Here we go with the next chapter. I've been absolutely overwhelmed by your lovely response and hope you'll stick with me till the end :-) And what would I be without my beta? *sigh*

Stolen Time

2. Allegation

Downton, 1920

It was a long time after supper when Charles Carson watched Alfred, James and Ivy leaving his pantry. It had been a draining day and this rather one sided conversation marked the end of it. It was always the same old story. Two lads fought over one girl and in the end it always led to heartache for every party involved. Three was always a crowd.

He rubbed his forehead, tired of the whole incident, though he doubted the affair was over and done after his latest dress down. The strange trio surely wasn't about to end their triangle just because he threatened them with serious repercussions. James was silly flirter, Alfred desperately in love and Ivy was too silly to know what was good for her. If he had only someone around who could help him handling this mess. But with Mrs Dougal as housekeeper, an efficient, but not very sympathetic woman in her forties, it was hard to keep the younger folks under control.

How he missed Mrs Hughes... Mrs Burns, he corrected himself. He missed her more than he could say. With her at his side life and work at Downton had been easier and more pleasant. Ever since she had left seven years ago to marry her former suitor, the farmer Joe Burns, he found himself less pleased with everything around him, including himself. He tried not to think too often of her and the times they had spent together, but recently he felt himself being reminded of her almost constantly.

After her wedding they had started writing to each other at least once a month. Her life had certainly changed, but she still wanted to stay in touch with Downton and he liked having her as a regular correspondence partner. She may be gone for several years now, but through their letters it still felt as if a part of her was there with him. Even over all the miles they were apart she still offered him advice and friendship and that meant an awful lot to him.

Her letters were like the blood that ran through his veins, they were crucial to his well being.

So it didn't come as a surprise that the letter he had received today upset him more than he was able to phrase.

It was the time of month when he usually awaited a letter from Mrs... Burns, but this time the letter he received wasn't sent by her. The envelope in the afternoon post had had a different sender, one he had never expected. It came from her husband Mr Joe Burns, the farmer with the tight suit and the red face. For a unbearable long moment, before he had torn the letter open, he had expected the worst. Had thought she might have fallen too ill to write or even worse...

But thank God none of this was the case. Mr Burns had written that he had to attend to some business in Ripon and requested a meeting with him during his stay. Carson wasn't sure what to make of it and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He didn't know Joe Burns and he had no desire to change that. Back then he had been sure that Mrs Hughes knew what she was doing by marrying him. He had always trusted her judgement and it also hadn't been his right to question the man about his intentions, though the thought had occurred to him once or twice. In the end he had respected her decision and when she had left Downton it had taken him months, no years, to get used to her absence next to him at the table. Sometimes he still looked at the chair next to his and was surprised to see another woman sitting there.

To his relief Elsie Burns hardly mentioned her husband in the letters she usually sent to him. Most of the time they just exchanged the odds and ends of their days. She wrote of the weather, about the cattle, and the neighbourhood, but almost never about her husband or her marriage. And Carson never asked about him. He didn't want to read about her being happy with Joe Burns. He was grateful that she seemed to be well off, healthy, and not unhappy. So, what did he need to know about Mr Burns himself and her life with him?

But could he not go to meet the man? Carson doubted it. Strangely enough for someone having business to do in Ripon, Mr Burns would stay in Downton in the Grantham Arms for some days. Maybe it would be best to meet him there, before the man showed up on their doorstep at the Abbey and caused raised eyebrows or unwanted questions among the other staff.

Carson eyed the letter again. The writing was short and to the point. It didn't leave him much choice, actually.

So be it, he thought and sighed.

Downton, 1913

The kiss wasn't what it should have been. Whenever he had dreamt of kissing her, holding her, he had envisioned it to be tender and gentle. He had wanted to be gentle with her, patient, and loving. His goal had been to worship her, because it was what she deserved. It had been the hopeless romantic in him who had wanted this to be pure and sacred. But nothing they were doing right now was pure, sacred or even romantic. The kiss was raw and desperate. It caused his blood to boil in his veins and his body to react in ways he hadn't experienced in a long time.

