"…but we are her family and I don't…." Charles interrupts before her hand on his arm stops him. His wife looks to him imploring him to hold his tongue; to allow the doctor to finish speaking. The tension in the room hangs heavy. Elsie knows that her husband's harsh tone is because he is anxious. She has been on the receiving end of it often enough herself. Now that they sit here, before the doctor who is peering at them through his wired rimmed spectacles, dressed in his perfectly starched white coat, they worry that they are doing the right thing. For them. For Becky. Not many people can intimidate either one of them and the doctor is not unfriendly, quite the opposite. He is courteous and he has not intentionally said anything to put them off the idea of bringing Becky home with them. And this man who only has Becky's best interests at heart does not intimidate them, but Elsie realizes that perhaps they have not thought through every possibility. She and Charles pride themselves on examining every detail and she thinks that they have thought them all through but perhaps they have not. She watches her husband as he firmly grips the brim of his hat; she can almost hear what he is thinking. How dare this man suggest that we are not Becky's family?

"Mr. Carson," the doctor softens his tone. "Miss Hughes has lived here quite a long time. She has established friendships and a sense of family that might be difficult to give up no matter how fond she is of her sister or you for that matter. She is accustomed to routine, to a prescribed schedule; her days change very little."

"But are you suggesting that we should not ask Becky if she would like come live with us?" Elsie questions.

"No, Mrs. Carson," the doctor begins, shifts in his chair and adjusts some papers on his desk. "You should be aware that your sister may be hesitant, even resistant to the idea of leaving our home." He leans into his desk and steeples his fingers together across its top. He sees the concern play across Elsie's face and the consternation set in the jaw of her husband. He is not being unkind; quite the contrary. This is the kindest thing that he can do for them. "Mrs. Carson, I am confident that you will be sensitive when speaking with Becky and that should she decided not to leave you should not take offense. She most certainly would not mean it as such. And should she decide to leave, we will offer every assistance in making her move a pleasant one."

As they make their way to the common room, Charles replays the words of the doctor over in his mind. A sense of family. Routine. Prescribed schedule. Her days change very little. He realizes that Dr. Smith could have well been describing him during his days in service. Bits of conversation flitter through his mind. "What are you so afraid of? We're catching up, Mr. Carson. Whether you like it or not, Downton is catching up with the times we live in." "That is exactly what I am afraid of," he remembers telling her. Elsie chatters as they walk through down the corridor passing the dining hall, the doctor's words washing over those of his wife. A sense of family. Routine. Prescribed schedule. Her days change very little. "They are not our family." "They are all the family I've got."

Charles pulls the packet of cards from his coat pocket. He cannot help but notice the smile on Becky's face as he empties the paper box and discards it to the side, shuffles the cards, and begins to distribute them to Elsie, Becky, and then himself. They chat amiably for a while about generalities. Becky's friends. The goings on at Downton. Charles tells of varieties of birds and butterflies that visit their garden. Elsie speaks of the little tabby called Misty that comes to their door every morning, skirts around her legs, purrs for milk and food. How she sometimes finds Charles asleep in the garden swing, Misty sprawled across his lap. Charles laughs as he tells how Elsie shooed the cat outside after finding her atop the kitchen counter lapping milk from a glass.

"We've a house with three bedrooms, sitting room, a bathroom, kitchen, and another small room off the kitchen," Charles mentions, drawing two cards from the pile in the center of the table. "Each guest has their own room." He surveys those in his hand and those he needs. "Becky do you have any…ehm…threes?"

"I've never had my own room. I share with Ada," Becky casually informs them as she searches through her cards for those Charles requested. She finds that she has none and gleefully taps the pool of cards in front of them from which Charles must select one. "Sometimes I'm afraid at night," Becky confides in her sister, "Ada sings to me, like Mam used to. Are you afraid at night, Essie?"

Elsie smiles as she rearranges the cards fanned out in her hand. She looks up to Charles, sees the corner of his mouth upturned. "No, sweetheart. I'm not frightened."

"Do you have your own room Essie?" Becky asks innocently. Elsie's eyes dance as Charles vainly attempts to suppress a nervous cough. So many years alone in small rooms, they are thankful for the room they now share. The comfortable bed they share. The nights and mornings shared.

"I share with Charles, Becky. Like Da and Mam. Remember?" Elsie replies matter of factly. Charles is thankful that Becky is preoccupied with counting the cards in her hand. She does not press for further explanation. She asks Elsie for fives and Elsie passes her a card. Becky seems pleased to lay down a matching set on the table in front of her.

