Several months later, in a small cottage on the outskirts of Downton village, Mrs. Carson was in the kitchen fixing tea when her husband returned from running some errands in the village. Mr. Carson sat down heavily in a chair and absentmindedly watched her go about her business.
"Tea in a few minutes, Charles," she said, turning away from the stove. "Whatever's the matter?" she asked, when she noticed the befuddled expression on his face.
"The strangest thing has just happened to us, Elsie."
"To us?" she questioned, frowning. "I've been here all day."
Mr. Carson shook his head and looked at his wife, more composed now.
"Come sit down, dear," he told her, nudging a chair out from under the table with his foot. She sat. "You know I went to pay this quarter's rent, don't you?"
"Yes, Charles."
"Well, it seems there is no rent owing."
"Why not?"
"We have a mysterious benefactor, or benfactress, as it may be."
"Lady Mary's paid our rent, I suppose?" Mrs. Carson conjectured.
"I don't know who's done it, but Elsie, it's more than that."
"What do you mean, Charles? For heaven's sake, don't beat around the bush!"
"Elsie, we've no rent owing, because someone's bought this cottage outright, in our names."
Her eyes grew wide. "There must be some mistake."
"No mistake, I assure you. I must have said that very thing at least half a dozen times when Mr. Martin told me of it. And it seems it was supposed to be quite anonymous - he was sworn to secrecy, although he didn't know himself who it was; he was paid entirely with twenty-pound notes. He did give me a few clues that have done nothing whatsoever to help me make it out."
"What did he tell you?"
"It was a woman, he said, dressed like a housemaid."
"A housemaid!" Mrs. Carson exclaimed. "It must have been a disguise. No housemaid could afford to buy a cottage."
"Certainly not," Mr. Carson replied. "Mr. Martin said she spoke with a posh accent and barely above a whisper, to avoid giving away her identity, I suppose. She was also wearing a hat shrouded with layers of black veil."
"Did he say if she was tall or short?"
"Most definitely not tall, though not extraordinarily short for a woman."
"That rules out her ladyship and Lady Mary, then."
He nodded. "I wish I could have seen the housemaid's uniform. I would have known if it was borrowed from Downton or elsewhere in the village."
"So we have a woman of medium height with a posh accent who is either our benefactress herself or acting for someone else," Mrs. Carson summarized.
"So it would seem."
"Are you terribly upset, Charles?"
"Upset? What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know, because you aren't taking care of your wife without help from anyone else."
"I would be, if I knew who I could be upset with!" he answered, but laughed.
"Although if it were Lady Mary, I suspect she would have had her way in the end," Mrs. Carson teased, getting up to take the kettle off the stove. "Anyway, without rent due every quarter, perhaps a second honeymoon is in order."
"You're taking this quite lightly, Elsie."
"And how else should I take it?" she challenged him, placing all of the tea things on a tray. "There's no use in fidgeting and twiddling over it. It seems we don't have much choice in the matter."
"We really don't, do we?" he mused.
"Without identifying the agent, we can never have any hope of finding out who's done this. I imagine if you questioned the ladies at the Abbey they would deny any knowledge of the affair, though there seems little doubt that our good fortune comes from that direction. They tried very hard to talk his lordship into giving us a cottage on the estate, even though we were leaving our jobs."
"Well," he said gravely. "I do like the idea of a second honeymoon, but I think I will also have to spoil my wife. She won't use her own money to buy a fancy dress or two like I keep suggesting."
"Charles, where on earth would I go in a fancy dress? To the bakery?" She set the tray on the table. "We never really go anywhere. We're quite snug in our little cottage."
"We'll just have to find somewhere to go. What about the theatre in York?" he suggested, grasping at the idea enthusiastically.
"Sounds a little spontaneous for you, Charles."
"I didn't say tonight!" he exclaimed, and she laughed at him. "You love to tease me, don't you?"
"You're just now discovering that?"
"I understand," he said, with mock gruffness. "My wife doesn't respect me."
She walked over to him and perched on his lap. "I could never love a man I didn't respect," she told him seriously.
"You just like to tease him," he persisted.
"And you love me for it," she declared, kissing his cheek.
Mr. Carson couldn't help grinning. "I suppose I do." He pulled her close and kissed her lips firmly. The tea sat forgotten on the tray.
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An hour or so later, Mr. Carson woke up from a light sleep and looked down at his dozing wife. He was accustomed to it now, but after they were married he had shocked himself by falling out of decades of routine quite easily. He rose in the morning about an hour later than he had while in service, but he had also discovered that an afternoon nap was one of retirement's unexpected joys, whether he was alone or with Mrs. Carson. The first time they had tumbled into bed together before teatime, she had laughed at his almost unconscious protest that they shouldn't make love while the sun shone. He had no answer when she demanded a reason, and after that encounter he felt that if it was all the adventure he ever experienced in life, it would be enough; it was altogether delicious. Her skin glowed in the sun now, as she slept in his arms, and Mr. Carson started to count her eyelashes, dark against her pale complexion. Before he could finish, she gave a great yawn and opened her eyes.
"We've missed our tea, Charles," she commented sleepily.
"We have. Again."
Mrs. Carson laughed. "It's become rather a habit, hasn't it?"
"Perhaps we should change our teatime," he suggested.
"Maybe." She yawned again and snuggled against Mr. Carson. He kissed her forehead and she smiled.
"Going back to sleep, love?"
"I might. Every time I go to sleep with you is another time I get to wake with you."
"I hadn't thought of it like that before. But you're right, Elsie."
"I'm always right," she murmured.
"Only until I get hungry, love, and I leave you to wake alone while I go in search of something to eat."
"I am a slave to my husband's appetites," she lamented, her eyes twinkling.
He laughed at this. "I'm just as much a slave to yours, Elsie."
"You certainly are," she said with satisfaction, sitting up and kissing his mouth lightly. She climbed out of bed and began collecting her discarded clothing. "Now are you getting up, or do you plan to lie about all day? It's time we had something to eat and if you think I'm bringing your dinner to you in bed you are fooling yourself." She shook her head and clicked her tongue. "I'm sure I don't know how I got saddled with such a lazy husband."
Mr. Carson chuckled and shook his head, sitting up in bed. He watched her dress before he collected his own clothing and followed suit.
To be continued...
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