Chapter Three: Orange
1928
When he finds her, she's sitting on the bench in the back garden, her fingers absentmindedly fidgeting against the hem of her coat sleeve, her eyes locked on the horizon, a gorgeous ginger sunset, an autumn portrait of persimmons, pumpkins, and burnt oranges streaked like candy floss across a clear blue sky. The sun's just beginning her descent and her rays shimmer through the branches of the oak tree at the far corner of the yard.
"Come inside, Elsie. I've started a fire and I'll draw the bath. You can take as long as you like." He's trying very hard to make things better, but she's not removed her piercing gaze from the blazing sunset; her eyes are misted over and her jaw is hard set.
After a moment, he relents. He knows there's not much he can do to change her mind once she's set on something, so he sits down beside her. For the longest time they simply sit together in silence, until he feels the slightest nudge against his thigh. He looks down to find her outstretched hand, fingers curled upward, awaiting his acceptance.
"I thought I'd walk up to the house with you tomorrow," he begins as quietly as his big voice can. "Though Lady Grantham made a point that you not come until after three at the earliest and only then if you're up to it to discuss a few things." He feels her tense, her fingertips pressing into the flesh and bone of his hand. "Elsie, " he replies firmly, "You've had a shock …"
"I'm fine." The protest defiant, her tone brooks no argument. She's betrayed when a tear spills over her lashes and slips down her cheek; she swipes at it furiously angered that she has so little control over her emotions.
"There's no shame in admitting that you need some time to yourself," he assures her. He's looking at her now and her eyes drop to their joined hands and then rise to meet his.
"I still can't believe she's gone." The vision of the cook, sat slumped in her chair, open cookery book on the little kitchen desk in front of her flashes in her mind's eye and the tears begin to fall in earnest. Her husband presses a handkerchief into her free hand.
He'll never tell her, but the fragility in her voice and the sorrow etched on her features is disconcerting; she's always been the strong one, the resolute one. The one who keeps everyone else, including him, steady.
"I'll miss her too," Charles admits, tears filling his eyes. "We three were a good team for a long time time weren't we?" At this admission she nods, squeezes his hand in affection and affirmation.
She leans her head against his shoulder and together they watch the sun set. When the flaming disc slips beneath the horizon and the coolness of night with its blues and cool whites descend upon the earth they bring a cold chill. The symbolism isn't lost on either of them. Downton'll not be the same without the warmth of her ginger-haired cook.
A/N: Author's Note is almost as long as the Drabble …
My grandfather died very suddenly the week before Christmas years ago looking over his cookbooks planning Christmas lunch for the family. We were all quite shocked, but he didn't suffer and went to his heavenly reward doing something he enjoyed so I couldn't be too sad for a long time. He was thinking of doing something for all of us. I was remembering him when I thought of this. Also, I think that Elsie is more buttoned-up with the expression of her feelings than Charles. I know that's not often how she's thought of or even portrayed in fan fiction, but on watching the series (and I have watched it a lot), Elsie really guards her emotions. A woman of her position had to. Charles meanwhile admits that he loves the family, Lady Mary, and Mrs. Hughes. He actually uses the word in reference to the last two and when he talks of Alice it is implied. Mrs. Hughes never talks of loving Joe Burns and in Series 6, Ep. 1 during "the talk" only admits to Mrs. P that Charles is a "dear, dear man" which is her code language for "I love him, Mrs Patmore." She does admit to us and him that she loves him using the word "love" in the final episode of the series. So, I think it right here that she'd be a little stiff upper lipped, until she couldn't be. I'm over 500 words, 520 to be exact, so that's certainly not enough to explore how either of the Carsons or the rest of those at the Abbey would feel at the sudden loss of Mrs. Patmore. I plan to explore that in a full length one-shot or couple of chapters later on. Think of this as a preview. Please let me know what you think if you are inclined.
