23rd of December
Elsie isn't at work an hour before Miss Sybbie is knocking upon her door again, but this time it's a rather frantic knock as opposed to her normally reserved one. Jumping up, Elsie opens the door, only to quickly end up with her arms full of one dark-haired, crying girl.
"Whatever is the matter, lass?" For a fearful moment, Elsie wonders if the plan she, Charlie, and Tom Branson had put into play hadn't gone as well as she'd hoped it would. As soon as Sybbie gets her sobbing under control, however, it clearly becomes evident that this is not the case.
"It's my ribbon," Sybbie says, and she hiccups and claps her hand over her mouth. "Excuse me."
"Of course. What ribbon, dear?"
A fresh wave of tears courses down the girl's splotchy cheeks, but she manages to stuff her hand into the pocket of her dress and come up with what appears to be a length of satin ribbon. "This one."
Elsie takes it from her carefully. It's quite crumpled, most likely from having been unceremoniously stuffed down into the pocket. But one end is frayed ... and damp ...
"It was Caroline, Mrs. Hughes," Sybbie explains, and suddenly the dampness makes sense.
Elsie takes Sybbie by the hand and leads her to the chairs by the fire, pulling hers closer to the girl's and letting her tell her tale.
"I had my special ribbon that Papa bought for me," she continues, her words coming out in bursts as she attempts not to cry anymore, and her voice begins to rise. "And I was playing with it with my doll. But then Caroline saw it and took it from me, and I couldn't reach her before she ran across the nursery and hid behind the chair!"
She looks up at Elsie, her wide eyes full of tears still but also a good bit of anger.
"She chewed it, Mrs. Hughes. It's ruined!" Sybbie immediately claps her hands over her mouth, knowing she should be quieter.
"How did you get it back?" Elsie knows it doesn't matter, but there is no way she doesn't want to hear the end of this story.
Sybbie's eyes narrow. "I snuck up on her when she was still behind the chair and ripped it out of her hands," she says lowly. "She cried, but it's mine and she - can't - have - it."
Good for you, Elsie thinks, but she can't possibly say that out loud. Elsie understands toddlers well enough, but she also knows that Nanny favors Miss Caroline just a bit, and she wouldn't be surprised if that factored into the equation.
"I'm very sorry to hear what happened, Miss Sybbie, although you must remember that Miss Caroline is still very small. She doesn't understand the idea of things not belonging to her. In the nursery, everyone plays with all the same toys, after all."
Sybbie ponders this. "That's true, I suppose. But when she tried to take it the first time, I told her not to. I yelled at her and so Nanny was cross with me, but Caroline should have known it wasn't for her because I said 'no.' And Nanny is never angry with Caroline."
"I understand," Elsie soothes, rubbing her hand soothingly over Sybbie's back. But suddenly Sybbie jumps down from her own chair and climbs up on to Elsie's lap.
Elsie wraps her arms around the lass and holds her tightly. "There, there, Miss Sybbie. It'll be all right now. Did you tell Nanny you were coming down here?"
Sybbie doesn't answer, but she leans more heavily on Elsie, tucking herself away as much as she can.
"Miss Sybbie?" Elsie's voice isn't stern, exactly, but it's clear to Sybbie that the housekeeper already knows the answer - and that Sybbie had better tell her.
"No," Sybbie whispers. "I ran out and didn't ask permission."
Elsie loosens her hold on the girl and Sybbie slides off of her lap.
"Well, we can't have that, although I am sure Nanny probably knows where you were headed. You'll need to go back up there and tell her you're sorry, I'm afraid."
Sybbie shakes her head firmly, her eyes wide. "I can't. She'll be so angry. She's already angry."
"Precisely, and I doubt it'll be any worse now. What if I come up with you so that you can apologize? And then we'll figure out what to do about your ribbon."
"May I leave it here?" Sybbie asks.
Elsie lays it on her desk and weighs it down with a book, leaving the damp, frayed end sticking out. "There, that'll help to straighten it while we're gone."