Driven by desire he had pushed her against the cold wall in the downstairs hallway and his hands were groping her hips with single-minded intent. He pressed himself against her, trapping her. He was lost in her, in their kiss, was bewitched by the taste of her, and he couldn't imagine to stop.

She returned his kisses with the same irrepressible fierceness. She duelled with his tongue, allowed him to touch her in a way no man ever had, but soon, before she lost all control, a small, guilty voice in her head started to scold her for her wanton behaviour. She was behaving like a whore.

"Don't... I've given him my word!" she mumbled and broke free. She was shaking heavily and her hand covered her mouth. Mortified about what she had just done, she turned her back on him and tried to regain control over her traitorous body and mind. Gods, how much she wanted him to continue, to lose control...

"I'm sorry," he whispered and reached out to touch her arm, but she withdrew instantly, as if he could burn, mark her. Guilt stricken he looked down to his feet and tried to fix his tousled hair and his bathrobe. How could he? What was wrong with him? It was her last night in this house, before she left to marry another man and instead of wishing her well, he kissed her ravishingly and could only think about ripping her nightgown apart and taking her right there against the wall.

"I do have to go," she said, her voice filled with shallow determination.

"Of course, you must."

"It wouldn't be fair to him... now that it's all settled."

"I know."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, and sensed how tears were filling her eyes and her throat. "If I had known, I would never have agreed to marry him!"

He was lost for an answer. He had no explanation. At least none that matched the seriousness of their situation. They were co workers, friends, and in houses like Downton butlers and housekeepers weren't allowed to be married or even to recognize each other as men and women. It was impossible for them to be together as he wanted them to be. And so he had never told her, he loved her. Just tonight, the night before she left, he had lost it, because he didn't want to lose her.

But none of that mattered now, now it was just too late. The next day she would be gone.

Downton, 1920

One week after Burns' letter had reached him, Carson went into the village. It was a lovely spring afternoon and under different circumstances the butler would have been in a joyful mood. Yet, the prospect of meeting Mrs Hughes' husband... Mrs Burns' husband didn't please him. He had spent the last week trying to figure out what the man could want from him, but had come to the conclusion that the only way to find out the truth was facing the man. Did Mrs Burns know about her husband being in Downton? Carson couldn't quite picture it and that was the reason the whole thing smelled fishy to him.

He entered the pub in what had to be the first time in a decade and looked around. Dust was dancing in the rays of sunshine that fell through the colourful windows and it only took Carson a few seconds to find the man who had required his presence. At this time of day the pub was almost empty and there was just one man sitting alone next to one of the windows, a lonely, half empty beer in front of him. He wore a grey suit that perfectly matched the grey of his beard.

He approached the man slowly and took off his bowler.

"Mr Burns?" he asked, dignified.

The man looked up to him. "That's me." He rose and Carson noticed that he towered over the other man by at least several inches.

"Please, sit down." Burns pointed at the chair at the opposite side of the table and Carson hesitantly obeyed. He eyed the farmer suspiciously, while he waited for him to start.

"Can I get you something?" Burns asked friendly. "A beer, perhaps?"

"Thank you, no. I don't have much time," Carson said, determined not to stay any minute longer than necessary. Aside from the fact that he wasn't keen to talk to Burns, he hated beer with a passion. It reminded of times he wished to forget. He watched Burns while he took a large sip of the golden liquid.

"Elsie never told me, you were that tall," Burns said after he had put down the glass. "Actually, she doesn't talk about you at all. The only reference to your existence are the letters she keeps hidden in the drawer next to our bed."

