A/N: I believe my body has been hijacked, because I never could have devised such a plot in my own sane mind. Apologies, and thanks to everyone who managed to read through this, and leave a review.
Seeing him like this, on the steps of Grantham House, hurt more than she could have ever imagined. She knew, naturally, that he would stay at Downton—that his lordship wouldn't let him leave, partly because of the guilt Charles felt, partly due to the responsibility he had to face—but to actually meet him, face to face, broke her heart again.
That is, if it has ever started to mend in the first place.
If any time had passed, if the seasons changed between then and now, she doesn't know.
Fifteen months earlier
She was tired—so, so tired. Three days of teas, dinner parties and cocktails, of guests wandering around the house and leaving one great mess in their wake. Three days of running up and down the stairs, shushing strange maids and footmen laughing too loud in the corridors, making sure the doors between male and female quarters were properly shut at night...
Just a couple of hours more, and the worst part of it will all be over, she told herself, clenching her jaw as she moved swiftly around the ground floor, looking for Charles—nobody had seen him for the last hour or so, and since the party was now in full bloom the butler simply had to be present. After all, she didn't believe he held Lady Edith in lesser regards than Lady Mary—and he had done everything he could to make her engagement party a thrilling and wonderful one...
"Mrs. Hughes? Are you busy?"
So much for finding him now. "Not at all, Mrs. Crawley. How can I help?"
Isobel Crawley held up her hand, wrapped haphazardly in what looked like a slightly used handkerchief. "It seems that my son is a little too enthusiastic tonight. He managed to break a champagne glass, and I cut myself, rather badly, I'm afraid. There's a maid clearing the glass up already, but I was wondering if you could help me out?..."
"Certainly," Elsie nodded, her whole mind focused on the task at hand. "If you please follow me..."
Why didn't she go and get the bandage herself? It would have been much more appropriate to have Mrs. Crawley wait in the small library until she came back and dressed her wound.
The heartbreak would have been just as crushing, but perhaps something could have been salvaged out of the debris of her life.
Too late to think about it now, when everything lies in ruins.
Strange, muffled sounds were coming out of her sitting room. It should have stopped her, make her turn Mrs. Crawley around and have her wait in the emptied servants' hall—but she was exhausted, and in a hurry, and wanted only to find Charles and have him hold her until she fell asleep, and...
...and there he was, in her very own sitting room, with a maid whose name Elsie didn't even remember, very much undressed and sprawled across his lap...
...and Mrs. Crawley reacted before Elsie had a chance to, and started to shout at them, and then O'Brien appeared out of nowhere and peeked inside, her face going white as soon as she caught the sight of Charles and that little... thing...
...and suddenly she was back upstairs, sitting in a chair in a room she didn't quite recognize through the black haze surrounding her head, and Lady Grantham was there, holding her hand while Mrs. Crawley talked and talked and talked, and his lordship's face was as pale as Miss O'Brien's had been, his eyes burning as he gritted his teeth and stomped off out of the room, probably to find Charles...
...and then Lady Mary came in, and kneeled on the floor next to her, paying absolutely no attention to her brand new dress as she turned to her mother and stated firmly, "He would have to go. If Papa won't make him, I will."
...and then Elsie heard her own voice, quiet and dull and resonating like an echo inside a well:
"No, milady. You don't have to do this. It is I who should go."
How could she ever go back in there after seeing all that? How could she have sat on that very settee and worked through the linen rota, remembering oh so vividly every shape, every colour, every sound?
It would have driven her mad within a week.
"Elsie, please..."
She went past him, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. He caught up with her, touched her elbow; she broke free of his hold, and from the look in his eyes she could tell he thought she would slap him across the face.
She wanted to. Very much. Almost as much as she wanted to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be alright, even though she didn't believe it herself.
"I don't have anything to say to you, Charles Carson. Nor do I wish to listen to anything you might want to tell me."
"You have to! You couldn't possibly believe a word of this! I can't even remember most of... She... she must have spiked up my wine, or..."
"Since when does the butler drink wine before the most important party of the year is over?"
He hung his head low, his chest heaving. At any other time she would have been worried about his heart acting up again, but right now she couldn't have cared less.
"I was reckless, Elsie, reckless and tired and stupid, and... what else would you like me to say?"
"Nothing. There is nothing you could say that would make me forget about it." She swallowed hard and raised a hand to her face, trying to hide it from him, to deny the pain and anger. "That girl told his lordship you've been pursuing her ever since she set foot in this house. That you'd followed her around for three days, dropping all sorts of hints, and when you cornered her downstairs you gave her the wine..."
"Elsie, you must know it's all a lie!" His head snapped up as he grabbed her by the shoulders, his feverish, pleading eyes boring into hers. "And his lordship believed her?..."
"You have to admit—it is usually the man who spikes up a woman's drink, not the other way around," she whispered, closing her eyes and praying for strength and composure. "And the girl hasn't got a single flaw on her character, whereas..." She paused and bit her lip.
"...whereas I had been on stage, which could have led to any kinds of things, is that what you meant to say? My God, Elsie, that was ages ago! And his lordship had known about it for years now!"
"It is quite a different thing to know something had happened a long time ago and been long since put down to rest, and to have it come back from the grave and haunt you."
Charles let go of her shoulders and stepped back, his face drawn and ashen as he let his arms hang loosely by his sides.
"What must I do to make it all go away, Elsie? Tell me, and I will."
She could have asked him then to resign his post and go away with her. He wouldn't have a character, but she wouldn't have minded working for them both, for as long as she had the strength, as long as there was a place that would have her.
She could have asked him to forget about the girl, to turn away from her shame and his responsibility and live the life they'd imagined long ago, together, always together, with nothing in the world to separate them.
But she knew deep down inside that his sense of duty and honour would never allow him to do that.
And as much as she wanted to believe in every word he said, her heart was a great, raw wound, and it would not stop weeping.
"I think we both know what you must do."
"Tell me that you believe me."
"I cannot."
She turned away and left, passing the ever closed door to her sitting room without a single look.
TBC...