A/N: So, it's been done before, but I was listening to this song for about the millionth time and couldn't get it out of my head. Incidentally, the prompt is the same as the title of the song. Lyrics from "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. Great group!
Also, a big thank you to those who read, reviewed, and/or favorited the first snippet! Enjoy this one! It seems to have got away from me…hmm…
Home
"Let me come home
Home is whenever I'm with you
Ahh, home. Let me come home
Home is when I'm alone with you"
Elsie feels dazed, somewhat confused. She can hardly recall walking into the house, let alone her parlor. She holds the straw doll in her hand, fingering the small buttons on its frock, the ribbon on its hat. It was sweet; a sweet gesture she hadn't really expected after such a long silence between them.
When she had first received the letter, she'd been surprised by it. Even Charles had noticed a change in her behavior, asked after her, concerned. It had been over eighteen years after all. Even though they had parted ways long ago, hadn't kept in contact, she still considers Joe Burns a friend. She cannot really explain what drove her to respond to his letter in the first place. Curiosity, she supposes.
If she was honest with herself, she'd had a hunch as to why Joe had asked her to meet him in the first place. Married men didn't often go around paying calls on former beaus, now, did they? Maybe they did, but she felt she still knew Joe well enough to know he wouldn't do such a thing. Elsie decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, take the pragmatic route. If it came to that, she would tackle it then.
Conversation flowed easily between them despite the long absence of time from when they had last spoken. He told her about his farm, his son, life after his wife's death. In return she told him about Downton, life above and below stairs. At times during their evening at the fair, she thought she caught glimpses of the old Joe she'd known in the days when they had been walking out together all those years ago.
Her intuition had been correct. After the lovely time he had shown her, she walked away with a token of his affection, a chaste kiss on her cheek, and a proposal of marriage.
Elsie is sitting at her desk now and smiles fondly at the little doll in her hand. She had told Joe she would think about his offer, give him her answer within the week. She is flattered, that he is asking again even after she had turned him down once. Flattered, but still, she cannot shake the heaviness she feels weighing on her heart.
She hears a soft tap at her door and sees Charles poke his head in.
"Enjoy yourself this evening?" His tone is amiable, curious in a friendly manner.
Elsie sets the doll down, switches off the lamp on her desk and stands.
"I did, Charles, but I think I ought to heading up to bed if I'm to be fit for tomorrow." She looks up at him, gives him a small, friendly smile. "Goodnight."
He nods to her. "Goodnight, Elsie."
Carson stands in the doorway of her parlor, looking after her as she walks towards the stairs. He watches as her hands reach up to pull out the pin securing her hat in place, then disappear up the stairs. He shakes his head a little, dismayed.
She had been in a strange mood since she'd first received that letter earlier in the week. He had asked, of course, whether something had upset her. She insisted it was nothing, just a letter from an old friend. He wasn't so sure about it, didn't believe her at all actually, but he knew better than to press her on the matter.
Carson allows himself the pride to believe that he knows Elsie Hughes fairly well after working closely with her for nigh on eighteen years, considers her his dearest friend. There is not much he has withheld from over the years, and she from him. At least he thinks and hopes so. Her recent behavior causes doubt to settle in the pit of his stomach, regarding Downton's housekeeper. The last time Carson remembers seeing her out of sorts was when he had first met the woman filling the position as the new head housemaid.
Oh, had she a head for the job! Carson smiles warmly at the memory. Other than himself, he had never seen anyone so dedicated to their work. Determined, almost, not to be idle for a moment, except perhaps in sleep. She had softened after a year or so, became less rigid, began initiating conversations with the other maids, making barbs even. She'd even addressed him on a rare occasion, seemingly still shy of his station above hers.
It was not long after her first year, that she'd been promoted to housekeeper when her predecessor, Mrs. Hawkins, decided to retire. The two of them became equals then –two sides of the same coin. They found they worked well together, fell into an easy routine to keep the house smoothly. On a whim, he had asked her to join him for a glass of leftover wine one night after all the maids and footmen had gone to bed. She'd opened up to him that first evening in his pantry, something he'd not been expecting. It must have been the wine talking! Had told him that she had turned down a marriage proposal from a man she'd been walking out with. Not ready to leave service yet, she'd said.
Carson wonders now if the old friend her letter had been from might have come from this man, if he might have asked Elsie whether she was ready to leave service yet. He contemplates this thought. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
Since that first glass of wine is his pantry, rarely an evening has gone by where the two of them have not shared each other's company. The growing friendship between that followed seemed only natural. A comfortable habit formed between them –a habit involving quiet conversation over wine, sherry, a cup of tea; sometimes companionable silence as she caught up on mending or household account books, he on the wine ledgers or polishing a stray piece of silver.
Carson cannot imagine not spending an evening with her, is troubled she is unwilling to share her thoughts with him, wishes she would.
