A./N.: I have tried to get back in the swing with this story and finally succeeded. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It deals with Charles' first reaction to what he heard and another major character being the brat we know her to be. The next chapter is almost done and should be up tomorrow. Thanks for your patience with me.

Troubled Souls

His heart was bleeding and his mind kept swirling around what he had heard. As his fists clenched in uncontrollable anger, Charles noticed that the downstairs staff seemed to part before him like the Red Sea did for Moses out of the corners of his eyes. They all wore similar expressions of either downright fear or at the least weariness.

Beryl barged out of the kitchen to inspect what the matter was, since her kitchen maids had fled into her sanctuary and hid behind her maternal bulk. When she saw Charles and the thunderous expression he wore, she knew instantaneously what was bothering her best friend. Bustling back into her domain, she ordered a strong cup of coffee to be brewed and then brought into the butler's pantry. For a moment she feared mutiny as every single kitchen maid shook her head in refusal.

Daisy hesitantly stepped forward, her head lowered and voice small, "He's like to bite our heads off," she mumbled in way of an explanation.

Beryl sighed, but couldn't quiet banish her smile, as she reassured her girls. "No, he won't, you dozy girl. I'll be in his pantry and see if I can cajole him out of his mood." Stepping back in surprise, Beryl couldn't believe the soppy and relieved smiles all around her. She had suddenly amounted to something of a Hero figure in the eyes of her girls.

A voice sounded behind her, wry but clearly amused. "Shall I send one of the Hall boys into the village and warn Dr Clarkson already?" Leave it to Ms O'Brien to have the last word.
Beryl didn't deign to answer, but untied her apron with no outward reluctance and brushed haughtily past the lady's maid … or as haughtily as a short, plump woman could. She would deal with her best friend and try to sort out whatever misunderstanding had him this riled up.

oOoOoOo

Cora sat on Sybil's bed, her heart beating wildly as she silently observed Sybil pacing back and forth with agitated steps. Her movements were stiff and abrupt – not at all the elegant gait they all had to perfect. It portrayed Sybil's inner turmoil though and Cora couldn't think of a single thing to say to make her little girl feel better.

"Won't you sit with me?" she asked after a few more moments, patting the bed beside her invitingly. She waited, but then felt her heart plummet when Sybil shook her head.
"I'm too wound up to sit," she answered dismissively. Mrs Hughes' anguish was too hard to bear for the sentimental young girl. She had always relied on the housekeeper to make her feel safe and understood. In a house where emotions were regarded as weakness she had only ever confided in the kind, maternal woman with soulful blue eyes, not in her own mother and most assuredly not in her grandmother. Both women were too set in the ways society dictated to understand Sybil's excitable character. The only other woman who seemed to relate with her was Cousin Isobel, sharing her suffragette tendencies.

Cora felt deflated and also rejected. She had long ago noticed the close relationship between her youngest daughter and their housekeeper, not thinking too much about it and rather glad to pass those responsibilities off to someone else. Women of her social position were seldom confided in by their children or had a lot to do with their up-bringing. Nannies and servants were far closer to them than their parents. Now she was reaping the consequences of that. She was helpless to calm Sybil and alleviate her despair. Looking down onto her restless fingers, knotting and unravelling the handkerchief in them, she blinked away her tears. She had to try – even if only for Mrs Hughes' sake, to honour her taking care of her child so far.

"Sybil, please, let us talk," she beseeched her daughter, getting up herself and crossing the room to stand beside her by the window.

Sybil shook her head again. "About what?" she asked, clearly at a loss. "About what we saw downstairs? About what happened lately? About what led to it? What, Mother?" She looked up with sad brown puppy-dog eyes, breaking her mother's heart.

Cora reacted instinctively, wrapping both her arms firmly around Sybil's shoulders and drawing her into a fierce embrace. She kissed her hair and stroked her back in soothing circles. "Everything you want to talk about, darlin'." Her American accent was more pronounced in that unguarded and deeply emotional moment. She peppered kisses to her forehead and over her tearful eyes.

Sybil's arms hesitantly wrapped around her mother's waist and held on for dear life. "She's hurting so much," she whispered, "and we can't seem to make it better." There was so much pain in her voice that it tore at Cora's heart to hear it.

"No, and whenever she seems better there's something to set her back," Edith's voice drifted over from the open door. "She was laughing at the church and then something happened on the way home and she was hurting again."

Mary, who had never been overly fond of the housekeeper, leaned leisurely against the doorframe and regarded the seen with dark, unreadable eyes. In the last months she had been more concerned for their butler and the changes she had seen in him than she had been for Mrs Hughes, but even she had noticed the haunted expression and still too pale complexion. She just couldn't comprehend the older woman. "Well, I would be grateful to still be employed and have an honourable man by my side. She can't …"

But she was interrupted by Sybil, who was storming up to her with a fire in her eyes they all had only ever seen glimmering in Mrs Hughes' eyes. "You are a cold-hearted …"

"Sybil! Mary!" Cora's voice rang out. "That is enough … and not helping." She couldn't believe either of her girls, for Mary to say something this unfeeling and for Sybil to nearly forget herself.

