Chapter Twelve

The Fair

He hasn't looked forward to his half day in longer than he can remember and he feels the walls closing in. He's irritated with everything and everyone is getting on his nerves. Every last one of them. Especially Sarah O'Brien. Charles is beginning to think that perhaps he's made a mistake in hiring the woman. She does her job well enough, of that he has no complaints. But the woman's tongue is as sharp as a razor and she's taken up a friendship with Thomas Barrow who works in the medical ward. Together they are like two vipers feeding off one another's energy, coiled, and ready for the strike. Between the two of them, they haven't one nice thing to say about anyone and treat most of the inmates with aloof indifference. Charles fields at least two complaints a day concerning Miss O'Brien's brusk attitude toward the women in their care.

Charles often sees them, Barrow and O'Brien, as he does now, from the window in his office as he looks out into the courtyard below. From this vantage point he can see every movement, every smirk after a nasty comment, every drag and puff from the cigarettes they share.

Shoulder pushed into the brick wall of the building, with slim, elegant fingers, Barrow reaches into his pocket and fishes out another cigarette. Miss O'Brien takes a long drag off the one perched between her lips, then lets her hand drop to her side, a cloud of smoke creeping from between her lips then she flicks the cigarette's ash with a quick flick of her wrist. Charles wonders why they are friends; on the surface Thomas and Sarah don't seem well-suited. Barrow, dark-haired and handsome, his chin always held a little too proud and O'Brien, plain and dour. Then Charles realizes what binds these two together. Loneliness. Two lonely souls clinging to one another, adrift on the sea of life.

Charles steps away from the window, his displeasure in O'Brien and Barrow evident in the scowl deeply etched into his face. Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, Charles pulls free his watch and looks at the time. It's late morning and his mind drifts to a certain maid working in a hotel across town and to their plans to meet at the fair tonight.

Mam once told her that there was no use crying over things that you can't change, best to put that sorrow into hard work, use your grief as fuel to change something that you do have control over.

And Lord knows that she has no control over this.

Because if she could wield the sharp sword of control, she would lift Becky's burden; cut away the pain and heal her broken heart. She would give back her words and encourage her sister to laugh. Elsie grieves the absence of the sweet tinkle of innocent laughter when Becky is amused by something silly. And, she longs to hear the detailed discourses on butterflies that only Becky can gave. But her beloved sister is locked away somewhere in another world.

But with each passing day Becky retreats further into a place that Elsie cannot reach and she feels guilty for having pulled up the stakes and taken Becky away from everything she'd ever known; away from the farm, from the memories and security it held, and from Uncle Rab. Lord knows that if she had any other choice she might have taken it, but Becky is her responsibility now and Elsie provides for her the best way she knows how.

So Mam's words ring in her ears and Elsie completes her rota with a determined vengeance; surely all of her effort will pay off.

Having taken on some mending for a few hotel guests, Elsie packs her basket for home and as she does so, she hums an old work song; one her mother sang while she hung the wash on the line. In her minds' eye she pictures herself doing much the same as her mother once did, scrubbing the stains out of her man's clothes, mending his socks, and tending his family. She's never given much time to this daydream before, never let it take root in her consciousness because she thought her path set, her life in service determined.

But that's all changed now and she's a different woman than she was even a year ago.

And she's thinking more about the man who took supper at her cottage a few nights past.

The sun slips beneath the horizon and Charles watches the carnival entertainer put the flaming torch near his face. He puffs out his cheeks and seems to catch the fire in his mouth, throwing his head back and blowing a sunset colored flame into the air. Since he was a boy Charles Carson was fascinated by the carnival and its performers; the colorful costumes they wore and the tricks they performed. He magicians were his favorite; they still are. He's awed by the sleight of hand, the smooth facility they have for illusion.

"I'm always amazed by them. By how they seem to harness fire and make it do as they please." Charles smiles as he turns to find Miss Hughes standing behind him.

"Especially when there's very little we have control over," Charles replies as he tips his hat. "Good evening Miss Hughes." Charles offers his arm and Elsie wraps a gloved hand into the crook of his elbow as they set out across the village green, past the carousel, and the games stalls.

"I notice that your sister isn't with you. I hope she's well."

"She's at home. Jane was kind enough give me a bit of a respite," Elsie answers softly, her eyes twinkling. Mr. Carson need not know that Jane practically pushed Elsie out of the house, told her to enjoy herself, and not give them a second thought.

"That was kind of her," Charles replies. "I thought we might take supper at the Grantham Arms and then rejoin the fair afterwards."

Their table at the Grantham Arms is near the window and as they enjoy their supper they watch passersby. They notice Mrs. Wigan, the postmistress, and her husband approach. Mrs. Wigan, catching a glimpse of Charles and Elsie in the window, almost trips over herself as she gawks in their direction.

"I'm afraid that we will be the talk of the post office tomorrow," Elsie smiles as she tips her head in acknowledgment of the nosy postmistress. Mrs. Wigan has the good graces to smile back in Elsie's direction as Mr. Wigan places a hand on his wife's back and encourages her to her to focus on the path in front of them.

"Hrumph," Charles grumbles. "That woman is always caught up in someone else's affairs. She'd do well to keep her own counsel."

