A/N: I have been neglecting you, my darling readers and reviewers and for that I apologise. I hope this chapter can make up for it a little! Oh and LC; I'm glad you couldn't stay away. The last 24 chapters have all been setting the scene and bringing our Elsie to a few necessary decisions; now we're going to see a Charles that's being made to confront how he really feels. It's just going to take him some time, is all. And while he's doing that, Elsie's going to be out enjoying herself (sometimes) and trying new things, while Beryl keeps a watchful matchmaking eye on the pair of them. ;)
In which Charles hides like a child and gets invited to fall from the sky.
Chapter Twenty-Five
He hurries back from Greggs, two paper bags in one hand and the cardboard tray of coffee cups in the other, wobbling threateningly when he uses his shoulder to push open the main doors.
He didn't really get to see Elsie yesterday, just a fleeting moment as she left to pick Daisy and William up. His own fault; unlike the English Department, he had the History course set essays to be completed over the Easter break, the inevitable result being a desk piled up with unmarked work and little time to devote to it. He'd knuckled down yesterday but time had disappeared on him and he had surfaced from his office too late to see Elsie for lunch.
He still doesn't feel quite right about the weekend, a niggling in his mind keeping him from tucking Saturday night away in his memory. His hope is that it'll go away over lunch when he sees how, as she said, nothing has changed. And why should it have? She hadn't been at all upset with him.
He takes the stairs up to her office when he sees Spratt waiting by the lifts. The last thing he wants is to be stuck in an enclosed space with that man.
He's slower going up than usual in deference to the cups; the lids are already covered in spilt coffee, there will be none left for them to drink if he's not careful.
He got her a cinnamon spiced latte instead of a plain white coffee; she might not be upset but he still feels as though he has some making up to do.
Besides, Elsie might not be mad at him, but Beryl is furious. He's been avoiding her since she sent that email yesterday. The one that barely made it through the University's language filter.
Perhaps she'll calm quicker if she hears that he's trying to do something nice for Elsie.
He plans to book them in for a play next weekend too; making up for skipping their usual birthday plans. He'll admit it to himself at least that he hadn't realised how much he would miss that; dressing up, having her on his arm for the afternoon.
They're showing a small production of Oklahoma! at the Ripon Theatre and he knows she likes the film of the musical. He hadn't disliked it himself.
He pauses on the landing between floors to straighten the cups up, one of them tilting dangerously to the side.
"-diving."
A door swings open above him and he jerks his head up at the sound of Molesley's voice coming down from the attics. Ducking into an alcove he lets the big tapestry fall back into place, hiding him. He really doesn't need to get stopped by Joseph Molesley. That's another email he's ignoring.
"I don't think she'll really do that. She's got a whole pile of different forms on her desk, I think that's just one of them."
"I don't know, I'm more surprised about the dating." The voices get louder as they come down the stairs, Charles quiets his breathing, unable not to listen given his position.
"Why shouldn't she look for someone? She's an attractive, accomplished woman."
"I didn't- of course, I wouldn't say anything against- You're right, of course. You know I have the utmost respect for her, as a Professor and a-ahem, a woman."
Charles raises an eyebrow. Well, someone has set tongues wagging. Elsie's bound to know who, he'll have to ask her if he ever gets out from behind this blasted tapestry. Have Molesley and Miss Baxter got nothing better to do than dilly dally around in stairwells?
He'll certainly give Joseph Molesley more work if he's looking for it; it's about time he started acting like a real professor - he can mark some of Charles's second year essays. That'll keep him busy and out of Charles's way for a while.
"I just thought, well. That she didn't need to go looking elsewhere."
"Beryl still says she doesn't, it's why the bet's still on."
"I wondered about that, it seems silly to have money on a date for them, if she's off looking for someone else."
"You're just worried because you had June down and Beryl's putting better odds on late Summer now-"
They pass by Charles and down to the ground floor, their voices fading out as they move away from the stairwell. Slipping out into the open again, he rushes up the last few stairs.
