Today I ran across this little story that I think I wrote back in December (pre-CS). I'm not sure why I never posted it. I think I just forgot about it somehow.
They'd been married and retired three years now and she'd told him everything - all of her secrets from Downton. It took some time, first for her to be convinced that he wouldn't march right to the Abbey and tell Lord Grantham everything he didn't know about what was happening in his own house, second for some of the secrets to be old enough that she was breaking no confidence that was still meaningful, and third for her to remember them all. She had been keeping secrets for so many years that she did not recall them all right away. Rather, she told him as they came to her, in fits and starts. The most difficult secrets were the easiest to remember, but what was not painful took longer. He, on the other hand, had kept only one secret from her during his time as butler. This one was both difficult to keep and difficult to tell. It was a happy secret, however, and if he had known just how wonderful it would be when he finally revealed it, he might have told her much sooner. It may have been a bit delayed by some standards, but he never did anything that important halfheartedly, so when he was ready, he managed to sweep his very calm and practical wife off her feet.
It was the fourth dance at the Servants' Ball. He could never displace Lady Grantham, the dowager, or Mrs. Crawley without causing an incident, but once he had done his duty by those three ladies, he promptly presented himself to the housekeeper and asked her to dance for the first time since they had known each other. His intense expression would have made refusal impossible for almost any woman, but this one was already susceptible to his charms so she was in his arms within seconds. They didn't speak, nor did they break eye contact, for the entirety of the song, after which he whispered in her ear a request for a few minutes of her time after the Ball ended. Once again, there were many women who might have given in to this request, but this particular woman was prepared to wait all night for him, even without being quite certain what he was going to say to her, or what had got into him. He had not behaved any differently this morning than he had almost every other morning since they had met, but now… well, now he was different and she was nervous and excited to find out why.
It was late, or early, depending on how one considered it, when most everyone in the house had gone to bed. She had tried to work, but had found it impossible, so she had moved her chair near the fire and stared into the flames. When he came to the open door of her sitting room, she sensed him immediately. She stood first and turned to face him. Once their eyes met he did not hesitate, but took a few long strides, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her soundly, lifting her off her feet and turning her in a slow circle in the center of the room. The door was open, the lights were still on in the corridor, and he kissed her as though his life depended on it. In that moment, he felt as though his life did depend on it.
Her blush and her smile made her radiant and she laughed with joy when he asked her to marry him. He couldn't remember the words she used to accept him, but accept him she did, with no hesitation, and pulled him close for another kiss. She could have made a joke at his expense, some little tease with no malice, but to her the moment was about sincerity; no games, no flirtation, no jests. Nothing about his slow progress toward this moment or about the impropriety of kissing her when her door was open. No, she knew how hard he had worked to get to this moment, and she was grateful for his love and she meant to give him all of her love in return. She had been loving him for quite some time already, but now she could give him everything she had to give.
Her love, every kind that she could give, was what he received first. Her secrets were a later gift to him. She was surprised at first that he wanted to know them, but he said that the secrets were part of her and he wanted to know her as well as he could. He also knew that some of her secrets caused her pain, confidences that she had not sought, but that she had kept, though they burdened her shoulders and her heart.
The first secret she told him was the most painful secret she had ever kept. She had been forced by circumstances to reveal the secret to two people, but otherwise she had kept her promise of silence. They sat together on the settee, he with his arm around her shoulders, she having prepared him for something dreadful, as much as was possible. She wept as she told him of her discovery of a young woman battered, bloodied, and frightened. She had to go further than that before he understood the unspeakable violation that had occurred. He shed a few tears himself as he rocked her gently, trying to calm and comfort her. Soon after that she told him the story of another violation, of a different sort, that found her once again keeping a secret to protect a victim. Her audacity in that matter shocked him, but he was proud of her.
Then she told a long string of secrets, one on top of the other, that troubled her most because keeping them had required her to lie to him. She never wanted to, never would, keep such a secret again. She hoped her marriage would protect her from others' expectations that she would lie to him or keep anything back from him. She did not like to be at odds with him, but purposefully lying to him was almost physically painful to her, though she had always carried it off without blinking.
After a time, the worst and biggest of the secrets were told, and she felt lighter, so many of her burdens having been removed, and little secrets would pop up here and there. Most of them meant very little now; some of them had meant very little even when she first heard them. She had kept them simply because no one else really needed to know them. These secrets were often an amusement to both of them, now that time had rendered these secrets powerless.
#####
Christmas was approaching and she purchased him a fine pair of cufflinks. She had seen these same cufflinks in a shop in Ripon for years and had several times been tempted to throw caution to the wind and make them a gift to him. She had never done it, though; she wouldn't wish to spoil his birthday or Christmas by giving him a gift that would make him uncomfortable. But now she had married him and she would certainly take advantage of the fact that an intimate or moderately expensive gift would not upset or embarrass him. She had discovered that in retirement he became like a child when Christmas arrived. He would speculate about what she might have gotten him and he was even more excited about his gifts for her, wondering at how calmly and patiently she waited for the arrival of the twenty-fifth of December. In the end, he often pressed one of his gifts upon her on Christmas Eve, unable to wait one more day. She played along, having something ready to exchange with him the day before Christmas. This year her Christmas Eve gift to him would be a little different. The item itself was entirely ordinary; it was the story she would tell about it that would make the gift special.
