A/N: Now that we're through one tragedy we're doing another large time jump where I've got some fluff on tap!
Also, I have the Crawleys in London. I don't know if it's for The Season, or if they had to go have a family conference with Murray, or what. They just had to go for long enough to warrant opening the house and bringing some the servants with them. Author's License wat.
STORY THE FOURTH
1919-1924
"Mr. Carson, I thought the telephone was only to be used for business or emergencies."
"I fully intend to discuss business with you, Mrs. Carson, but it would be quite rude of me to open a conversation without exchanging pleasantries."
"I see. Well in that case, how is London?"
"Oh the usual: busy, noisy. I'll have a few hours to myself on Tuesday, I thought I might go see a film."
"A Theda Bara one?"
"I should have never told you about that."
She laughs.
The conversation pauses, relaxes, before he ventures his question. "How is Martin doing?" What neither of them had anticipated when Charles had to leave to accompany The Family to London was that the boy had some rather terrible associations with male caregivers leaving on trains. The departure and the few days after had left them all upset and on edge.
Her voice immediately sobers although her tone has her usual cautious optimism. "Quiet, but he seems happy enough lately. Do you have time to talk to him if I fetch him?"
"I should have a bit of time. It'll have to be quick though."
She leaves the earpiece on the desk, hurrying to the back door and to the edge of the yard. "Martin! Come here!" The boy abandons his rug beater (maybe someday they could get one of the new Hoover vacuums she's heard about) and hurries over. He's learned by now that when Grannie says come, you come. "Your granda is on the phone and wants to talk to you."
It's slightly disconcerting to see how fast the boy picks up on how to use the telephone. All she has to do is point to the parts - "you listen here, and talk here" - and immediately the boy is all smiles as he talks to Charles.
"I've been helping to beat the rugs!" It keeps him nicely occupied and supervised while she works in the house where she doesn't trust an energetic young boy around priceless heirlooms. It also wears him out nicely; has him out and snoring the second his head touches the pillow. Goodness knows she needs that without Charles, Anna, or even O'Brien around to be extra pairs of eyes. (However unwilling in O'Brien's case. The lady's maid can't help herself but correct poor behavior when she sees it.)
"I saw a film once, in Liverpool! Daddy took me when he was home on leave. It was a cartoon about a police dog..." A scene-by-scene description occurs then and Elsie allows herself a moment to relax at the offhand mention of Nathan. She is glad the boy has happy memories he can recall. The scene at Charles' departure shaken her more than she cared to admit.
The movie description apparently takes up Charles' allotted time, because Martin is quickly saying goodbye and handing her back the earpiece. She waves him off back to the rugs. "Good job, Granda."
Charles sighs in relief. "We're starting to get the hang of this again. Now, about the invoices..."
Charles returns to Downton on the same train as The Family - apparently there had been some minor mishap that needed sorting which prevented his taking an earlier train - so their greeting is constrained mostly to a quick clasp of hands and a smile. Very rarely has she resented their agreement to absolute professionalism in public as much as in that moment. Martin receives a quick hug and mussed hair before he is sent out at a trot to help fetch the luggage from the car.
Even with advanced preparations completed for dinner (God bless the telephone), the day is a whirlwind of unpacking and running back and forth to do the little but numerous tasks required to get everyone settled again. The fourth time that she trips over Martin in the downstairs hallway, Elsie shoos him outside, telling him for heaven's sake to go play and stay out of the way, and doesn't feel guilty a second for doing so.
Of course, that means at dinner time when Martin returns he almost instantly latches on to Charles. She shifts the seats to put Martin between the two of them, and the boy spends the entire time nattering on about everything he had done while Charles was away. The dear man is extraordinarily patient with him and pays close attention, responding with appropriate disbelief or awe as the story requires.
They eat dinner quickly, fully expecting The Family to go to bed early, but they aren't fast enough. One by one the bells chime out and the summoned scoop up their last few bites before hastening up the stairs. She catches the way his eyes close and he exhales roughly before shoving himself up off the chair.
As the table is cleared, she turns to Martin who lingers in hopes of catching an extra helping of dessert. "Bedtime, I think," she says lightly.
"But I wanna say goodnight to Granda." Martin looks up at her, eyes large and pleading.
"If you get dressed and hop in bed, you read until he comes down and I'll send him in to say goodnight. Does that satisfy?"
"But Grannie, I wanted..." He bites on his lower lip.
"It's been a long day lad. He'll be here all day tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and far more awake then."
"Do you promise?"
"I can assure you it's quite likely. Now run along and wash up."
She clears off their desks and sets up Martin's bed. He arrives in time to help her put the sheets on and then she leaves him to change. She checks that the women's corridor is dark and quiet and the door between sides is locked, then uses the water closet to wash up.
She waits for Charles in the darkened Servants' Hall, doing her best not to doze off where she sits. Her day hasn't been as long as his, but it's been a high strung sort of day and the energy has worn her out. By the time Charles comes back downstairs, she's almost forgotten she's been missing him and that he hasn't been by her side at Downton all this time. Almost.
"Long day," she murmurs, taking his lamp from him and extinguishing it.
He merely grunts in agreement and pulls her to where he can press a kiss to her forehead. She closes her eyes and leans into it, savoring his presence. She adjusted long ago to his absences, but it never lessens how glad she is to see him back. Everyone else has long trudged to bed, so she tilts her head up to press a light kiss to his mouth. They linger there, tired, revelling in the closeness.
They linger there probably longer than they should, in their tiredness forgetting where they are and how long it's gone on. Eventually though she pulls away, watching him blink as he comes back to the real world. She suspects she looks similarly dazed.
"I told Martin you'd say goodnight."
He nods and lets go of her hands, rubs one of his down the side of his face.
She hovers in the doorway as he goes into the room, asks Martin what's he reading, smiles and nods at the answer, puts the bookmark in the page and the book on the shelf, pulls the covers up and tucks them around Martin, and then turns off the light.
"Goodnight Granda. Goodnight Grannie," comes the small voice from the darkness, already lazy with sleep. They respond softly in kind and shut the door. They stay there, leaning against the doorway in the gloom of the hallway, standing too close together, leaning on each other as much as the walls. He leans his cheek against her hair, she presses herself against his chest. They should go to their room, but they're trapped in a tired apathy where it is easier to remain where they are.
"The move went well."
"It did."
"Will we be doing anything significant this week?"
"They haven't indicated so. To be honest, they'll likely lay low for a week. The talk about Sir Carlisle and Branson still haven't died down yet."
She smiles at the indignation in his voice. "Lady Mary had a rough time of it?"
"She doesn't deserve this."
She strokes his arm, calming him. "It will die down soon enough."
His shirt is smooth against her cheek, warmed by his skin. She can hear the soft lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub of his heart. It's a lulling sound, and she doesn't even notice that she's closed her eyes until some undetermined time later he moves and she bobs back into a wider awareness.
"Bed, I think," he murmurs, his voice rumbling through his chest and into her.
"I agree." It still takes her another minute to pull away and stand on her own.
They drift to bed trading lazy kisses and caresses, reimmersing themselves in each other's presence until they finally give in to sleep.
