Thank you all so much for your kind and reassuring reviews for the last chapter. I hope I have managed to reply to all reviews. Thank you especially to the guest reviewers to whom I can't reply directly. You are all amazing!
Thank you always and forever to the incomparable Kouw. The kindest and best beta in the whole world!
Elsie Carson shook her head in quiet amusement as she walked down the stairs, listening to her husband's growling that came from the kitchen. He had obviously returned from his afternoon trip to the village while she had been sorting the laundry into their bedroom armoire. She wondered what could have gotten him into the foul mood he was obviously in.
"What's all this about?" she asked quizzically. She stood in the door to their kitchen and watched his jerky movements as he prepared the kettle. He spun around, surprised by his wife's silent entrance and immediately his stormy face relaxed, although his brow stayed furrowed in worry.
"It's nothing really… and I'm sure I can have it fixed in the morning. It's not as if anything has gone wrong with the bank before, although they do employ the most unsuitable people there nowadays…," he rambled angrily. It only took one raised eyebrow from her to make him halt in the middle of what surely would have become a long, bitter tirade about slipping standards. He inhaled and exhaled deeply. "When I was at the bank, I noticed that there are five pounds missing from our account. Ms. Henderson wasn't able to say where they went and Mr. Porter had already gone home, so I couldn't ask him but I'm sure it will all be resolved tomorrow."
He looked so grave and Elsie stifled the chuckle that threatened to escape. She walked past him and indicated for him to sit down while she continued to prepare their tea. "If that is what has you so worried, I can ease your mind right now. I withdrew the five pounds. There is no bank error involved," she explained.
"Whatever did you need five pounds for?" Charles inquired incredulously and Elsie was glad that they had been married long enough by now for her to know that his affronted tone most likely stemmed from innocent surprise and not from true indignation about her actions.
"Remember, I told you that I'd meet Mrs. Crawley yesterday? She wanted to show me the barracks where they've settled the latest group of Russian refugees."
He gave a short nod, remembering that she had told him something two days ago. But then again, she had done it right after they had made love and he had been too blissfully tired to focus properly on what she was saying.
"Charles, you should see the place. It's inhumane! And there are so many children this time. I asked Mrs. Crawley what could be done to help and she said that the most pressing matter was finding some money for the renovation. I decided to help out a little. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you yesterday, but I only saw you briefly before you had to leave for your committee meeting."
"But Elsie!" he sputtered and she halted her movements of preparing their teacups at his reproachful tone. "I told you that we'd need to get the roof fixed soon."
"What does our roof have to do with this?" she asked in confusion.
"Do you have any idea what it will cost to get the necessary repairs?" he asked, baffled by her lack of understanding.
"I'm not sure what it will cost. I'm not even sure why you worry so much about it. We're only the tenants, Charles. Surely it's the family's job to fix anything that concerns the structure of the house."
"I will not have the family pay for a new roof!" Charles protested.
"Why not?" Elsie asked, annoyance creeping into her voice.
"Elsie, the family has been more than generous to us. We pay no rent for this place. I couldn't possible impose on them to pay for the repair of the roof."
Elsie crossed her arms as she fixed her husband with a look of forced patience. "Charles, we pay no rent for this cottage because we've spent over twenty years working hard and loyally for the Crawleys. They haven't shown us any great generosity with the rent. We have earned the right to not pay any!" her explanations had become more heated towards the end, her husband's blind loyalty towards the family striking a nerve she thought had long healed.
"It's still not right to exploit their goodwill," he gave back, his voice hard. "I refuse ask them for a new roof and that is final!"
Her eyebrows rose to her hairline at the tone he was taking with her. "Oh is that so, Mr. Carson?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, then why don't you take your money to fix the roof and I take my money to do what I want with it? Or have you conveniently forgotten that I did contribute my share to our joint funds?" She knew that she didn't have any legal claims on any of her hard earned money. She had given up her rights when she had decided to become his wife.
