A/N: Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews and notes on the other place for the first chapter! I hope I can live up to expectations and you will enjoy the second chapter as much as the first. Let me know if you (don't) like it - reviews are always really appreciated!


"I had not expected you would find out who he is so quickly." Greg says. They are sitting in a tearoom, the case with her typewriter stands on the floor under the table, her leg is pressed against his. His warmth makes her tingle a bit.

"Me neither." She pulls a poster and the few photographs of her mother and Charlie Carson from her purse.

"Look." She points. "He has this thick, wavy hair, like me."

Greg nods. "That is not much to go on, though." He says, ever practical. Beatrice frowns.

"No, but she was performing with him."

"I bet she was performing with quite a few people." Greg takes a sip of his tea and takes a cake from the plate in front of him.

"She had a solo act and also performed with this 'Alice Neal' person. 'The Cheerful Charlies' were apparently well known, I've come across them in her diary a fair few times."

"Wasn't there anything about a suitor or something in there?"

"Not really. She kept lists of gifts she received and from whom. Charlie Carson brought her flowers at least five times." Her heart is beating much too fast again. She is certain it's him - it cannot be Charlie Grigg. Her mother complained about him a lot in her diary and there are very few entries that could be traced back to a man in general. Of course there is the chance she is the product of something other than a quick romp, an illicit affair. That hers was a violent conception, but the words her mother uses to describe Charlie Carson are bordering on the effusive, leading Bea to believe her mother may have felt more than a passing affection for him..

She takes the diary and shows it to her fiance. "Here she says he waited for her after a show that ran particularly late and walked her to her digs. And here she writes about the flowers he bought her and an outing. Here she says she wishes Alice didn't treat him like dirt, that he is worth more than ten Griggses." She points at the scribbles.

"Let me see the photo again?" Gregory asks. He takes it from her with careful fingers and looks at it, a wrinkle between his eyes. Bea can only think of how much she loves him when he is so focused and concentrated. She imagines he might look like that when they kiss, shyly, chastely, when he takes her home, on the front steps before her landlady opens the door (gentlemen callers not allowed).

"He does have wavy hair like you." He finally says. Bea nods, leaning into his touch, his hand running softly over her blonde bob.

"I am going to try to track him down." She confides in him.

"You'll find him. I have no doubt you will. You can do anything you set your mind to." He takes her hand and kisses it softly, doing nothing for her hammering heart.


When he comes in with the decanter half full of Burgundy, she sees he is missing a button on his waistcoat and she shakes her head. 'How is it possible he keeps losing them?' she wonders. It's always the same button. She must have sewed on at least fifty over the years. Well, perhaps not fifty, but a great many nonetheless. He sits down with a sigh, putting the decanter on the table between them. He stretches his back, she can hear the vertebrae click back into place.

"Give me your waistcoat." She says before he gets too comfortable. He looks at her oddly. "Oh come now, my love. I am not asking you anything inappropriate. You have lost a button once again and I will endeavor to put another one on. Not have my wicked way with you."

Charles smiles and takes off his coat and waistcoat, giving the latter to Elsie and putting his coat back on. Elsie picks up her sewing basket and sets to work while Charles pours them their customary glass of wine and they speak of their day.

"I miss William." Charles suddenly says and Elsie looks up from her work.

"Och, my dear." She mumbles, unable to get the words out. It's been years and the pain is still fresh.

"I miss Alfred. I sometimes even miss Sarah O'Brien."

Elsie chuckles. "I find it hard to believe that."

"Well, I don't miss her as such, I miss how things were before the war and before everything started to go to pieces."

Elsie bites her lip as she watches Charles slip into a mood.

"You know it's been almost thirty years since you started here as a footman?" She tries to change the conversation.

Charles nods. "Yes. A lot has changed."

"Would you like to… oh I don't know… commemorate the day? Perhaps we could go for a walk or maybe take tea somewhere." She offers.

He nods again, staring into the distance. "Yes, alright."

Elsie worries. He doesn't usually give up so easily. Normally he would tell her they cannot both be missed at the same time, that perhaps standards are dropping but that they should nonetheless try to keep them as high up as they can and that it doesn't do for a servant to engage in such frivolous notions.

"So… tea in Ripon? Or York perhaps?" She tries again, finding him looking into his wineglass. "Or Manchester? London. No, I know! Paris!"

"What?" Charles looks up, his brow furrowed.

"Have you been listening to me at all?" Elsie asks, a soft smile around her lips and he looks down in embarrassment.

Elsie puts away her sewing and gets up. "Oh, my love…" She says and carefully lowers herself in his lap, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his head softly against her breasts.


She can see he is a little overwhelmed by the attention. He is used to ordering his boys about and to grumbling about the paper being late and to pour tea in the library but he is not used to Lord Grantham giving a little speech and being given an envelope filled with a handsome sum to show the family's appreciation. Elsie had stood in the corner of the room, undetected by her strong man who looked so small for a few moments before managing to find his bearings again.

"Thank you, Milord." He had said, his voice filled with wonder. "Thank you very much."

Elsie had smiled at Lady Grantham who had winked at her and now they are downstairs again. He sits in his usual place, a bit out of sorts because Daisy has put a ribbon around his chair and the table is filled with his favourites. There have been small gifts and Mr Bates even made a little speech about how Mr Carson is an example to them all.

Elsie sits next to Charles, her hand on his knee, drinking her tea quietly. Everybody looks happy - even Thomas doesn't wear his usual smirk. Beryl has joined them and is slicing a madeira cake, handing out pieces. There are strawberries and cream, apple pie. The youngest of the staff don't quite understand the hoopla, Elsie can see the idea of working in the same place for thirty years fills them with unease. Her heart swells with pride as he puts his free hand over hers and sighs deeply, finally relaxing a bit.

She pulls away her hand then and stands up. She has prepared a little speech, like Mr Bates. She doesn't often address the staff in this way and she can feel her heart speeding up just a bit, but he smiles at her as she stands and she starts:

"I've known Mr Carson for a very long time, as you all well know." She swallows before continuing. "First as a superior, later as - I hope - my equal. In all these years he has strived to be the best domestic servant a man could be and I'd say he succeeded. He is indeed an example to us all, as Mr Bates so aptly put, but to me he is more than that…"

Just as she was about to say that to her he was not simply a Butler, but a friend, a man she loved, there was a loud knock on the Servants' Entrance door.