He is still standing in the doorway of her parlor. The light from the hallway casts a glow on her desk, the small object she had been holding not ten minutes ago catching his eye. He squints at it, realizes it's a doll. He can't say for certain, but he has a strong feeling it came from whoever had sent her that letter.
He turns away, partially closes the door to Elsie's parlor. Decides to turn in for the night.
Carson watches Elsie the next few days, closely as he is able without her catching on. She goes about her day as usual, so far as he sees. She is good –almost too good –at hiding behind her stern façade. He debates whether to bring up the letter, the fair, and the doll each night when they meet after everyone has gone to bed. He is still chewing on this thought when she enters his pantry. Elsie smiles, takes her customary seat across from him.
"That's everyone gone up," she says by way of greeting.
He returns her smile, offers her a glass. She accepts it gratefully, takes a dainty sip.
"To your liking, Mrs. Hughes?" Carson inquires, already knowing her needn't have to.
She smiles again, a smile he sees so rarely except when they are alone together in the evenings. He wonders if she saves it just for him, or if it feels more natural when the pressures of the day are behind them. He cannot honestly say, but he likes to think so.
"Always, Mr. Carson. I'll never know half as much about wine as you, but you'll not hear any complaints from me."
Her response is the same as always. It has become a private joke between them for him to ask how the wine is and for her answer and compliment him on his tastes in some way or another. It is his turn to smile, blush slightly. He enjoys this time with her at the end of the day. It is quiet, normal, with a hint of domesticity hanging over them. They sip in silence.
His thoughts of earlier cross his mind once, wonders if he should broach the subject.
She thinks of Joe's offer, wonders if she should tell him.
"I short-changed you the other day, Charles," she says finally, looking across to him over her glass.
He is puzzled for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. That she spoke his name is nothing new. They have been on a first-name basis for years. She extrapolates.
"I mean about the fair. I had a lovely time. Watching the magicians, the mimes, ribbon dancers, everything; it was all wonderful. I'm almost felt like a young girl again."
He looks at her, sees her smile again. A private one this time it seems, but then it wanes.
"I'm glad it was a nice time for you, Elsie," Carson says, watching her carefully. She nods in acknowledgement. "I almost regret not going myself, but you know as well as I that a butler's duty is never ending."
They share a grin at his jest, take another sip from their glasses. He is still watching her, she is moving away from him, lost in her thoughts. But then she is speaking again.
"I met an old friend of mine, Joe Burns. You remember I told you about him? I hadn't heard from him in years. It was lovely to catch up with him, hear about how he has got on all this time." She pauses. Carson sees a kind of sadness begin to cloud her expression. After a time, she goes on in a quiet voice, almost a whisper. "He's asked me to marry him, again."
Carson sits up a little straighter. So he had been right. He is unsettled by this, tries not to let it show. Doesn't quite know what to say, is not even sure her last thought was meant for him. Before he can make up his mind, the clock on the wall chimes, breaks the silence between them. Midnight. She stands reluctantly.
"We both best head upstairs if we know what's good for us," she says quietly. "Another day tomorrow. Here, I'll tidy up our glasses."
He makes to protest, but she takes his glass before he has a chance to argue. Their fingers brush together lightly. They meet each other's gaze –lost for a moment –and she jerks away suddenly, the spell between them broken.
"Goodnight, Charles."
He nods. "Goodnight, Elsie."
Elsie walks to the scullery, makes quick work of washing their glasses. She leaves them to dry on a towel one of the kitchen maids has set out, anticipating midnight kitchen visitors. She switches off the light and makes her way upstairs.
Joe's offer and Charles' reaction to her telling him of it weigh heavily on her mind as Elsie readies herself for bed. She hadn't meant to say it, but it escaped her she couldn't take the words back now. Charles hadn't said anything. She doesn't know why, but is bothers her a little. She hadn't given him enough time to respond in any event after the clock chimed.
Elsie had written Joe this morning, letting him know she would meet him at Grantham Arms tomorrow to give him her answer, even though she hadn't fully decided what she wanted yet. She continues to contemplate what he is asking of her, pulls her nightdress over her head. She still isn't sure if she wants to go back to that way of life. That is why she left it in the first place, to get away from it. Joe was still a kind man, a good man. She has no doubt about that, but she cannot tell whether theirs would be a marriage of companionship or convenience, whether he merely wants someone to keep his house and if she is just someone familiar. She feels it might be for both, with a little more emphasis on the latter.
She shakes her head, ties off the end of her braid. She crawls into bed, extinguishes the candle at her bedside. Elsie stares up at the ceiling. She doesn't think she can resign herself to that kind of life again. Downton has been her home for many years now; the people living and working there, her surrogate family. She enjoys the measure of comfort she has come know from working here, in spite of the long hours and long days a life in service demands.
