A/N I hope you liked the first chapter. I don't know if this second chapter makes any sense.
Their encounters over the next week after the christening of baby Sybil were brief. The household was back to normal, no elaborate dinners had to be organised, there were no guests to take care of. Only when necessary did she ask for his opinion or assistance. Most of the time she stayed in her sitting room, handling her own issues without the need for additional help, and the few times she was on her rounds, she tried to avoid crossing his path. The once respectful and friendly atmosphere between them had disappeared and been replaced by a business relationship that did not require any personal contact outside their working hours.
"Something is wrong with you!" Mrs. Patmore remarked one evening after dinner when Elsie had not left the servant's hall along with the others. "You haven't talked to him for days!"
"Really? I must have been very just busy then." She took one last sip from her almost empty wineglass and rose from her chair.
"No. Don't run away again." A strong hand pushed her down again and Mrs. Patmore took a seat next to her. "You do not even argue with him anymore."
It was pointless to hold up the pretense in front of to the cook who had helped her through a time when she had been most vulnerable and full of fear. It had been Beryl Patmore who had supported her, listened to her and cheered her up with her uncalled for comments on her health. The most unlikely ally of all!
Her voice was calm and quiet. "That is exactly the problem." She twisted the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, watching the crystal reflect the light on the wooden table.
She met him on her way to her bedroom that night on top of the stairs. He was leaning against the handrail, catching his breath, not aware of her presence. She stayed silent and in the darkness behind him, unsure whether to walk past him and wish him good night or wait until he walked on towards his room. The discussion she had with Mrs. Patmore earlier found its way back into her mind.
I think he is scared. Scared of all the changes.
She was certain of it, though this could not be the only excuse for his behaviour. She had had time to think about him, about them, over the course of the last week in the many hours she had spent alone with her work. Of course he had been on her mind every now and then. Avoiding him during work did not mean that she would not think of him. She had tried to find answers additionally to those she already had. Was the grumpiness he took out on her only caused by his inability to adapt to the new world that had affected their way of life? Or was there something else he tried to hide behind his emotionless exterior?
Tentatively she took another step, closed the gap between them slowly. He still had not moved. Another step and she emerged out of the darkness and her body cast a shadow onto the stairs in front of her.
Slowly he turned around, noticing her behind him finally. "Mrs. Hughes. I thought you had already gone up?"
"It's been a long day Mr. Carson." His voice was soft and void of the harshness that had dominated it the last days. She hesitated and looked up to him; three more steps separating them. "Is everything alright?" It was the first personal question she directed at him in six days.
The corner of his mouth twitched into what could be interpreted as a small smile. "I am a bit exhausted to be honest."
She took the last steps to stand next to him. "You have two new footmen. Let them do the work for you." Although she suspected that his exhaustion had nothing to do with his work.
She woke from a very vivid dream. Unexpectedly vivid but not unpleasant. It had been a while since she had had these kinds of dreams and it felt strange to experience them at a time when she was not at all happy. In the past, he had only invaded her dreams after a particular good day when they had shared the remains of the dinner wine and talked about trivial things before they inevitably would part for the night. When she had closed her eyes on those evenings she could still hear his voice and see his smile. The dreams had been welcomed very much because in her imagination she could live out what would never become reality.
But tonight she had expected her mind to process their disagreements, the problems between them, her growing fear that their relationship would never recover from all of this.
Elsie lit the candle on her bedside table. The yellow glow illuminated only a small part of her room but enough to outline the silhouettes of her belongings. This was her place, had been her life for the last 20 years. One simple room on a corridor she shared with all the other female staff. Unlike in her dreams, he had never been in her room, had never seen this part of her. Yet she had allowed herself to enter his bedroom occasionally during the war when he was ill. A small part of her had yearned he would care for her in the same way one day, and his behaviour before Dr. Clarkson had announced the final diagnosis had proven that he would have done so, had she really been sick. But now she had abandoned hope that his would ever happen.
She stared at the closed door that was half hidden in the darkness. He would never knock on this one. She recalled the moment he had held her hand, when they had shared grief their grief. How everything had felt so right about this gesture. She had been convinced that he had finally accepted the new world around him. And then suddenly it hit her. There was indeed something else that made him react so unexpectedly gruff. How could she have been so blind?