"I agree with Sybil," Edith said coldly, her eyes hard as she regarded her older sister. "You don't know what you are talking about, Mary."

"Oh, please," Mary drawled. "She's not the first woman to …"

Sybil made a very valiant attempt to strangle her own sister, but was held back by her mother, who was gobsmacked by Mary's coldness. "Really, Mary, I wish you wouldn't talk like that. How can you be so unfeeling?"

Mary simply turned on her heel and strode down the corridor, head held high and spine erect, but as soon as she had rounded a corridor she broke out into a run. She raced for the door to the servants' staircase, feeling like her world was crumbling behind her and needing the reassuring presence of her only ally. Truth be told, she didn't know why she had said what she had said. It wasn't what she meant at all, but instinct had kicked in and she had contradicted everyone around her like she always did. Her heart was frantically and painfully beating in her chest. She needed Carson to make the world alright again.

oOoOoOo

Charles had stumbled blindly through his pantry door and was now slumped gracelessly against the nearest wall. As his anger had turned into desperation his knees threatened to give way under him, but he refused to give in and slide down the wall.

"Oh Elsie …" he whispered brokenly as he dropped his head into his hands.

It all made sense to him now, even though it broke his heart. He had felt that she was holding back. He couldn't – hadn't expected anything else after the last couple of traumatic months. Charles certainly felt guilty and distressed about what had happened. The main question now was how to overcome Elsie's trauma together, but he was at a loss for any words or actions he could take. In service you learned to repress emotions, not to deal with them. He still rested heavily against the wall, as a veritable storm blew past him.

"Mr Cars…" Mrs Patmore's words trailed off when she failed to spot him immediately. She had been so sure he would be in his pantry.

"Yes," Charles replied wryly, only marginally straightening his posture and livery.

Beryl whirled around, a hand going to her chest over her thumping heart. "There you are," she gasped, before eyeing him critically. "What happened? Is it Elsie?" The questions were fired at him like bullets, sharp and with a certain note of panic.

Charles sighed and he nodded. "I …", but he had no idea what to tell her, how much of his soul to bare to his friend. "Of course, it is about Elsie," he confessed at last, voice defeated and eyes teary. He could barely look at his old friend, especially now that he was convinced that he would lose her respect. He was supposed to be strong one, Elsie's stronghold against the cruel world, but now he was crumbling and was very much in need of a strong shoulder himself.

Beryl watched him closely, contemplating what could have upset her friend. It had seemed to be going well between the newly engaged couple. Elsie had been more relaxed since the first Banns had been read and they had both talked on their way home from church. She had believed that last episode of nightmares had been the end, but apparently she had been mistaken. She was just about to say something, but then she caught sight of Lady Mary out of the corner of her eye. The young woman held her finger against her lips and shook her head, then she motioned Beryl back towards the distraught butler.

"What happened?" she asked at last, not sure how to proceed.

"Her sister has come," Charles stated shortly.

Beryl began to smile brightly and exclaimed, "That is wonderful news. I had hoped she would answer Elsie's letter soon, but I didn't expect … There is more." She had observed Charles as she had spoken and had soon realized that he didn't look overjoyed. She eyed him closely. If anything he looked more ragged than before.

"She is upstairs in the library, talking to Mrs MacKenzie," he explained further. "She … she said … that she doesn't want me to be near her" He broke then, tears streaming down over his face and knees buckling under his weight.

Beryl was by his side in an instant. She wedged a shoulder under his arm and hoisted him up as best as she could. With gentle persistence she led him to the chair behind his desk and then plopped him down. In that moment Daisy bustled into the room and silently, but with some perceptible trepidation, put down a tray with tea and biscuits. She was gone as fast as she had appeared. With practiced ease Beryl made Charles' tea and then wanted to add a generous amount of brandy, but Charles stayed her hand.

"No, please, I want to keep a clear mind," he answered her unspoken question quietly.

Beryl nodded and placed the cup of tea in front of Charles. "Well, now tell me what exactly Elsie told her sister," she prompted him. "I very much doubt that she said she doesn't want you near her."

Charles hid his face in his cup, but Beryl could see the tips of his ears turn red. "Well, she said that she was afraid to touch me and be touched by me. What else could it mean, Beryl?" he asked agitated, pleading eyes beseeching Beryl to ease his misery.

Beryl sat down on the other chair and nodded sadly. She was lost in thoughts for a moment and didn't immediately respond to Charles' pleading look. When she did eventually look up into his face, she was surprised to see large tears running down his cheeks. "I love her, Beryl," he whispered softly. "I can't live without her. What can I do to reassure her?"

There were no answers. Lady Mary's and Beryl's eyes filled with tears as they heard the butler's broken voice profess his love. For the first time in her selfish life Mary decided to stand back and let her only supporter find happiness and love. She knew now why she had said those unkind words and she felt deeply ashamed of them. The simple truth was that she had been jealous of the housekeeper and this new relationship between her and the butler.