Chapter 21: Mistletoe and Wine (U is for Under the Mistletoe - smooching! - or not, if you want to be mean)
Elsie didn't drive often. Living in the city, there really wasn't much need. But Doctor Clarkson had advised Charles that he still needed to be the passenger for this trip, just in case. Therefore, Elsie was currently behind the wheel of their hire car negotiating her way along the unfamiliar slick roads.
Thankfully, Charlie never made any comment on her slow pace. Nor did he give her any helpful 'tips' on how to drive, like he would normally. In fact they hadn't spoken more than two words to each other since they'd left the Christmas markets.
"I don't want you to go to Ripon," she'd whispered after he'd told her of his interest in working and, presumably, living in the Yorkshire city on a permanent basis.
"You don't like Ripon?"
"I've never been there," she answered honestly.
"It's quite nice. Do you think it's too small? There's York, I suppose. Sheffield. Scarborough. A water view would make a nice change."
Elsie looked over his shoulder, around the stalls and the happy families, the couples holding hands. She was fast approaching her sixtieth birthday. Charles was nearly a decade older. They'd known each other nearly twenty years. Why did she ever think their relationship would change into anything romantic?
"I've taken you by surprise, haven't I," he said.
She looked up then, his demeanour had become as tense as hers.
"Forgive me," he went on. "It's completely unfair of me. I've been thinking about this idea for weeks, but I just spring it on you tonight and expect you to catch up."
Elsie opened her mouth to speak but he quickly held up his hand to stop her.
"It might be just a pipe dream anyway. Let's wait until we see the shop, shall we?"
She'd simply nodded and they'd continued on to the taxi rank where, blessedly, they hadn't had to wait.
Andy had pulled up outside the flat at the same time as their taxi, saving her from having to make small talk with Charlie following their short ride. After unpacking her gifts from Andy's car, the men had sat and chatted, giving her an easy excuse to escape quickly to the upper floor.
This morning they'd quickly packed the car and set off, all without needing to discuss details.
Charles interrupted her thoughts. "Ripon's the third smallest city in England."
She squinted out the windscreen. This was his first comment for over an hour.
"Left here," he directed. "Famous for its spurs."
"Spurs?" she prompted, raising her eyes. "Like… Riding spurs?"
"Yes. Imagine. And religion. Mary, Queen of Scots famously stayed in Ripon."
"Oh dear. I suppose the Scots attacked the city several times during the 13th century too."
He chuckled and she released a relieved sigh at the sound.
"I believe the people of Ripon paid them quite a bit to prevent their invasions. Right at this intersection."
"You've visited Ripon before then?" she asked as he continued to direct her confidently.
"I was born here."
She took her eyes off the road to flash him a shocked look but she couldn't see his expression. His head was turned as he gazed out the car window at the passing scenery.
"I was seventeen when I left."
"You've never said."
"It didn't seem important to recently."
She gripped the steering wheel, feeling upset that she had never asked him where he'd grown up. His silence on the trip to the north Yorkshire city probably had nothing to do with her. Once again, she was being ridiculously self absorbed.
Ten minutes later they had found a parking space and were walking along the high street.
"My first job was for the railway. I was let go as part of the Beeching cuts."
"Many were," she remarked sympathetically.
"My father acted like it was something I'd done and it was nothing to do with the lines closing. He implied that they were only dismissing me because I'd dabbled in acting as well as many other supposed wild choices I made, such as drinking wine instead of lager." He snorted. "If he'd lived to see the carry-on of the young ones today…"
She bit her lip. It seemed inane to say she was sorry yet again. His reaction to Granthams' future now made much more sense.
He stopped suddenly and she nearly ran into him. They were in front of the store claiming to be Velvet Underground. It was closed. There was a sign on the front of store announcing the shop was 'For Sale or Lease'. Another smaller sign stated it was shut for the holidays and wouldn't reopen until the 2nd of January.
"I've brought you on a wild goose chase," he lamented.
She cupped her hands and peered in through the window. After a brief moment, Charlie followed suit.
"It looks like it could be a good space if you cleaned it up a bit," she said. The shop was in darkness, she'd concede, but it was still jammed with so many items it would be difficult to imagine anyone being able to differentiate between trash and treasure. A few glass cabinets which obviously held jewellery lined one wall tidily but mostly its supposedly antique and collectible items were strewn around willy-nilly. Vintage clothing lay amongst crockery and larger pieces of furniture. It didn't appear that anything was grouped alike.
"Look at that row of candlestick telephones at the front," Charles said, disproving her thought somewhat. "You're right though, there's lots of space if it was used more wisely. I was hoping there'd be enough room for an old fashioned tea room, and I think there could be," he said, his voice rising excitedly.
She straightened, depressed at the complexity of his plans, and stepped away from the window. Charles had retrieved his mobile and was snapping off photos of the outside of the shop, including the realtor's sign for their phone numbers.