On Christmas Eve after they returned from church in the evening, she heated some spiced apple cider and brought out some shortbread she had made that morning. He stood in the kitchen with her, watching her at work and asking her if she would help him make a snowman if enough snow fell overnight. His gift for her he pulled out of his pocket periodically and then tucked it away again. He was impatient, but he kept out of her way. She smiled at his innocent excitement about the holiday. She had never regretted choosing a career over a family, but even if she had, such a regret was needless; upon marrying him, she had, in a way, gained both a husband and a child.
Once they were seated on the settee with their cider and shortbread, he pulled the gift from his pocket and handed it to her. "It's nothing extraordinary. I hope you like it. Happy Christmas, Elsie."
She took a small, flat box from him and removed the wrapping paper slowly. He looked impatient. She couldn't help teasing him a little in this way, but at last she opened the box and pulled out a very fine handkerchief with colored embroidery around the edges.
"How lovely, Charles! Thank you." She kissed his cheek. "We think alike, you and I." She handed him a small box.
"What do you mean? Did you get me a handkerchief, too?" he wanted to know.
"Just open it, Charles."
He followed her instruction and was puzzled when he pulled out an old, worn handkerchief. "This is one of mine, Elsie. An old one." He looked at her for some explanation.
She smiled. "I've been waiting for the right moment to give it back to you. You gave it to me more than ten years ago. You probably don't even remember it. I think it's my last big secret from you."
"The last big secret," he murmured, smiling at her. "That's something special, indeed. Will you tell me about it?"
She nodded. "It was during the war. You ignored all my warnings about your overworking yourself and collapsed while serving dinner. I had to take charge of dinner after Mr. Crawley and Lady Sybil took you upstairs. I thought you'd had a heart attack until dinner was finished and Dr. Clarkson asked for me so he could give me instructions for your care."
"Oh, Elsie." He laid a hand over hers, clasped together on her lap.
"When he told me that it was an attack of nerves and that your heart was perfectly sound, I was so relieved I thought I would weep, but of course I couldn't let the doctor see me that way, so I took note of his instructions and then went to see you as soon as I could. Once I was in your room, I couldn't quite hide my tears and you were concerned and very kind."
"Yes, I remember that," he commented. "You said you had just had some good news, but wouldn't tell me what it was."
"You insisted on my taking one of your handkerchiefs and I did. Somehow, though, I could not bring myself to return it."
"So you've had this worn, ratty thing all that time? I could have given you a nicer one, Elsie."
She smiled and shook her head. "There was something special about that one. It became a talisman of sorts. I didn't often use it to wipe away tears. Mostly I just kept it in my pocket when things went wrong, especially when you were ill or upset."
He kissed her cheek. "It sounds like you and this handkerchief together were my good luck charm, and I didn't even know it."
"I did use it to wipe away some tears of exhaustion and then relief when you had the Spanish flu. That frightened me as much as your attack - probably more. You seemed to be getting better and then Miss Swire suddenly died after what seemed like such a mild case of it. I was afraid the same thing would happen to you."
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She leaned against his chest. "I'm not sure I want it back, Elsie."
"It's my last big secret, and it's yours now. At the moment you gave me that handkerchief, I knew I loved you."
"But what if I need my good luck charm again?"
"You don't need a good luck charm," she told him simply. "You have me. Not just part of me, like you had then, but all of me. I don't have to make beds or supervise maids and hall boys in between visits to your sickroom."
He kissed the top of her head. "Thank you for this gift, Elsie. I'll treasure it always."
She looked into his face and smiled slightly. "You're very welcome."
"But I won't think of illness or distress when I look at it. I'll remember when I gave it to you and I'll remember that you loved me."
She would probably be remembering little secrets here and there for the rest of her life. But now she had given him one of her deepest secrets. He knew that she loved him, but she had never confessed for how long.
"I love you, Charles."
"I love you, too." And he kissed her smile. "More every day."
"It's getting late, my dear. Your good luck charm is ready to go to bed."
He looked at his old handkerchief. "Well, if it wants to go to bed, I suppose I should take it upstairs."
She swatted his arm gently. "I was talking about your other good luck charm, silly man."
He stood up and held out his hand. "Then I suppose we ought to be going."
She took his hand and followed him upstairs. In the bedroom, he started changing from his suit into his pajamas, but she protested.
"Won't you let me do that?" she asked.
His eyebrows rose and a slow smile appeared on his face. "Of course. I know you're quite as efficient as the most experienced valet."
He had already removed his jacket, so she started by unbuttoning his waistcoat. "Just as you would make an excellent lady's maid," she remarked, not meeting his eyes.
"I think most ladies would prefer not to have a large and clumsy man taking care of them."
She laughed gaily. "It's just as well. That means I have you all to myself." She removed his cufflinks in short order and started on his tie. He started to remove the pins in her hair.
"I've been thinking, though, Mrs. Carson, that I might deserve a pay rise."
She scoffed. "Three meals a day, tea whenever you like, and a kiss whenever you like, among other things, and you feel underpaid?"
"Well, when you put it like that, I suppose you're right," he admitted.
"Of course I am," she replied playfully.
He enjoyed their banter, but he also liked to see her flustered, so he abandoned the hairpins, pulled her close, and started kissing the bit of her neck that was exposed above her blouse.
"Happy Christmas, Charles," she murmured breathlessly.
"Happy Christmas, Elsie," he rumbled between kisses.
It was a very special Christmas for them both.
The end.
a/n: I experimented a little in this story. This is the first time I wrote a story in which the narrative included only pronouns. Proper names appear only in dialogue. I don't think it would work in a longer story or in one with other characters.
Please leave a review if you can spare a few moments.