Elsie took a moment between the two sets of back doors to collect herself. What could that boy have been thinking? Roger was only a few years younger than herself, but she couldn't help but think of him as anything but a boy.

Well, she knew what he was thinking. Elsie just couldn't think why. Was there something in her own actions that was not as it should be? Had she led him on? She didn't think so. She had been in such a good mood after joining Mr. Carson for his lunch, perhaps she had smiled too much when she relayed his instructions for the evening. No, she decided. In the end it just comes down to a young man and a bicycle shed and she was blameless.

She waved off these thoughts. She was not worried that Roger would retaliate or repeat his advances. He might have gotten carried away with the moment, but he needed this job and he was smart enough to know it.

Elsie now turned her thoughts to collecting on her bet with Mrs. Cobb.

CE-

Mr. Carson had heard Elsie and Roger go out the back doors. He thought it was odd, but didn't give it too much thought until he realized that Geoffrey had not gone with them. Roger had a lazy streak in him and was always trying to get other people to do the work assigned to him. It stood to reason he had enlisted Elsie to help. It did not make sense that he had released Geoffrey from the task. Unless…

There had been something in the way Roger was regarding Elsie at dinner; trying, unsuccessfully, to engage her in conversation. He was continually trying to catch her eye as he complained to Mr. Carson of all the extra work he'd done that day to cover for the butler's absence.

The way he was carrying on, you'd think I had been boating on the lake all day. Mr. Carson had scoffed to himself over dinner.

She'd seemed oblivious to his attempts, but there was something about her tonight; a way she had of involuntarily breaking into a smile as she chewed her food. She very much seemed like a woman with a secret.

By now, alarm bells were going off in his mind and his butler training compelled him to follow the pair out into the courtyard. He knew that he might discover something that truly disappointed him. Carson thought it unlikely that Elsie was party to anything improper, but how would he handle it if he were to discover a consensual liaison? He didn't like the idea of sending her away, but there were rules.

Hating the surreptitiousness of his actions, Mr. Carson had quietly let himself out into the courtyard, within earshot of the shed. It didn't take him long to understand the state of affairs inside the shed. Carson thought things had gone far enough and he was about to make his presence known when Roger let out a pained grunt and thudded to the shed floor. At that point, Mr. Carson thought he'd best slip back inside unnoticed. She'd handled the situation well and would only be embarrassed to know he had overheard.

He smiled as he closed the backdoor on her final warning to Roger. He always knew she had the competence and compassion to be a good housekeeper. Now he knew she had the fire.

CE—

The knock on his pantry door was firm and crisp, but it was not Mrs. Pearson's.

"Come," he said, looking up from his desk.

"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Carson." Elsie smiled her way into the pantry, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.

"You are not disturbing me, Elsie, please come in."

"Mrs. Pearson has gone up for the night, but she wanted me to bring you this."

"I'm glad to hear Mrs. Pearson has turned in. It must have been a hard day for her with me in the grounds all day." His gaze shifted reluctantly from her face to the bag in her hand. "What exactly is that you have, Elsie?"

"It's an icepack, Mr. Carson; for your leg. Mrs. Pearson noticed you were limping and I thought it must be from when Lady Sybil ran into you."

"You saw that, did you?" He blushed slightly. "Which time?"

"Just after lunch. Were there others?" Her concern was obvious.

The expression on his face could only be interpreted as, You have no idea.

"Well, you should not be sitting at your desk with that leg under you. My first job was in the household of our local doctor. In my time there I saw enough sprains and bruises to know that you should have that leg elevated with ice on it." As she spoke, Elsie was rearranging the furniture of his pantry. She moved one of his small wooden chairs in front of his armchair.

Mr. Carson watched her; at first wondering what she was about. When she set the ice pack on the wooden chair and then turned back to face him, he understood. He rose, with some difficulty, trying not to wince at the pain. His leg had become stiff in the little time he'd been sitting at his desk. He thought he was able to hide it admirably.

Elsie resisted the urge to rush over and offer him her arm for support. He would not have approved of that at all. He was obviously reluctant to show her how much pain he was in. Further assistance would be impertinent. He was only accepting her help currently because she had invoked Mrs. Pearson's name; Mrs. Pearson, who had no knowledge of any limp or any icepack.

"And where did you get ice, Elsie Hughes?" He queried, settling into the arm chair and swinging his leg onto the wooden chair. "Mrs. Cobb guards that ice house like a dragon guards its hoard. Are you and Mrs. Pearson trying to start an all out war?"

"Oh, Mrs. Cobb and I have reached an understanding. There's to be a ceasefire for the next month or so." Depending on how long Mrs. Cobb can stick to the arrangements of our bet.

"That would be nice, if it holds." A perplexed Charles Carson regarded her as he placed the ice gingerly on his shin, just below his knee. "Should I ask how this was achieved?"

"Best not." Thankfully, he accepted this cryptic answer. After a moment of watching him settle the icepack on his leg, she noticed him eying a novel just out of reach and handed it to him. He nodded his thanks. "You should roll your pant leg up to get the best use of the ice," she offered.

"It is cold enough as it is." He assured her. He was certainly not going to bare his leg in her presence. Even through the pant leg, the ice seemed to be doing it's work. The pain was lessening. His face was relaxing, until a different pain came to his eyes as he asked her, "And how, exactly, is Mrs. Pearson this evening? She was not very cheerful at dinner. I fear the trips to the wine cellar were a lot for her to handle."

"She only had to make one trip. She sent Roger down after she'd made the initial selections." Elsie reassured him.

"Very good. Still, do keep an eye on her and let me know if she is overworking herself." She could tell that he was afraid that the time had come when he would have to gently suggest to Mrs. Pearson that she should retire to her sister's in Leeds.

"I shall, Mr. Carson. But, I shouldn't worry too much. Mrs. Pearson is a highly intelligent woman. I believe she is capable of recognizing her own limitations. Though, may I say, she is very lucky to have such a friend as you looking out for her best interests."

"Thank you, Elsie. The friendship is mutual, I assure you. She has been a very good friend to me. A very good friend, indeed." He seemed to be speaking more to himself now as his thoughts drifted away. Elsie shifted uncomfortably where she stood; unsure of whether she had been dismissed or not.

After a few moments, he remembered her. And then he remembered something else. "Could you also keep an eye on Roger, Elsie? I am afraid he has been less than a gentleman to some of the girls."

"What do you mean, Mr. Carson?" Had she and Roger been overheard by someone?

"I'm only saying if you know of any reason that he should be reprimanded, you've only to say. I do not need details. Your word would be sufficient. I would give him a reference, but if any of the female staff would be more comfortable if he were dismissed, I would like to know."

"He is a bit cheeky, Mr. Carson, but I believe he is harmless. I will let you know if there is ever a problem of which I am aware." She wondered how much he knew.

"Very well, Elsie, thank you. That will be all. And thank Mrs. Pearson for the icepack." He suspected Mrs. Pearson had no idea about the icepack or his limp, for that matter, but pretenses must be maintained.

"Certainly. Goodnight, Mr. Carson."

"Goodnight, Miss Hughes."