"What can I do for you, Mr Burns?" Carson asked, already not liking this man. The fellow had a way of staring at him that caused his blood to rebel. The eyes, though being friendly, seemed to examine him as if he were a rare species found in the jungle of Africa. He also looked rather ill. Everything about the man was grey. Not only the clothing and the colour of his hair. Even his skin was greyish, as if he were ill.

"Not much, I guess," Burns replied. "I just wanted to meet the man who writes to my wife so frequently."

"I wouldn't call our correspondence frequent," Carson argued mildly.

"There's no one else to whom she writes to that often."

Carson was now sure, it had been a phenomenal mistake to meet Mr Burns. He sensed what the man had in mind, had sensed it, but had denied it from the very beginning. The matter was nothing the butler wished to discuss in public – or anywhere else.

"Mr Burns, is this leading somewhere? Because, if not, you'll have to excuse me."

"I know, you're busy. I've read so. But not so busy that you don't find the time to write to Elsie. I wonder why."

Carson raised his eyebrows. Did Mr Burns read his wife's letters? He tried to remember if he ever had written anything intimidating or improper, but, of course, he hadn't. The letters he wrote her were polite and respectful. There was nothing in there that could be read as anything else.

"She shares a lot with you it seems," Burns said and Carson started to realize that the beer in front of Burns wasn't the first one he had had this day. "You know a few weeks ago, Elsie's sister, Moira, wrote me a letter. Took her an awful lot to do it, because she adores Elsie, but she felt I needed to know what was going on and now I'm not sure I ever wanted to know too much about the woman I married."

Carson remained silent. He didn't blink, didn't move, while he had the feeling that he was about to experience the wrath of a very jealous husband.

"She met you in London last year, didn't she?"

"We ran into each other and had tea together," Carson answered truthfully.

"No," Burns shook his head and corrected him. "She didn't just run into you. She knew you were in London. She knew how you used to spend your spare time there, because you wrote her about it. It was deliberate that she ran into you. She wanted to see you."

"That's ridiculous!" Carson said, but it was more a reflex than a certainty. "And I'm not willing to sit here any longer to listen to such allegations! You've married a highly respectable woman who happens to be a former co worker of mine and I won't allow you to badmouth her!"

"I'm not badmouthing anyone," Burns returned calmly. "But it's true. Elsie and her sister went to London last year, because she had some errands to do. Or at least that was what she claimed. And she's already told me she'd do so again this year. She takes her sister with her, hoping I won't ask questions and I won't, because my questioning her motives would damage our relationship and that's the last thing I want to happen." Burns finished his beer and wiped his mouth. "I'm not saying she's not true to me. I know she wants to, but she sees something in you that I can't be for her. So here's my request. I take it you're a man of honour and so I hope you'll do me this one favour." Burns made a pause, as he bluntly looked into Carson's face.

"Go on then," Carson said coldly.

"Meet her in London this year, but tell her you don't want to see her again. I also want you to stop writing to her, even if she writes to you. Maybe she'll forget about you, once the contact breaks up."

"Mr Burns...," Carson started, but Burns raised his hand. "I'm serious, Mr Carson. She's not the same since she met you last year. She's changed. Every time she gets a letter from you, she's absent-minded for days. It drives me crazy and it needs to stop, before I do something I'll regret. But as I see it, you're the only person who can end this insanity!"

Carson leaned back in his chair and stared at the man in front of him. A man who loved his wife and who desperately tried to keep her. Carson didn't know, if, faced with the same dilemma, he would have the strength to face his opponent. He probably wouldn't. He also didn't know, if he admired Burns for his bold move or not.

"What do you say?"

"I take it, she doesn't know you're here?" Carson asked.

"Of course not."

"So why do you ask me to meet her again?" Carson wanted to know. "Why don't you ask me to write her or simply not to show up at our meeting?"

Burns took his time, before he answered. "Because it would hurt her too much."

With that Burns rose and left the pub, while Carson remained at the table, wondering whether if it had always been just a matter of time...

~tbc~