It seems Beryl is running a little gambling ring of her own; he wonders if Elsie knows why they weren't asked to join in.
It's as he reaches her door, his hand already wrapped around the handle, that he gets it. A flash of insight he really should have had sooner.
There's only one non-couple that Beryl would start a book on and leave them out of. Them.
Which of course means that the woman they were talking about is-
"Are you going to hover out there all day, Charles or are you coming in with those sandwiches?"
-Elsie.
-x-x-x-x-
"I could kill Beryl." Elsie says again, Charles hides a smile behind his Eccles cake.
He'd been distracted by his thoughts when he walked in and being Elsie Hughes she'd not only noticed but quickly wheedled them out of him.
Not the bit about the bet though, he's not planning on telling her about that until he has found out just how big a book Beryl's been running on them; he knows it's between the English and History staff, likely the Techs since Beryl's keeping it. Is the Science department in on it too? The other Humanities? Is this why Spratt has been smirking at him the last few weeks, always just there, watching?
"It's not the first time you've been the subject of gossip." He points out, refuses to flinch from her glare.
"Thank you, Charles."
"Just an observation; besides what did you expect to happen once you started talking about trying things like-" he pulls a sheet of paper off the pile of forms, "Crufts?"
He raises an eyebrow and she flushes lightly. "Elsie, you don't have a dog."
"I haven't looked at them all yet." She snatches the form away, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it into the bin in the corner, already quite full with similar little balls of paper. He wonders what other forms she's discarded already.
"Is there anything about Netball in here? Competitive paper tossing?"
"Careful." She warns, a sticky finger pointing at him. "I know some of these are silly; there was a site with links to the lot of them and I thought I might as well just get them all, maybe I'll sort them out later."
She shrugs, goes back to picking apart her iced bun. Charles watches her, still a little shocked by this new attitude of hers. There are no plans as far as he can see, nothing definite anyway. And he hasn't even got started on the 'dating' bit. He can't remember Elsie seeing anyone since she arrived at Downton.
Is this another new thing, or has he just missed it all this time? He cannot believe she's been looking for someone for 15 years and he hasn't noticed, she would have told him, surely. Besides, he knows how she's spent most of her days for almost as long as that, she couldn't have been going off to bars or out on dates and him not know. No, it must be new. Another part of her new outlook; spontaneous she'd said. The idea does nothing for the little knot of unease that's looking to be a permanent addition to his stomach.
"As much as it pains me, I have to agree with Mr Molesley on one thing;" two actually; she is after all a very accomplished woman; "I'm not sure I like the idea of you jumping out a plane in mid-air."
She eyes him, licking the last of the icing from her fingers. "It wouldn't be much of a thrill jumping out when it's on the ground, would it?"
"You know what I mean, what if your parachute doesn't open, or something else goes wrong? You're falling from the sky."
"It's the risk that makes it so exhilarating, Charles. Besides, at my age, I can afford to live a little."
He swallows the last of his cake, dabs the flakes of pastry off his lips with a napkin. "You're younger than me."
She smirks, shaking her empty cup and then reaching over to steal his and taking a sip. "Nobody said you couldn't join me. I'll print you off another form."
He blames Beryl. He's not sure how, but this has got to be that woman's fault.
Key:
Greggs - chain of bakeries. There are Greggs everywhere.
knuckled down - worked hard
tongues wagging - gossip spreading, people talking
dilly dally - hang around aimlessley, delay moving on to wherever you're supposed to be.
start a book - gambling/betting term, it's the idea that everyone's bets need to be recorded down (ie. in a book). I wonder if that'll change in the future when we probably won't ever write anything down on paper...start an ipad memo?
Eccles cake - puff pastry filled with basically, mince pie filling, only with more raisons. I like them, the pastry goes everywhere but they are yummy. And the big crystals of sugar that's glazed onto them give a delightful crunch.
wheedled - dragged, pulled, convinced him to tell her. Well, she was a journalist and still our canon Mrs Hughes at heart; she find out everything eventually. ;)
Crufts - big Dog show competition.
iced bun - um...a bun with icing on top?