"Let's not be ridiculous," Charles huffed. "Of course you can spend our money in any way you see fit. Five pounds is no small amount, though. I wish you had talked to me before you spent that much," he said calmly, appealing to her rational side.
She would not be appeased. "Would you have asked me before spending our money on a new roof?" she challenged.
"No, because I didn't think that you'd object to my plans," Charles ground out.
"And I didn't think you'd object to me wanting to help those poor children," she replied, satisfied with what she considered an irrefutable counterargument.
"I don't object to your generosity, no, but five pounds is a lot of money," he tried again. She threw her hands up in frustration before stalking out of the kitchen. He followed her into the living room and groaned theatrically when he saw her putting on her coat and hat. "Elsie, I don't think we've quite reached the point in our discussion where you need to storm out of the cottage."
She spun around at his condescending tone, her jaw clenching. "If you had actually bothered to listen to me yesterday or even the day before that, you'd know that I'm due to meet Mrs. Patmore for tea. You were actually present when we arranged it at Lady Mary's wedding, remember? So don't flatter yourself, Charles Carson. Although, in light of you speaking to me like you would to some silly housemaid, I probably should storm out of the cottage." With that she jutted out her chin and left the cottage in a huff, not sparing her disgruntled husband another glance.
Charles spent an hour finishing some long overdue correspondence. Another was spent writing down suggestions for the upcoming village dance. When he finally ran out of excuses, he made himself a sparse dinner, admitting to himself that his wife would stay longer at the Abbey than the average hour she usually spent there for tea. He grumbled softly to himself; phrases like 'inappropriate with the family at home' were muttered into his chin as he flipped over the eggs for his omelette.
And why shouldn't Mrs. Patmore take it a little easy after the hell that had been the wedding week? A little voice – that sounded suspiciously like Elsie's – spoke up in his mind. Surely he couldn't begrudge her the few hours spent with one of her closest friends. Not when Daisy was more than capable of executing a simple family dinner. He sighed at his own, old-fashioned principles, at the mess he had made of their earlier discussion and half-heartedly ate his bland dinner.
It was beginning to get dark outside when he started to get nervous. It was ridiculous to worry about Elsie walking home alone after sunset. She would most certainly find his concern ludicrous. Still, she was a woman and times weren't what they used to be. What was more, she was his wife.
He quickly got up and grabbed his coat and bowler. She could ridicule him all she liked (and roll her eyes at him), she might even choose to walk next to him in silence because she was still upset with him, but he would go and make sure she was safe.
Elsie sighed deeply when she exited the Abbey. It was much later than she had planned on leaving but her meeting with Mrs. Patmore and the other servants had been enjoyable and the perfect distraction. She only wished she could have seen Anna but she was glad about the opportunity for the young woman to enjoy the South of Italy with her husband while both accompanied the newlyweds on their honeymoon (Mr. Bates having graciously been "lent" to the new husband who had found himself without a valet just prior to the marriage).
Elsie shook her head in amusement as she recalled Mrs. Patmore's numerous attempts of gleaning information about her marriage. She hadn't told the other woman about the new intimacy with her husband, hadn't wished to embarrass him and herself by doing so. She also hadn't told her friend about the earlier disagreement with her husband – somehow it had felt wrong to do so, wrong to talk to her friend before she had spoken to him again.
Mrs. Patmore's quest for information had thankfully been ended by Daisy and Mrs. Baxter's arrival in the Servants' hall. The women had spent a delightfully long time chatting about this and that, updating Elsie on the newest house gossip. She had smiled softly when Mrs. Patmore had teased Ms. Baxter ruthlessly about the invitation to dinner the Lady's maid had received from a certain first footman (Charles would have a fit when he heard this). Before long Daisy had begun gushing about Mr. Carson and the adorable ways (her words, not Elsie's) in which he had behaved around her during the wedding. The longer Elsie had spent listening to the cook and her assistant, the more she had wished to return home to resolve the silly disagreement between them. Surely she would be able to make understand see her reasoning.
As she made her way towards their cottage, she tried to come up with a way to bring him around to her side of things. The only thing she knew was that she wouldn't apologize for what she had done. It had been her good right to do it and she wouldn't allow him to make her feel guilty about it.
