A/N: Prompted from a Tumblr discussion on which member of your OTP would sneak biscuits to the children behind the other's back.
"But Mummy, please." At eight years old, Grace Elspeth Carson is a persistent little thing. A head full of dark, wiry curls, sapphire eyes and high cheekbones like her mother, a dimpled chin from her father, Grace knows when she should not ask again but she cannot help herself. She has inherited a stubborn streak from her mother and from her father an overpowering sweet tooth. And today the cottage smells of warm butter, flour, and sugar. She watches as her mum slowly, agonizingly, takes the delicious shortbread biscuits from a plate, and begins placing them into a tin that will rest high upon a shelf in the cupboard. Grace's eyes follow her every movement. A pitiful expression passes across the little girl's face. It isn't fair. She just wants one more biscuit. One more. "Mummy, just one more, please," she begs.
Elsie dusts her hands across her apron then clasps them in front of her. It is the posture she assumed with insubordinate housemaids when she was housekeeper at the Abbey, before she and Charles married and long before Grace was born. "Grace Carson, I have told you that you may not have another biscuit and that is all. Now run along." Grace does as she is told but not before theatrically giving an overly dramatic shrug of her little shoulders and an expressive pout. Elsie shakes her head and smiles. A flair for the dramatic, she thinks to herself. Just like her father.
"Mmmm," Charles hums as he reaches into the tin for a biscuit before getting a gentle slap across the hand from his wife.
"And no more for you either," she admonishes him. Her husband playfully grabs her round the waist and kisses her fiercely while stealthily reaching behind her back and into the tin to palm two cookies. Easily hidden in his giant paw, he has done this before and each time he thinks that she doesn't notice. Elsie, well aware of what he's done, says nothing and sends him on his way to enjoy settling into his favorite chair next to the warm fire. His days are long at the Abbey and she is glad that he can come home to them, to their cottage, and find respite.
Charles settles into his chair and Grace crawls into his lap. He wraps an arm around her, his big hand, soft and gently patting her leg reassuringly. She leans in resting her head on his shoulder, heaving a weary sigh. This is their pattern. Father and daughter. "What's this?" Charles asks as he places a sweet kiss to her forehead.
"Nothing, Daddy," she lies. Grace knows not to complain about her mother. About being denied another biscuit or two. Even if her father is no real disciplinarian and leaves that to her mother and even if he cannot bear to see her cry (either one of his girls for that matter; he still calls Elsie "his girl"), he will not brook disrespect. But he knows that today is shortbread biscuit day and he has heard Elsie deny Grace another biscuit. He feels sorry for the girl because he, too, had been denied. Elsie's shortbread biscuits are very good and what would it hurt for the lass (and him) to have just one more biscuit before bed? Charles knows that Elsie did not see him pinch, no, not pinch, acquire, the two cookies. Part of his stage training (he hates to think of it) has allowed him to practice a little sleight of hand. She's never caught out him the other times he's done this so their secret is safe.
Charles opens his other hand to reveal two shortbread biscuits. He feels Grace's posture loosen and a giggle escapes her lips. "Oh, thank you Daddy," she coos as she takes one of the biscuits out of his hand and hungrily lifts it to her mouth.
"Now mind the crumbs Grace, mustn't give us away," Charles admonishes gently as he bites into his own biscuit. Father and daughter hum in contentment. As they enjoy their contraband biscuits, they are completely unaware of the presence in the doorway of the sitting room. She always stands there. She always catches them. But they never see her. And she lets them have their secret.
With her arms folded and leaning against the door frame, Elsie Carson is smiling. "Incorrigible," she says softly with a gentle laugh as she makes to return to the kitchen.
TBC….. Chapter 2 will have a slightly different perspective.