A/N A very short update for you to read! Please let me know what you think. And thank you for your reviews so far!

Chapter 14

2013

How did this trunk end up in this room? If they had been married after all, they must have shared a cottage on the grounds, some place were they could live after retiring from their jobs. But this thing looked so heavy, even without the things it contained, that she could not imagine someone carrying it all the way upstairs to this room. All the stairs, the narrow corners, the many doorways were additional obstacles. It was just another question for her father and she hoped that he could give her at least some answers that explained the many inconsistencies.

Viola had made a little space in one corner of the trunk where she carefully collected all the items she wanted to take with her to the attic later. The picture frame was one of them, along with a few more books. The cups and other pieces of china would stay down here. She imagined them on the shelves in Mrs Hughes sitting room. Precious pieces, old, delicate, inherited from her mother, perhaps even her grandmother. A few of them gifts or purchases she had made in town to complete a set. Viola touched them only with the tips of her fingers, too afraid to destroy them by accident. She unfolded a large quilted throw and put most of the china in it, covered the cups and saucers and then continued her inventory.

All the pieces she found must have been part of Elsie Hughes's belongings. Items she had used to decorate her room with and later the cottage she shared with Mr Carson. Viola could picture a medium sized settee in front of a fireplace, covered with the old throw. Some of the little porcelain figurines sitting on the mantlepiece. The collection of books stood next to a small bureau covered with several pieces of mail, two fountain pens and a large inkbottle. It was such a wonderful picture that Viola wished she had some photographs of it. In a time where photography was still very expensive such a waste of money would not have happened. Especially not when the owners of the house had lived frugal for so many years.

At the bottom of the trunk her hands stumbled upon another framed picture and something silver, glittering in the sunlight now streaming through the window. The picture showed a small cottage with a beautiful rose garden in the front. Perhaps she had misjudged the couple, she thought smiling. And what was this silver thing in her hands? It looked like a little clip, a wonderful art nouveau piece with three small holes at the bottom. The surface was worn, very smooth and Viola tried to figure out what the use of the little clip was. She examined it more thoroughly until it finally hit her. The housekeeper wore it on her hip, attached the keys to it, the jingling sound that echoed all through the house when she was making her rounds. Viola slipped it into the pocket of her cardigan, where it joined the letters. She did not know why, but she felt strangely attached to this small piece of everyday jewellery. Like a child who loves a shiny but worthless gemstone bought from pocket money at a village fair. The emotional value was much higher than the actual cost.

"Claire, there's nothing we need in here. Have you found anything else?" She closed the trunk and hoped her sister would not insist on opening it again to have a look at it herself.

"A few more napkins and some tablecloths. Do you think we can get these cleaned?" She held up a piece of linen that had been white at one point but was now grey with dust.

"Sure." Viola shrugged her shoulders. "If they could clean it one hundred years ago there's a way to do it today, too."

"What about you? Anything interesting in that trunk? You spent a long time rummaging through it."

"Nothing. Only more old pieces of cloths, most of them so dirty and ripped apart that you can only use them as cleaning rags." Again, Viola was telling a lie and hoped she would not blush.

"Then we're done I guess. Thanks little sister for your help." Claire gave her a hug, a very rare thing for her to do. Viola hesitated a moment before she also put her arms around her sister. "Now, you're free to go. Back to your work, I think?"

"Yeah, I still have a lot of research to do." At least this time she did not have to tell a lie.

As soon as Claire had left the room and was out of sight, Viola sneaked back into Elsie Hughes's former bedroom to take the wedding photo out of its hiding place. She felt a bit like an intruder this time, knowing that she had made a chaos of a perfectly packed trunk. Still, it was for the best. Viola wanted the two servants to be remembered as the wonderful, caring people they had been. Now they were only two names in a huge chronicle, easily exchangeable with others that had followed them after their retirement.

She put the frame underneath her cardigan, switched off the light and closed the door behind her. A look at her watch told her that she still had one hour before her mother expected her downstairs again for dinner. Maybe she should skip that, but then, her father would be there and she needed answers to the questions she had.

Back in the attic, she placed the wedding photo next to the one from the 1920s. Both now stared back at her, waiting for Viola to discover the rest of their secret. The two letters in her pocket wandered back onto the 1914 stack. It was finally time for her to read the diary.

With slightly trembling hands she opened it and her fingers reverently touched the words written in blue ink on the first page. She liked Mr Carson's handwriting. It was so clear and regular, easy to read because he did not decorate his letters much. There was no flourish on his C's or E's, or any other capital letters. The only time Viola had seen his script looking really elegant was when he wrote Elsie Hughes's name. There was always a little twirl at the 'g' in her last name and the 'E' was much larger than the rest of his capitals. He enjoyed writing her name, obviously took great care in making it look very nice so that it stood out against the other words.

Viola began reading. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, she could feel and hear it while her eyes scanned each word with the greatest care. She did not want to miss something.

October 2nd 1914

We are at war now for almost two months but it feels like much longer. Some say that it will all be over by Christmas. But I've seen the look on the young men's faces when they said their good-byes before crossing the channel to fight in France. They do not want it to be over too soon. Not before they have proven king and country how brave they are. I wish I hadn't seen that look. We have lost 3 gardeners, a few of the farm boys and a groom to the army already. I wonder how many more will follow.