She pulled her coat tighter around herself as the sun completely disappeared behind the horizon. She increased her steps. She would never admit this to anyone, but she was no great fan of the dark – not when she wasn't safely ensconced in their cottage or at the Abbey. She had been able to make fun of her husband's concern back when Lady Mary and Mr. Blake had stayed out late, because she had always felt safe inside the Abbey. His presence there had made her feel safe and therefore, no, she hadn't feared burglars.
She heard steps approaching and tensed up. She forced herself to take deep and even breaths, reminding herself to not be ridiculous. She squinted her eyes to be able to see better in the diffuse light and breathed a sigh of relief as she recognized the person walking towards her. She would know the imposing figure of her husband anywhere. He didn't stop when he saw her, he simply continued walking – meeting her in the middle.
"You are late," he opened gruffly and instantly bit his tongue.
"I'm sorry; I didn't realize it was getting this late. There was no need for you to come and pick me up. I've walked back from the village in the dark many times in the past. I would have been fine."
He stood a bit straighter as he listened to her words. "That may be but that was before, I'm responsible for you now." She raised her eyebrow again, disbelieving of how he had managed to sound so condescending again.
"Oh, is that so?" she asked cynically. He visibly deflated as he realized his own mistake.
"You are my wife," he said softly, firmly.
"That I am," she relented, sighing quietly.
"Shall we?" he asked and she nodded. Together they began walking back towards their cottage – she didn't take his arm and he didn't offer it. Both were lost in thought, unsure of how to behave now. She startled when he cleared his throat.
"I've thought about our little discussion while you were gone," he started but she didn't allow him to finish, interrupting him hastily.
"So have I. Charles, you didn't see the barracks, you didn't see how these children live; how many of them are orphans. I had to help. It would feel wrong not to when we have so much, when we have been so blessed," she explained quickly, looking at him imploringly. He held up his hand to halt her explanations.
"I understand all that, Elsie. There is nothing I admire more about you than your big heart and your generosity. I would never fault you for either. I simply wish we had spoken before you decided about that amount of money," he justified calmly.
"Would you have consulted me about the money for the roof?" she challenged once more, not able to let it go.
"No, I wouldn't have," he admitted readily. Before she was able to voice her satisfaction about his confession though, he continued. "And that is exactly the problem, my love."
Her eyes were trained on the trail in front of them. He was right, of course. She stopped walking abruptly. He stopped, too, looking down at her expectantly. She surprised him by putting a hand up to his cheek, gently running her thumb over it. He leant into her touch and she smiled at his reaction.
"How right you are, my clever, perceptive husband." A look of doubt crossed his features as he was unsure whether she was teasing him. She pushed herself up and kissed him gently to dispel his doubts. "We have lived alone for so long, made our own decisions, called our own shots. I guess it will take time for us to truly master living and making decisions together."
He put his hands on her waist and drew her a little closer as her hands clasped behind his neck; her fingers playing with the little hairs there.
"I'm sorry for not talking to you about the money first," she said softly.
"And I'm sorry that I wouldn't have consulted you about the roof," he replied just as softly. They shared a sweet little kiss before resuming their walk, his hand protectively covering hers where it rested in the crook of his elbow.
That night Charles Carson made sure that his wife realized that making love was very much comparable to making decisions in a marriage. It was about both parties giving and receiving love and pleasure. With able hands softly touching her in all the right places, with gentle caresses and continuously rumbled professions of love he managed to show her just how enjoyable the intimate connection between husband and wife could be.
Her head rested on his chest as she was coming down from a high she had never expected, had never known could exist – the love and trust for her husband intensifying what would otherwise have been a purely physical reaction. A single tear of gratitude landed on his broad chest and she kissed the place on which it had fallen, whispering her love to him before falling asleep, his arm tightly around her.
My research showed that 5 pounds in 1924 would be equal to about 300 pounds today (278 pounds to be correct). Just in case anyone was wondering…
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