"Ehm, Becky, would you ever like to visit our house?" Elsie asks as she fans out the cards in her hand, arranging them by number and suit.

"Could I bring my friends?" she asks with childlike innocence. Charles looks over his cards, catches his wife's expression. Notices that she has pulled her bottom lip between her teeth; she is chewing on it and he thinks that she might draw blood if she does not stop.

"Any eights?" Elsie asks Charles. He flips out a card passes it to her. As he does, their fingers touch and he lingers a moment, caresses her finger with his. Catches her gaze and offers her a sympathetic smile. "No, dear. I'm afraid that we haven't the room for all of your friends. Just you," Elsie replies as she places a pair of cards into the messy pool of discards in front of her.

"But they would miss me and I couldn't be gone long because I would miss Duff."

Elsie folds her cards and lays them down in front of her. "Duff? Becky, Duff has been gone a very long time."

"No, Essie," Becky insists. "Duff lives here and visits us in the garden. He came as a little kitten and Dr. Smith said that we could keep him." Elsie smiles, picks up her cards.

"I'll wager Duff is very black," Elsie teases.

Becky looks up from her cards, astonished. Charles suppresses a laugh; he has seen the same look from her sister more times that he can count; usually when he has done something that shocks her. "How do you know that?" she asks

Elsie shakes her head in amusement. Of course, Becky would name the cat after the old black cat that slept in soft hay in the barn back home in Scotland. Memories flood back of a wee lass, tucking the docile old feline under an arm and waging him around the farm. And then how inconsolable a four-year-old Becky was the day the old cat died and their father buried him on the hillside up from the house. "Well," Elsie begins, "we wouldn't want Duff to be lonely without you."

"He would be sad," Becky replies. Elsie nods in agreement. The decision has been made.

The card game plays to its natural conclusion and Charles and Elsie completed their visit with Becky. They leave her with a new blouse and skirt, a gift from Mrs. Crawley. A tin of biscuits from Mrs. Patmore and Daisy. Some stamps so that she can send them pictures when she wishes. Elsie pulls Becky close, embraces her, and places a kiss to her cheek. She pulls back, clasps one of Becky's hands in her own, the other she places gently on her shoulder, then smoothes slowly, lovingly down her arm. Tells her to take care of Duff. To try not to be frightened at night. Elsie steps in again, closes the distance, hugs her sister tightly, and breathes in the essence that is Rebecca Hughes. Knows that this could be the last time that they see each other. Though she hopes to visit next year, she'll not make promises; they are getting on after all. Becky smiles and she has no idea why her sister is holding on so tightly. No inkling that she has made a decision that affects them all.

As Elsie pulls away Charles steps in. He gives Becky a kiss on the cheek and presses a packet of cards into her hands. He tells her to play the game with her friends and that he will send her the instructions for a new game soon. They all say their last goodbyes and Elsie feels Charles hand at her elbow as they turn away from Becky and begin to walk down the corridor away from the common room. She is thankful that he is there, offering a steadying presence as she reaches into her handbag and finds her handkerchief. She brings it to her eyes and then to her nose. Presses lightly at the moisture gathered there. She looks up to her husband and finds kind eyes.

He has seen her like this before. When they walked home from the memorial dedication and she was broken hearted over Anna and John. He had offered her encouraging words then, had managed to get a half smile from her and shocked himself. She was usually the one for encouraging words. Yet, perhaps he can help carry her burden today. "I am sorry that you are sad," he offers.

He watches as her eyes fill with tears and she looks away briefly before raising her eyes back to him. He sees the corners of her eyes crinkle; her lips turn up. "I'm not sad Charles," she answers. "All my mother ever truly wanted was for her daughters to be happy. We may not have been happy every day of our lives but…." she pauses, her lip worried before she can begin again, "…..but in the end….."

"…..in the end, your mother got her wish?" Charles asks with hope.

She places her hand in the comfortable bend of his elbow. "I think that you already know that answer to that, Mr. Carson."

He covers her hand with his own as they begin to walk again down the corridor. "And that makes me very happy, Mrs. Carson. Very happy indeed."

TBC… The last and final chapter is an epilogue that I hope to post over the weekend. Thank you all for your very generous support of this story. I covet your reviews and appreciate each and every one of them. To the guests to whom I cannot respond, "thank you." x