He then turned, catching her before she could school her features which were surely reflecting her devastation that he might not be by her side at Granthams for much longer. Thankfully he misinterpreted her look. "You don't think the tea room is a good idea? Books are still selling well, despite this whole ebook revolution," he continued conversationally as he led her back to the car. "New items in amongst the older wares? You obviously haven't had much time to think about it yet, but I'm sure you'll come up with some excellent ideas."
Charles's mood during the trip from Ripon to the castle they'd be staying at for Mary Crawley's wedding was almost the exact opposite to their trip up from Leeds. He nattered nonstop. He rambled on about the store's passing pedestrian traffic, taking advantage of race days and how to market and advertise it. He didn't seem to notice her unresponsiveness.
When they pulled into the castle grounds, she was left even more speechless. Acres of woodland and gardens were spread out on both sides of the long winding driveway. The castle itself loomed on the top of a rise. Its medieval stone facade stretching an impressive width. Obviously Mary Crawley hadn't received the memo regarding prudence in these tough economic times.
"I wasn't expecting something so… It's like something out of an Austen novel."
"And why not? You don't think Mary deserves the best for her wedding?"
She swallowed down her reply that as it was Mary's third wedding in the same number of years, she couldn't be sure.
Instead, she said, "Let's check in first, we can come back for our bags."
Their feet crunched across the gravel driveway that looped around the front of the imposing three storey mansion.
The castle's front entryway had been converted to a reception area, with a counter (manufactured in such a way to replicate the heavy front timber door) added near the base of its wide staircase. There was a small souvenir cum coffee shop to one side of the counter. Several people sat drinking tea from bone china tea sets or pouring coffee from silver pots.
"Good morning! Look at you two then? We only put that up this very morning and you're the first ones to stop right under." The receptionist had come from behind the counter. She was older than Elsie, maybe even older than Charlie, with shoulder length hair that had been dyed a sandy blonde colour that clashed a little with her lined face. The name badge pinned to her dark blue dress told them her name was Gladys. "Put one on your wife then, go on," Gladys ordered, pointing upwards.
Confused, both she and Charlie followed her cue to look above them. There sat a sprig of mistletoe. Elsie glanced across the rest of the ceiling and realised they were indeed beneath the one and only piece which had been hooked to the ceiling, due to its pitch she supposed. Feeling eyes upon her, she glanced around the foyer and the coffee shop and saw they were the centre of attention. Nearly everyone lingering in the vicinity was looking on expectantly.
"Come on, love. The mistletoe magic must live on." Gladys's voice seemed to be in direct contrast to their aristocratic surroundings. "Give your missus a kiss."
Elsie braced herself, as if she was about to place her head upon the guillotine. Charles didn't move a muscle, but instead said, "We simply came to check into our room, not to put on a show."
"Shame," Gladys said, swinging around and moving behind the counter once more. "What's the name then, Casanova?"
Charles made a grumbling noise before he, with a short snap, simply replied, "Carson."
Gladys frowned at the screen of her computer for a moment and then leaned behind her to grab keys from a slot in the wall. "Mr and Mrs Carson, Queen Anne suite, no less," she said, passing them two identically tagged keys.
"It's Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes," Charles corrected.
"How risque," Gladys drawled. "Now, Queen Anne is on the second floor. I've got here noted that you might need to use the elevator. You'll find it behind the coffee shop area, just left of the public toilets. You'll need your key to operate it. You have late check out on Monday morning, half eleven. Everything's been paid for by Ms Crawley. She's even added her credit card to your account should you have anything from the minibar." She paused and raised her eyebrow at this. "The wedding preparations are underway in the west wing, but we're asking for guests to avoid the area until two o'clock this afternoon. The ceremony is at three, just in case you're like some of the other guests and have forgotten."
Elsie snuck a look at Charlie's face and grimaced at the stony expression that had settled over it.
"Do you need help in with your luggage?" Gladys asked when neither she nor Charlie budged.
"No, but we do need another room. There should be two bookings. One for Carson, and one for Mrs Hughes."
Gladys frowned and consulted her computer again. "You're definitely the one booking. We confirmed everything with Ms Crawley. She's listed you as staying in the same suite. And we're fully booked with other guests, I'm afraid." She scrolled with her mouse and clicked on the screen in several places. "Unless someone doesn't turn up for their allocated room, it looks like you're sharing, Mr Carson."
"Unacceptable," Charles snapped just a little too quickly, jarring Elsie's nerves. "Is there someone else I can speak to? Do you have a superior?"
"There is this funny little man called Septimus, would you believe, but he's avoiding the area." Gladys, completely unafraid of Charles's grumpy demeanour, it seemed, turned to Elsie. "He's scared of the mistletoe as well. Seems like we can pick them, Mrs Hughes."
"Mrs Hughes hasn't-" Charles roared, but Gladys cut him off.
"It's a suite," she stressed. "Your chastity will be safe." She pushed the keys towards them again. "Go and have a drink, in the suite or in the coffee shop. Mrs Hughes probably wants a bit of wine to fortify herself," the woman said, continuing to goad. "Or take a walk around the grounds if you're made of stern enough stuff. I have your mobile listed as" -she rattled off Charlie's number and they nodded confirmation that it was correct- "and I'll call you if anything changes."