Nearly done.
Disclaimer: Not owned by me and I earn nothing from them.
Warm. Elsie was finally warm. She leaned back against Charles as she waited for the water to boil. They were finally, thankfully alone, at least for a little while. The Inspector would be back inside before long, although hopefully she had answered all his questions. She squeezed the hand on her waist and was brought out of her reverie by a sharp intake of breath.
She was instantly contrite, "Oh, Charles, I'm sorry. I didn't think." Lifting the hand, she studied the bruises on his knuckles carefully and brushed her lips across them. "I wish we had some ice."
"I think I prefer you," he turned his hand over and traced the outline of her jaw and lips with his thumb. He pulled her tighter against his chest and bent to kiss her cheek, "You have no idea, Elsie. I thought you were hurt or worse. When he came in with blood on his hands, I couldn't control…"
His voice trailed off and his uninjured hand on her hip tightened into a fist. She turned her head to press her lips to his cheek and used her fingers to loosen his fist. "I know. I saw. Remember? A broken nose and jaw, I'm sure. The Inspector didn't seem too concerned, though."
"Well, you said it was him who cut your arm and at the very least he's an accessory to kidnapping," he said, looking down at the bandage. He had grown very still, as he always did when he was worried about her. "And you? Are you concerned?"
She took a deep breath. "I thought you could be like that, but it's quite different to seeing you like that," she admitted, "You were fierce, but if you're asking whether I'm concerned about you hurting Peter then I'm not."
He placed a kiss on the top of her head, "Thank you for that."
"Charles, he may not have been the leader, but he still… He tried to talk me into leaving peacefully, made me write that note, but he was prepared to force me. And surely he guessed what Tufton might do." She shuddered again as she thought back over the events of the morning.
He opened his mouth to speak, but then the kettle began to steam so he released her and lifted it from the stove to wet the tea. They busied themselves for a few moments with milk and sugar, and she found that the familiar movements helped to calm her even more.
When they had finished, Charles turned back to her and glanced into her eyes before looking down at the ground with a frown, "Are you quite sure you told us everything?"
She looked up at him sharply, and he continued, a little surer of himself, "It's just that it seemed to me that you might be holding something back. I thought you might still be trying to protect the boy."
Her mouth went dry. That wasn't it at all, but she still didn't want to tell him. She was embarrassed, ashamed.
He cleared his throat, took a sip of his tea, and looked out the window, "Very well. I see. I won't force you then."
The note of hurt that she detected in his voice was what made her speak. She could never bear hurting him.
She spoke very quietly, studying the floor, "I was afraid, Charles, terrified. Just like before, when Joe…"
He turned back to her, and she heard him set his cup down carefully and felt him lean toward her, but he kept his arms at his sides. She continued, "I had felt so safe. I came here this morning on my own and didn't even think about any danger. Then, when they came through the door, I thought that I could still control the situation. Tufton seemed like a weak, fat man. I thought that I could get away."
Charles reached out to grasp her fingers, and he squeezed them gently, encouragingly. He had heard the story when she told the Inspector, of course, but she had been detached then, unfeeling. Now, she was nearly trembling with emotion. She was glad he didn't pull her in her arms. Now that she had started, she needed to finish.
"I wrote the note and then convinced them to let me pack a bag," she said.
He narrowed his eyes. She hadn't quite told this part to the Inspector. She had merely said that she went to the bedroom to go out the window.
"I thought I might find something in there. That I could come back out and get away somehow…"
"Tufton followed me into our bedroom Charles. Our bedroom. When he grabbed me, I realized that even though he was fat and weak, he was still strong enough to do whatever he wanted with me, and that no matter what I did, I couldn't stop him. And he would do it in a place where I had felt loved and safe," she finished in a voice that had dropped to a whisper.
"That's why you went out the window?" he asked, eyes drawn low.
She laughed bitterly, "Yes, he was too fat to follow, I suppose, but still if Peter hadn't come out the door after him…"
He pulled her into his arms at this point, and she sank gratefully against him. She cried silently, shaking in his arms.
"Love, my dear, dear love, if something had happened to you, I don't know what I would have done," he pressed his lips to her cheeks and then to hers.
She took his handkerchief from his pocket to dry her tears, and he chuckled, "Help yourself."
She looked down at the handkerchief and laughed softly but her amusement faded quickly, "Thank you."
"Elsie, is there anything else?" he asked, and she met his concerned gaze.
"I had felt so strong," she said, "That I could take care of myself, but then a fat man invades my home, our home, our sanctuary. Will I never be safe?"
"We," he answered her, "We will be strong together and safe."
"I've already said that I can't rely solely on your protection," she started to protest, but he cut her off.
"I don't mean just that," he said, "I mean that we are stronger together. I would have just bulled through the situation and likely gotten hurt or killed, but you were smarter. Together I think we'll do better than we would if we were alone."
She took his cheeks in her hands so that she could pull him down and kissed him fiercely, "Alone is not an option for me anymore."
"No, no," he said, pulling her closer and pressing his forehead to hers, "I had a taste of what that might be like this morning. It's not an option for me either."
She sighed, "We've missed our morning appointment though. Do you think anyone would notice if we never left the cottage again?"
There was a coughing sound from the back door, and they both turned in that direction, "That would make it a bit difficult to meet with the vicar. We've nearly finished here with the, um, well with Mr. Tufton. I thought I could drive you to the church. It might not be the wedding you envisioned, but …"
Elsie looked at Charles. He had taken off his waistcoat and jacket since both were stained with bloody handprints. Then she looked down at her own rumpled clothes. She wouldn't have time to change into the suit she'd chosen with such care, the color that Charles loved.
Charles watched her patiently, lifting his eyebrows at her, "I've another coat in the wardrobe. My second best, but I could make do with that if I would have the best wife."
Her mind was made up, she would much rather have the proper husband than the proper dress.
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