Thank you for the lovely reviews so far. I don't think I can deny that this is rapidly becoming a bit of a Carson/Hughes ship as well- apparently it's all my mind is capable of- but so long as there are no strenuous objections, I'll just go with it.
"I knew those shoes would hammer your feet," Elsie told the girl fiddling with the strap of the party shoes her grandmother had condescended to purchase for her for the occasion. There was a definite air of I-told-you-so in her voice.
Sybil looked up in mild irritation.
"Then why didn't you tell me so this morning?" she asked testily, still bent double.
"Do you really think you'd have listened to a dried-up, sensible spinster like me about something like that?" Elsie replied with a knowing roll of her eyes.
Straightening up, Sybil seemed to consider the matter.
"I don't suppose so," she conceded.
They both turned from where they now stood side by side to survey the room at large. The dancing was well under way by now, the bride and groom taking centre stage rather clumsily but in high spirits. Nearby Lord Grantham was dancing exuberantly with a blushing Mrs Crawley, a genial expression on his face. Lady Grantham was watching them with amusement, but Lady Violet beside her radiated waves of disapproval.
"Someone's been on the champagne," Elsie remarked lightly.
Following her gaze, Sybil caught sight of the scene her relatives made and giggled.
"I'd swear you had been too, if I didn't know about your sarcastic sense of humour," she told the housekeeper between giggles, obviously referring to the very tongue-in-cheek attitude Elsie seemed to have adopted that day.
"That's a butler's perk, not a housekeeper's," she responded judiciously, choosing to ignore the reference to her recent audacity.
Sybil looked alarmed.
"What, you mean Mr Carson...?" she glanced towards the corner of the room where Mr Carson stood, evidently scanning him for signs of tipsiness.
Elsie cast a rueful eye in his direction too.
"Oh no, he's far too dignified for all of that," she assured her.
A second later she noticed Sybil's eyebrows raised towards her in a pointed, though at the same time incredulous, expression.
"What?" she asked unable to stop herself smiling a little at the girl's face, "I'm only saying what you want to hear."
Sybil laughed heartily in confirmation of the housekeeper's suspicions.
"I think it's very sweet of you both," she assured the older woman, "Honestly," she added as it was Elsie's turn to look a little taken aback, "I'm not one of these who refuse to acknowledge that servants have their own lives too. More so than we do, often."
"I know; you've already lost me a promising housemaid," Elsie reminded her, but not unkindly.
They were quiet for a few moments watching a flurry of ballgowns and dress suits dance past them.
"At least I'm not the only wallflower tonight."
Elsie followed Sybil's gaze; finding Lady Mary at the opposite side of the room standing next to her Aunt Rosamond but evidently not paying her the slightest bit of attention. The girl was watching the dancing couples with a sadness in her face, it was evident even from quite a distance. It was quite apparent to both of them where her thoughts were occupied. Feeling as if she were intruding upon a private moment, Elsie was relieved when Sybil spoke next.
"Forgive me, Mrs Hughes, I wonder if you could assist me with changing my shoes. I seem to have chosen rather an uncomfortable pair."
The formality of the request and the sudden seriousness in her voice told Elsie that she was not in the mood for being wound up further about her unwise choice of footwear- more that there was something she wanted to discuss away from the noisy ballroom. She nodded her head gracefully and followed Sybil away from the edge of the dancefloor. As the girl's eyes swept over her sister for a final time, Elsie thought for a second that she perceived a note of anguish in her face. She followed Lady Sybil at a short distance through the crowds of guests.
"Sybil dear..."
To their left Lady Grantham was gesturing for her youngest daughter to join her where she sat. Beside her stood a very tall and gangling young man in an extravagant dinner suit that did not quite fit his narrow frame.
"Mama," the note of pleading in Sybil's voice was evident, "I'm just going to change my shoes, I'll be down soon."
Elsie had to quicken her pace considerably; despite the hindrance her shoes caused her, Sybil all but fled from the ballroom after that. Thankfully, she waited for her outside the door and they were able to resume their walk together at a much more friendly pace.
"So how is the esteemed Mr Strallan?" Elsie asked, referring not to the groom but to his cousin, "I presume that was him?" referring to the gangling youth.
Sybil nodded fervently, a look of exasperated discontent on her face.
"Spectacularly rich, very dull," she informed her bluntly, "And a lot skinnier than I am; we'd look ridiculous together. Granny's suddenly opposed to it now that she's had a look at him. No matter what she said about Cousin Matthew being too middle-class she liked him in the end because he was quite charming in a particular light. I always said she was a romantic at heart."
In spite of the oddity of the latter statement, Elsie was pleased to see that the vague humour of the situation was not lost on her, thank heaven, if her tone was anything to go by. It was, Elsie thought, possible that the girl was thinking exactly the same as she was: thank God, for once, for Lady Violet.
"Anyway," Sybil continued with a sigh as they began to ascend the stairs, "Granny's disapproval only makes Mama all the more determined."
It was always going to come to this, Elsie thought bitterly, right from when the childish Lady Sybil had discussed the pros and cons of matrimony with her she'd known that the child would marry whichever suitor was backed by the lady who won the squabble.
"I wish I could help in some way, my Lady," Elsie told her earnestly, "If there's anything I could say to either of them..."
"Bless you for trying, Mrs Hughes," Sybil told her, "But-..."
"I know," Elsie assured gently her as they turned a corner, noting the awkward way her young companion had left her sentence hanging, "I'm only a servant, they would never listen to me."
Sybil's continued silence as they reached her room acted to confirm the truth of what she'd said. She sat down at the dressing table, gratefully kicking off the monstrous contraptions she'd had on her feet.
