Thank you for the wonderful reviews - I'm oddly proud to have made people cry (although I am sorry, hopefully this chapter is slightly less intense!). For those waiting on edge for the proposal (mrs-molesley, looking at you) - don't worry, it's coming, I promise. I would never lie about Baxley...
Phyllis spent the day on edge, waiting to be interrogated at any moment on her unexplained nocturnal absence. She knew it was likely just paranoia, but people did seem to be giving her strange looks and she could have sworn she caught Mrs Patmore staring at her over dinner. No one actually said anything though, and she was forced to admit Thomas must have been true to his word. Not that she was sad about that; it was just unexpected. A pleasant surprise, she decided.
She did, however, face a barrage of questions on the state of her head. It felt a little like everyone downstairs had been instructed to ask if her headache had gone and by the end of the day it was threatening to become real. Every time she reassured them she felt a small stab of guilt about keeping up Thomas's lie –but not enough to reveal the alternative and face whatever the inevitable consequences. She had done nothing wrong, she reminded herself sternly – and repeatedly. Instead she just kept smiling and nodding, not trusting herself to give any details.
The guilt was also somewhat diminished by the sheer feeling of joy radiating through her. It was such a relief to know that she hadn't been dreaming. She wouldn't have to keep her feelings hidden anymore; he loved her. He loved her, despite everything. She'd always known, in some corner of her heart – how could she not when he looked at her like that? – but it had been safer to ignore that voice of hope in favour of solid and reliable pragmatism. To hide the extent of her affections – as best she could – and assume that all he felt was friendship. She was unutterably relieved to have been wrong.
Not that she had ever really tried to restrain her feelings, she reflected later that evening. She sat in the kitchen accompanied only by a large mug of tea and yet more sewing (beginning the bedspread for that second best bed in earnest after her experience). It may not have been a passionate, heart stopping or dangerous romance like one of the Crawley daughters or younger maids might have had – he was no Branson and she was definitely no Lady Sybil from the stories she'd heard – but she thought they had found something just as good, if not greater. Kindred spirits. Strength.
She'd had stormy relationships like that before. Been afflicted with a mad passion that overruled her head and led her into places she would never willingly have gone – and had paid dearly for it. Her very soul revolted at the idea of returning to that state. That wasn't to invalidate what she felt now: after all, passion came in many forms. It may not have been a stormy love affair but her feelings for him were no less strong – a calm lake, but no shallower for it. They had been friends for so long that those years of getting to know each other and recognising their compatibility, relying on each other, and finding their places had led them to this point without even realising they had arrived. It felt comfortable. Safe. It felt, she reflected, as though they'd been married for years already.
At that, she dropped her work and a bolt of panic shot through her. As though they were married. Marriage. It wasn't something she'd thought would happen to her. She had dedicated herself to working hard and building a career at an early age, and balancing marriage and a job was difficult. Then, when marriage had been at the front of her mind, she had lost everything in one fell swoop – freedom, reputation, friends. She had seemed fated to be a spinster. To be certain she'd found herself absentmindedly daydreaming of being Mrs Molesley – she was only human after all – but it had never been with any seriousness, and she'd always stopped herself. Marriage itself – being married to someone else, sharing a life with them – had not been something she'd needed to think about. But if there was one thing she knew about Joseph Molesley, it was his penchant for taking things seriously and doing them properly. Marriage would be the next logical step now they both knew how the other felt. It made sense.
They were both old to be first time newlyweds but that had never stopped anyone: it hadn't stopped the Carsons. She would easily be able to continue her work at Downton and live in the cottage with him: Anna had already shown that that was possible for a Lady's Maid. She knew she loved him – rarely had she been more certain of anything. She knew he loved her. They could both continue working. They would have a place to live.
No, she realised. It wasn't any of those things that made her panic. It was something greater.