I try to keep the house running as usual. Nothing should show that we are afraid of the battles in France. But if it is already difficult after two months, what will happen if the war goes on for years? I dare not think about it. Keeping up standards is the only thing I can do now, even with less staff. Somehow it will work out. Although she disagrees with me. Every day she tells me that we cannot go on as if things are still normal. Of course I disagree. Especially now it is important to stay strong and support the ones fighting for us, showing them that we take care of things back home, making sure that when they return they come back to a place that has not changed. I think the young men need to know this, it will give them hope.

We have discussed this tonight over a glass of wine. And I almost yelled at her. I could see by the look on her face how much I have hurt her. It broke my heart. She left my pantry immediately afterwards and now I am sitting here and trying to come up with an excuse. But it is all words, meaningless things.

1914

Since the day Lord Grantham had made the announcement, Mr Carson had changed. He was up earlier than anyone else, went to bed when she had long gone up. Often she only saw him during their meals where they hardly talked. Not even their evenings together were enjoyable any more. All he talked about and cared for was the house, the standards he had to keep up while young men fought a useless war far away from their homes. What did it matter if they had one house party less, not the same amount of bottles of his lordship's favourite French wine in the cellar? There were things so much more important right now than keeping up appearances. She was worried about him but was not sure how to tell him. Elsie had tried tonight, during one of the rare evenings they had spent together over a glass of wine. She needed him to see that all this work would not change anything. It would not end the war or help the men in the trenches win the war. He had almost yelled at her and it had been too much for both of them. Where was the gentle man she had come to admire for his sense of duty but also for his ability to not take everything too seriously? Angry with him and herself she had gone to bed but then could not find sleep at all.

She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to every sound the house made around her. The creaking and moaning of the wood, a breeze shook the trees outside, somewhere an owl was hooting in the distance, a door opened and was shut carefully with a almost inaudible click, footsteps on the corridor, approaching her room but stopping just before the dividing door. Elsie sat up in her bed. He had finally come upstairs. She listened to the sounds he made, the door to his bedroom opened, the typical faint creaking of the hinges she knew so well. It was shut again and she heard his footsteps on the wooden floorboards. Every sound evoked an image in her head, things she pictured him doing every night but had never seen with her own eyes.

After a while, she heard how he went to bed, switched off the small lamp on his nightstand. Then everything was silent again until she heard him tossing and turning. She turned to lie on her side, the right side of her face pressed into her pillow, eyes closed. But Elsie could still hear him. A loud irritated sigh penetrated the thin wall that separated them. Maybe he had the same thoughts, perhaps he was worried too and all the work he tried to shoulder was his way of distracting himself from what was really happening. She would give him another chance, would try to talk to him in the morning. There had to be a way to take care of him and be his friend at the same time without irritating him.

October 5th 1914

We talked. All evening. She is worried about me but she should not be. There are more important things to worry about at the moment. The house, the war, the safety of our men. I tried to understand her, I really did. This time I managed to stay calm. We did not argue tonight. But something has changed between us and I wish we could go back to the days when this world was still a predictable one. Elsie you do not know what you mean to me.

He put down his pen and closed the book. It was a silly idea to keep a diary again. The last time he had done this was ages ago, decades, when he was still only a footman and madly in love with one of the housemaids. And because he had sworn to never again lose his heart to a woman since it ended in a disaster the last time he tried, a diary was the only thing that could help him sort his thoughts. As long as he was able to write down his feelings, he didn't act on them. Strangely enough it had worked. The books no longer existed. Carson had thrown them away into the fire one night when the maid had left Downton to marry a young farmer from Ripon. His heart had been broken a second time.

Why he had started a new diary now was a mystery to him. Perhaps it was because of the war, or the fact that there weren't any more letters to write to her. He was not in love. Wasn't he?

The diary was locked into the bottom drawer of his desk. It had been another long and tiring day again. She wanted him to slow down, had so numerous times during the day, whenever they had met on a staircase, a corridor or during their meals. He had not felt tired or exhausted at all but now, at the end of the day, his body ached. She had been right, of course, like so many times before. But he could not delegate his work to any one with only one footman left and William would not stay at Downton forever. He was young and healthy. They would make him join the army sooner or later. Carson massaged the bridge of his nose. He had no choice but to accept the extra work now.

"Will you sleep down here tonight?" She stood in the doorway, observing him like she had done so many times before.

"I thought you had gone up already?" He rose from his chair. "It's rather late."

"I've waited for you for the last three days." She crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side. "Charles, you can't do it all on your own."

She had not said his name for a few months; he had not read it since her last letters from London. It felt strange to hear her use it now, as if she wanted to emphasize what she had said earlier. You must slow down.

"But I have to. You know that we are one footman short already." He still stood behind his desk, his hands playing with the pen.

"I know that. We have discussed this a few times already. It can't be changed now. But that does not mean you can't accept any help."

"There will be no maids in the dining room." Earlier he had made this very clear now his voice was much weaker, not that stern anymore.

She rolled her eyes and moved to stand in front of his desk. "Then train one of the young hallboys. They won't send them to war."

"Elsie, you don't understand…," he started, wanted to explain to her that it would take at least a few months until he had trained one of the boys. They could not simply walk into the dining room and do a job Thomas had taken two years to learn. But he was unable to finish the sentence.

"Oh but I do." Her voice was cold, nothing of the warmth from earlier was left in it. Her bottom lip was quivering and he reached out to touch her arm but she took a step back, away from his desk. "Don't. We can't go on like this." She turned around and left.

He could hear how she climbed the stairs; the keys on her hips jingled angrily but the sound grew fainter with every step she took. Carson had again made a mess of things although he had desperately tried to not argue with her again.

TBC

thank you for reading!