"Can't Mrs Crawley intercede on your behalf?" Elsie asked, emerging from the wardrobe with a much more suitable pair, and a ray of hope.
Sybil gave it some thought.
"I suppose we could give it a try," she conceded, putting on the new pair, "But then there's always the risk that her defending me would make Granny stop, just to be contrary. And, however unfair it is, at the end of the day Granny's influence is far greater than hers. Oh, that's much better, thank you."
Her feet restored to relative comfort she stood up again.
"I suppose your best policy," Elsie surmised as they headed back down the stairs, "Is to just keep your head down and hope she forgets she needs to marry you off."
Sybil nodded her head in agreement.
"We have no better plan," she admitted.
…...
It was well past midnight and they were still at it. Elsie briefly marvelled at the stamina of the upper classes to be able to dance for so long, but then reminded herself rather bitterly that they weren't all up at six that morning to check that all of the guest bedrooms were ready. True enough, numbers had gradually depleted as the evening wore on and now the room was only about half as full as it had been but it still didn't look as if she was going to get to bed any time soon. Aware that it would be best to get a jump on things if they wanted to be able to retire before dawn, Elsie wandered through to the library to collect empty glasses. She had about a tray-full when Mr Carson came in, an empty tray in his hand- presumably about to do the same thing. He opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it.
"I thought I'd save the footmen a job," she told him, "Has anyone had the chance to get some rest?"
"The kitchen staff have," he replied, "And William keeps drifting off in the servants' hall."
She smiled sympathetically.
"Poor lad. He hates evenings like this."
"Well he'll have to get used to them," the butler grumbled, "Though I can see why. Where do they get all of the energy from?"
She laughed a little at the genuine wonderment on the butler's face.
"Lady Violet gone yet?" she asked collecting the last of the glasses and circumnavigating the large table with the laden tray.
"Here let me swap you," he took her load in exchange for his empty tray, "Yes, I had Mr Branson drive her back just now."
"And Mrs Crawley?"
"Surprisingly, no," Charles cleared his throat as they headed towards the door, "She seems rather... er, taken with dancing with his Lordship."
Elsie laughed, remembering the performance she had witnessed earlier that night. She saw Charles purse his lips, torn between sternness and his own amusement.
"That woman never fails to surprise me," he admitted.
Elsie almost hooted with laughter again; she was at that stage of tiredness when things that are only moderately funny seem hilarious.
"There'll be a few nursing sore heads tomorrow," she remarked, "And I don't just mean us."
"Keeping our eyes open will be our problem," he remarked as they began to descend the stairs, "Ah, there you are William," he addressed the boy very pointedly as they met him on the stairs.
Elsie noted his bleary eyes and felt a pang of sympathy for him.
"Be so good as to take these downstairs for me," Charles instructed, handing him the tray of glasses.
Not wanting to over burden him, Elsie kept hold of hers and allowed him to depart back to the basement. They proceeded down the corridor back towards the ballroom, agreeing that they had best check on the proceedings. As they were crossing the entrance hall, Elsie caught a glimpse of a light blue frock out of the corner of her eye. Turning her head she saw that her first thoughts had been correct: she had seen that dress earlier that morning because she had helped the girl to put it on. What on earth was Lady Sybil doing down here, heading towards the front door? Why wasn't she in the party with everyone else? She waited a few seconds until she saw her turn a corner.
"You go on without me," she told Charles, unable to provide herself with a reasonable explanation to her questions.
"Are you alright?" he asked frowning.
She nodded vaguely, wandering away and leaving him standing in the corridor. Slipping through the glass doors, she followed the sound of flat shoes slapping a little on the wooden floor. Yes, she was heading for the front door. What in the name of heaven...?
The sounds of footsteps stopped so she came to a halt too, lingering a little way behind a half open door. Glancing around it a little, she saw Lady Sybil- looking around furtively. Then she heard the sound of the front door opening. She knew exactly who it would be, there was no need to look.
"Tom!"
The relief and gladness in Sybil's voice was so touching it broke Elsie's resolve to burst in with another contrived excuse. Instead she bit her lip, hovering behind the door, feeling awkward at the length of the silence that followed. She got the feeling that- whatever was going on round the corner- Lady Sybil wasn't exactly "keeping her head down". She would insist on making her own situation more precarious than it already was, she thought in exasperation. It was an odd kind of terrified relief that struck when she heard the sound of footsteps ahead of her. There was very little chance that the young couple knew they were about to be intruded upon. When, a few seconds later, still no words followed, Elsie was getting worried; the footsteps were much louder. Then she saw the one single person who's appearance could have convinced her that this was in fact a nightmare: Miss O'Brien. And in that second, she knew decisive action was in order, and could think of nothing more constructive to do than fling her empty drinks tray at the floor with an almighty crash, slamming the door shut as she did so.
It was clear by the look of astonishment on the lady's maid's face that she had seen exactly what the housekeeper had done, but from her startled silence she could not quite believe her eyes. Hopefully, that was all she had seen. Miss O'Brien stared at Elsie for a few second, before beginning in a faltering voice:
"Mr... Mr Carson said you'd be down 'ere. He asked me to fetch you. 'Er Ladyship says she can't find Lady Sybil."
No wonder, Elsie thought.
"Well has her room been checked?" she enquired, "She might have got tired and gone to bed?"
Miss O'Brien did not know.
"Well then we must go and check," she told her, leading her safely away from the closed door.
She bent as gracefully as she could manage to pick up her tray, hoping it would not prompt Miss O'Brien to question her seemingly bizarre actions. She really would have to have a word with Mr Branson, she thought to herself wearily. He might not prove as averse to having sense talked into him.
Please tell me what you think!