For all his quips about coffee, Joseph had always been very astute about her character. She was naturally independent, and had become more so since the incident with Coyle. She had sworn then never to let anyone – any man especially – influence her or lead her astray again. Her relationship with Mr Barrow had tested that promise but she had stayed true to it (albeit with help from Mr Molesley, a voice reminded her). Marriage would change that. She had built a career and salvaged a respectable name for herself and by herself. How could she let all of that go for the sake of a man? Not just any man, of course. Him. But still, in principle, it seemed wrong. It seemed dangerous. She felt waves of panic crashing in, helpless to stop them. What had she done? She was tied to him now – he knew how she felt, he knew how she felt – and surely he would be thinking about marriage? Why had she not thought about it earlier? Why had she not thought about how it would make her feel? What would it do to him if she said no? Could she say no for the sake of something so ridiculous?
"What should I do?" She muttered unconciously to herself, wringing and twisting her hands together in a silent prayer.
Her head spun round as she heard a noise from the doorway, but she couldn't see anyone there. She did, however, spot a light underneath Mrs Hughes's door, and an idea came to her. It might seem inappropriate – certainly more than might – but of anyone, Mrs Hughes was the most likely to understand her feelings. In any case, she was beginning to feel desperate and by this point, she'd have willingly unburdened her soul to Mr Barrow. Gathering her courage (to the sticking place, whispered a voice that sounded suspiciously like Joseph), she packed her needles haphazardly into her work bag and rinsed the tea cup. Raising her hand, she knocked as firmly as she could on the housekeeper's door.
"Come in." came a voice in reply, and breathing deeply, she turned the handle.
If Mrs Hughes was surprised to see her, she didn't let it show.
"Oh, Miss Baxter. I do hope you're feeling better."
Looking down to hide her guilty expression, she nodded. "Yes, I am, thank you."
"I'm glad to hear it. What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"
Biting her lip, Phyllis considered the best way to phrase her question.
"It's something of a delicate matter, Mrs Hughes. I'm not sure it's entirely appropriate, but I've no one else to ask."
Raising her eyebrows as her eyes widened slightly, Mrs Hughes nodded to the chair. "You'd best close the door and sit down then. Whatever it is, I'm sure I've heard worse."
Phyllis moved to sit before being struck by a thought. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?"
"By no means. I was just finishing up here for the evening. Now, go on. What was it you wanted to ask?"
"I was just – wondering – and please, tell me if this is impertinent in any way – when you agreed to marry Mr Carson – well – how did you feel about it?"
Elsie frowned. She had never seen the woman look like this before. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears and she looked about to either laugh or cry. Coming from someone so controlled, it was uncharacteristic and deeply concerning. Even when the police had arrived, she hadn't looked like this. Before she could open her mouth to reply, Miss Baxter shook her head and started again.
"I'm sorry, I should have phrased that better." She flustered. "I mean – did you feel like you were losing a part of yourself? Was it strange, having to tie yourself down? Oh, no, I don't mean that how it sounds – "
"Don't worry." Elsie said softly, finally understanding the other woman's dilemma and anxious to spare her tying herself up in knots getting at it. "I know exactly what you mean. Yes, having been a spinster for so many years, it did feel a little strange to suddenly have someone else so much in my life. For a moment it almost made me say regret saying yes. I even thought of turning around to him and saying I'd changed my mind, but I'm very glad I didn't. Marrying Mr Carson has brought a great happiness to my life that far outweighs any discomfort. Married life was definitely a change, I can tell you that," – images of roast lamb came, unbidden, into her head – "but it was one of the best choices I've ever made."
Phyllis nodded, and leaned back in her chair. She looked relieved, Elsie thought. Something was obviously still playing on her mind, but the wildness had at least faded from her eyes. Concealing a smile, she couldn't resist the next question.
"Do you have any reason for asking, Miss Baxter?"
The scarlet blush told her the answer.
"I see."
Opening her mouth to automatically deny whatever the other woman had assumed, Phyllis paused. Realising she had no good answer to give – and that whatever conclusion Mrs Hughes had come to, she was probably right – she just nodded instead.
"Thank you, Mrs Hughes. You've given me a great deal of comfort."
"Well, I'm happy to be of service. I hope you get a better night's sleep tonight." Elsie could have sworn she saw the blush flare again on Phyllis's cheeks at that as she slipped out of the door. Better not question that one, she thought, taking a sip from her hastily hidden glass as she chuckled to herself. I'm sure we'll all find out soon.