"Well," Elsie soothes, "no matter. We shouldn't let words yet unsaid ruin our evening. And what did she see? Two friends having supper. How scandalous!" Elsie's tinkling laughter causes Charles to ease, erases the scowl from his face, and his shoulders lower; the tension visibly leaving his body.

"So, tell me Miss Hughes," Charles begins before taking a sip of beer from his glass, "I was thinking that you know quite a bit about me, but I don't know much about your life."

"What's to tell, Mr. Carson? I have a sister, who you've met, and I work at the local hotel." She's very charming, it's quite disarming to him. Sitting just there, across the table from him, she's very pretty; her face bathed in candle light, she's all sapphire eyes, high cheekbones, and perfectly swept up hair. The navy blue skirt and light blue blouse she's wearing highlight her dark auburn hair and light up her eyes. Charles feels himself reacting in all sorts of ways, ways that he hasn't felt in some time. A mixture of boyish nervousness and the feelings of a grown man who is very attracted to this woman.

"No one has to know everything Miss Hughes, but I wonder if life has been good to you?"

Elsie lifts the wine glass to her lips and sips. She knows that she's been unfair with him, that she knows far more about him than he knows about her. Putting the glass down, Elsie wets her lips before replying. "Oh, I can't complain, Mr. Carson. I haven't done some of the things I daydreamed of as girl. I haven't traveled, but I've seen a bit of life make no mistake."

"Well a life in service and then working at the hotel, I imagine that you have," Charles agrees with a chuckle. "But I wondered …"

" … You wondered about Becky," Elsie interrupts. Charles nods and it's Elsie's cue to tell about a part of her life that she's kept hidden from most people, feelings that she's kept buried. "When she was born … she's not quite right in the head." She sees pain wash across Charles's face as he looks away for a moment. When she sees his eyebrows knit together and him blink hard as if in thought, she knows he's thinking back to the stillbirth of his son; to the complications that can accompany birth. "While my mother was alive, she looked after her. But when she died …"

"… there was no one but you," Charles answers as he looks up, their eyes meeting.

"Precisely. I was promised the position of housekeeper when Mrs. Corbin retires in a few years, but no house will allow a housekeeper to live out or have a to have a family member living with them. My choice was simple. I left my position as head housemaid, moved Becky here, and I found work that would allow me to take care of her."

"And Jane helps?"

"Yes," Elsie answers softly. "I tend Robbie whilst she works and she returns the favor with Becky when I am working." A sense of dread washes over her as she watches Charles work through everything she's told him. "Mr. Carson, I will certainly understand if you …"

"If I what Miss Hughes?" He answers a bit more harshly than he intends. "If I think that your sacrifice is anything less than noble? That you've put your family first is somehow unbecoming?" Charles reaches across the table and takes her hand. "Miss Hughes I admire what you've done. I see so many people, in similar circumstances, push their family members into the workhouse and then go on about their lives as if they're not to be bothered."

"Well, I …" Elsie isn't sure how she's to respond respond to either his kind words or the act that he hasn't moved his hand from hers. Charles is looking at her with soft eyes and her chest rises and falls in a deep breath; her heart pounding in her chest.

The moment is broken when the girl from the restaurant asks to remove their empty plates. Charles lifts his hand from Elsie's and drinks down the last of his beer. He suggests that they make their way to back to the village green and the fairgrounds.

Her hand slipped into the crook of his elbow, Elsie and Charles make their way around the fair. They've watched the acrobats and seen the bearded lady; watched the children laugh with abandon at the Punch and Judy show and they've ridden the carousel. Finally, one stall draws Charles's attention and they stop in front of it. The men behind the counter are hawking their wares; a game of skill they claim. Toss the ring and if it encircles the prize, it's yours to keep. It is all very simple they claim and what man doesn't want to win a prize for his lady?

"I ought to start back," Elsie weakly protests. "It's very late for me."

"Oh not yet," Charles pleads. "It's a long time since I've had a girl to show off for at the fair." Charles reaches into his pocket and retrieves a few coins and exchanges them for the three rings he hopes to win a prize with. Tossing the first ring, he misses. Elsie smiles as she watches him concentrate on the second toss. So serious, she thinks.

"We have a winner!" the man in the brightly striped jacket calls out to them. He hands the small rag doll to a beaming Charles.

"Well, ehm, something to remember tonight by."

"I won't need help to remember tonight, Mr. Carson. It's been lovely. Really," Elsie assures him as she accepts the little doll from him. "But I must go."

"Might I walk you home, Miss Hughes?" She knows he's nervous, she can see it in his expression, sees the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"I would like that very much," she replies her nerves all aflutter.

"Well here we are. But you know that already don't you," Elsie laughs nervously as they approach her doorstep. If it had been a long time since Charles showed off for a girl at the fair, it has been even longer since a man walked Elsie home from a fair. Mrs. Corbin prohibited "followers" and it has been years since she and Joe Burns walked out.

"Miss Hughes, I hope that this'll not be the last time I'm privileged to walk you home?"

"No, Mr. Carson, I should hope not."

So I fixed the carnival scene from canon. This time Charles and Elsie went to the fair like she tried to convince him to do in Series 3. I'm trying to get this one more fully pushed into the main thrust of the plot. If you are inclined, I'd love a note of review.