It was all a matter of perspective. She had looked at the problem from the wrong angle and not taken into consideration that he might have a different reason for being so unkind. Mrs. Patmore was right, and so was she but that was only half of the problem.
When she heard the knock this time, she answered it, allowed him to open her door and enter her sitting room again. His steps were hesitant, so unlike him. As if he was afraid she would now return all the hurt and anger he had directed at her in the last weeks.
"You wanted to speak with me?" He stood in the open door, one hand still on the handle, ready to leave the room fast.
"Come in, Mr. Carson." She closed the account book and stood up from her desk to walk over to the small table by the door. "And close the door please."
Elsie observed him from her place at the table. He did not keep his back as straight as he usually would, his shoulders had relaxed as if he had already surrendered and finally acknowledged that he had made a mistake. When he sat down he at least found the courage to look her straight in the eyes.
She almost gave in immediately, almost forgot about the carefully prepared speech she was going to give him when she saw the hurt in his eyes. Buts he would not start this conversation with an apology. "We haven't talked for a while." Elsie began and was interrupted the moment she had finished her sentence.
"I am sorry, Mrs. Hughes. My behaviour, the way I spoke to you, treated you, was wrong."
His hasty apology left her speechless for a few seconds. "I agree." She waited for him to continue but when he stayed silent, she knew it was time for her confession. "But you see, it has always been like this in the past: we argued", he raised his hand as if he wanted to interrupt her but he would not stop her now, "you may call it a discussion, and in the end you apologized." She took a deep breath. "That is not how things are supposed to be."
He furrowed his brow. "I fail to understand what you mean, Mrs. Hughes. I've not treated you as an equal partner in the past few weeks although we run this house together. And therefore I'd like to apologize."
She shook her head. He did not understand what he was doing. A simple I am sorry was not what she wanted to hear, maybe when it came to the discussions they had about the running of the house. But he had hurt her, ignored her feelings, took it for granted that after a misstep she would always accept his rueful apology. "It is not about the house. Not solely. For matters that concern work I take your excuse. Did it never occur to you that you hurt me with your words?" It was the most personal thing she had said in the course of the last months. Her heart pounded in her chest and in her ears the sound was so loud that she was afraid he would be able to hear it.
He broke their eye contact and looked down at the lace tablecloth, tracing the pattern with his index finger. But he did not answer.
"There was once a time when you realized how your words and actions affected me. And back then I would have gladly accepted your apology at any time." Her voice was almost a whisper now. "I know that you are afraid." She paused, waiting for him to agree with her.
He looked up again, took a deep breath and seemed ready to answer but when nothing happened, they both remained silent for a while, letting the words sink in. When he finally found his voice again, it was husky and low. "I am afraid. So much has changed during and after the war. I don't know where my place is sometimes. What decisions I can still make without ridicule the whole household."
This was the moment she had eagerly anticipated. In front of her she saw Charles Carson, not the butler of Downton Abbey.
"You have to accept that the world changes. It is nothing to be afraid of."
"I suppose it is not. You seem to have no problem with this at all."
She smiled gently. "Not anymore." And then it happened. She felt how her hand reached out to cover his much larger one.
His eyes lingered on their joined hands for a moment. "I feel like a fool, hiding behind my anger for so long. Will you forgive me?" The other hand covered hers.
She held her breath. This was more than she had expected to happen. "Only if you keep your promise this time. Life is too short to always go backwards. We need to take a step forward. Not the next day, but maybe the day after that." Would he understand this in the way she had meant it?
Their hands remained on top of the table. She enjoyed the warm and somehow protective touch. They did not talk, or got lost in the other's eyes. Elsie waited for something to happen, maybe he tried to understand what she had suggested. There was one more thing she needed to add, yet after all she had already confessed, she was too afraid to address the other topic she needed to talk to him about.
But then he let go of her hand, excused himself and left her sitting room. Perhaps it had all been too much and she had gone one step too far.
TBC let me know what you think.