read the woman that was now sharing his life.
"No, I was just a little clumsy, that's all," she replied, taking a deep breath to control her temper.
They ate their meal in silence before he spoke up again. "This is really good, thank you."
A feeling of warmth spread through her and she felt guilty about having been annoyed with him earlier. He really was the most complacent man. So far he hadn't complained about her unvaried meal plan, had always eaten everything she had cooked and had always made sure to thank her for preparing the meal. He probably didn't feel the need to protest because the only other dish Elsie Carson felt comfortable with was apple tart (No one, especially not him, needed to know just how many attempts it had taken her to create the perfect crust. How many cries of frustration the kitchen walls had had to swallow. But he loved apple tart and therefor she had kept at it, not stopping until it had been absolutely perfect).
"How was your day?" she inquired softly.
"Quite well, thank you. I'm still surprised how many people value my opinion." He seemed truly baffled by how many local merchants had come to ask for his expertise. It didn't surprise her; she knew how helpful and capable he was. What surprised her though, was the easiness with which Charles Carson had transcended into a life of leisure, while she had so much trouble with it.
She was just about to reply when he suddenly put his cutlery down.
"That reminds me, I've got you something. Mr. Williams had it in his store and he praised it so warmly and all the women in the shop agreed so I thought you should try it as well." He knew he was rambling but he couldn't help himself. He suddenly felt rather nervous about his purchase. He quickly walked to the entrance where he had put the large carton and then returned with it, carefully placing it in her lap. She looked at the parcel and back to him in confusion before carefully opening it. He sat back down and watched her in eager anticipation of her reaction.
"What is it?" she asked, examining the appliance in her hand.
"It's an electric hairdryer. I know how much time it takes you to get your long hair to dry and I thought this might make it easier for you. Mr. Williams said that it unfortunately is a little heavy and you need to pay attention to avoid overheating but it should save you a lot of time." He felt insecure, once again not able to read her strange reaction to his gift. She stared at the hairdryer with an indescribable look on her face, her hands were grabbing it so tightly her knuckles turned white, her bottom lip was furiously being bitten upon.
"I can take it back if you don't like it. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It was meant to help. I'm sorry." He should have known better. A woman like Elsie Hughes didn't appreciate such unwarranted gestures. She could take care of herself and he'd do well to remember that. He lowered his head in contrition. He heard her put the hairdryer on the table before she pushed her chair back and got up. His shoulders slumped a little.
It came as a surprise when he suddenly felt her hand cup his cheek. He looked up and was met with her tearful eyes.
"This is the most thoughtful gift. Thank you," she whispered softly before pressing an almost reverent kiss to his cheek. He was captivated by her. He put his hand against hers on his cheek and gave it the gentlest squeeze.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when she finally pulled back and smirked down on him.
"You do realize that you have wilfully brought a modern electrical appliance into this house, don't you?" she teased.
He sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes twinkling merrily. "A wise woman once told me that it was time to live a little. I'm simply following her orders."
Her delighted laughter rang through the cottage.
So that was the first chapter. As always, reviews are very much appreciated. You cannot know how much they mean to me. The next five chapters are written and beta-ed and should be up soon.