Elsie thinks of the young maids she has worked with over the years. Of her time as a young maid herself, nervous about performing the job well. The first housekeeper she'd worked with had taken her aside, reassured her things would get better, the pain of leaving home would lessen, and in time, the house she worked for would become a second home. The longer she worked in service, the more she came to see and even appreciate that those downstairs operated as a family unit as much as those upstairs that they served.
In time, Elsie had been promoted to head housemaid, had remained in that house for nearly ten years. Had first met Joe while employed there, had turned him down upon receiving an offer at a larger house she'd looked into farther south. When she had first come to Downton as head housemaid, Elsie had not felt settled into the downstairs family, not right away. It had taken a little over a year before she fully felt a part of this makeshift family that wasn't quite her own.
And soon after, she became housekeeper and the role of comforter fell to her. She privately enjoys this role, extends it to everyone downstairs though it perhaps is not quite proper. It always makes her heart swell a little to know she has helped or provided comfort for these young men and women she stretches her wings over. Sometimes even the not so young, she muses, thinking of the barrel of man who is Downton's stoic butler.
Joe enters her mind again abruptly and she feels a pang of sadness regarding him. She turns on her side, burrows her head in her pillow, her mind still churning. She thinks of the night she shared in his company. He is a lovely man with a good heart, but she doesn't want to be a farmer's wife, never has. She never expected to be as fortunate as she has been in her life, and is thankful for all she's been given. She doesn't think of turning her back on it any longer.
When Elsie meets Joe the next day, she sees his face is bright and hopeful. She is loathe to be the one to make it cloud over, but she knows she must. He deflates almost instantly. She is sorry, truly sorry, but it is not the life for her. There are too many people under her care, relying on her just as she, in her own way, relies on them. She cannot abandon them, not now.
Joe is graceful as she turns down his proposal for the second time. Smiles, understands even. Says he thought it was a shot in the dark to begin with, but thought he'd try again in any case. Elsie returns his smile, somewhat relieved. She wishes him well, tells him he will find another woman, to remain optimistic. Extends an invitation to continue their correspondence so they might know how the other got on. He smiles, the hope returning to his face.
"I'd like that, Elsie," he says quietly. "Thank you."
Elsie takes his hand then, gives it a friendly, reassuring squeeze. "I mean it, Joe. I've always considered you a dear friend and was sorry we had lost contact over time and am even sorrier, now I've turned you down again."
He gives her a rueful look. "I knew it was probably for naught, as I said before, Elsie. But I thought I'd take a chance, see if my luck had changed."
Elsie nods, still feeling somewhat guilty, then sits straighter in her chair. "I suppose I best be getting on my way, before I'm missed at the house."
Joe inclines his head. "Yes."
Elsie squeezes his hand again. "Please do write, Joe, and I'll try to do the same when the time allows. I'd love it if you did."
"I will, Elsie. Good luck to you." He tips his hat to her politely.
"And to you, Joe," she says softly as she stands. She stops, reaches into her purse, pulls out the doll and holds out to him.
He smiles again, shakes his head. "Keep it. Perhaps there will be a little girl in need of it someday."
"Thank you, Joe."
She leaves then, walks through the village. She sees children, running, laughing and screaming in delight. She watches various men scurry about, dissembling tents, cleaning the square. It is time for the fair to move on, just as she too, must be moving. Despite her rejection of Joe's marriage proposal, Elsie moves easily, feels light on her feet. She smiles to anyone she passes on the road, receives a tip of a hat or one in return.
Soon, the house comes into view –this grand house, the grand family Elsie serves moving within it, the other patchwork family moving behind the scenes as well. She walks to the servants' entrance, her mind already on the tasks she must complete before dinner that evening. She sees a tall figure standing in the doorway, one she is not accustomed to seeing there. She smiles at him, thinking the walls of Downton might well crumble should he ever decide to follow another path in life. He has become a constant for her. A pillar she has leant on for strength and support.
He is staring out, thoughtfully. He doesn't notice as she walks through the courtyard toward him. His brow is slightly furrowed in concentration. It is not often she finds him in such an exposed state of mind; he steels his thoughts and emotions as carefully as she does her own. They are quite a pair, she thinks, the two of them. Partners, equals in their places. And she wouldn't have it any other way.
Elsie almost laughs now, at the thought of leaving Downton, cannot believe she almost considered it. She would never be as unconditionally devoted to the Crawley family as he was, but she would have missed it, would have missed this life she has carved out for herself. She would have missed Downton, her role as housekeeper, surrogate mother, mediator.
It comes to her suddenly. She would miss all of it, yes, but not nearly as much as she would miss the quiet nights spent together talking, going over household accounts, losing her temper at him, laughing at the antics of the staff, discussing the novels they were reading. Not as much as she would miss him. She takes a deep breath, smiles at the thought.
"You've accepted him, then?"
He's taken notice now and his question startles her from her thoughts. Elsie meets his gaze, a hint of her smile lingering in her eyes. She reaches for his hand, takes it.
"No, Charles, I've come home."