"Mrs. Hughes?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Will you hold my hand when we go up? And when I say I'm sorry? It'll make me feel a bit ... well, better."
Elsie smiles. "Of course."
She takes Sybbie's hand and marches her up to the nursery, remembering all too well how difficult it was to be a child Sybbie's age and have to deal with a child Caroline's age - one who doesn't know much about appropriate play versus destructive, and one who is rarely disciplined.
Charles decides to walk to the post office in the hopes that the item he'd ordered has finally arrived, and he's in luck. He heads home and hides it away for later that evening.
By the time he arrives at the Abbey for lunch, Sybbie Branson has calmed completely. Charles spots her in the kitchen with the other children and gives her a small wave through the window. Her face lights up with joy upon seeing him, and he turns the corner to inspect their activity more closely.
"There you are," Mrs. Patmore says with a wink. "I've never known Mr. Carson to miss a Christmas biscuit decorating day. Where've you been, then?"
"I had an errand to run, and then I needed to finish shuttering the cottage for the impending snowstorm," he admits. "It was the last thing I wanted to do when we get back this evening."
Beryl reflects on that for a moment. "No," she says quietly, "I'm sure you have more important things to do. Warmer things. Although not on a work day, I suppose."
Charles clears his throat and looks pointedly at one of the biscuits on the counter. "Master George, you're doing a very nice job with that."
"It's for Mummy," he replies, and Charles smiles at the boy's intense concentration, evident by the way the tip of his tongue is sticking out of his mouth.
"Mr. Carson, look at ours!"
Charles makes his way around the counter to see what Sybbie and Marigold have before them.
"Snowflakes! My, my, those are beautiful. And each one different from the others."
"Papa says all snowflakes are different, just like people," Sybbie announces. "Different shapes and sizes but all of them lovely in their own way." She nods, solidifying the proclamation, and Charles is impressed. "Do you see my ribbon, Mr. Carson?"
He looks as she turns and shows him her hair, through which a length of ribbon has been woven through a thin plait that lays over the rest of her hair.
"Oh, my. That's lovely, Miss Sybbie. The color suits your hair."
"Thank you. Mrs. Hughes put it in for me after she cut off the bit that Caroline tried to eat."
Charles is ... well, he's not quite sure how to take that particular statement. "She did a very nice job, then," he manages, and he turns his attention back to the cook. "Could you spare a cup of tea, Mrs. Patmore?"
"I'll do you one better, Mr. Carson," she says, and she turns to the kettle and fills a pot, which she deposits on a tray she'd set aside earlier. "Here's two. Bring 'em down to your wife and see that she stays closed up in that sitting room for at least fifteen minutes without anyone interrupting her. She's had a morning, I can tell you."
"I interrupted her," Sybbie says, looking up with wide eyes. "Is she cross with me?"
"Oh, no, lovey, not you," Beryl soothes. "She always loves to see you children. She's just had a busy day with a great many people needing things all at the same time."
"She needs a biscuit," Sybbie replies, and she adds a rather prettily-decorated snowflake to the tray. Then, after a second's thought and a whisper into Marigold's ear (to which she receives a shy nod in reply), she adds another biscuit to the tray and looks up at Charles. "That one's for you."
"Thank you, ladies," he replies, taking up the tray. "We'll definitely enjoy these."
He brings the tray down to Elsie's office and, as suggested, closes the door tightly behind him.
"Oh, bless you," Elsie says, having turned and spotted the tray. "I didn't even manage breakfast today."
"Well, I have two snowflakes here with your name on them - expertly decorated, I'll have you know."
"Surely one of those is meant for you?"
Charles bends down and kisses her forehead. "I had porridge this morning," he explains. "So go ahead."
He pours their tea and hands her a cup, his hand trembling very little today. "How goes the battle, then?"
"Well, Miss Sybbie had a minor emergency at about half eight," she said. "I was available to help because by that point I'd already helped Anna take care of some of Madge's duties because Madge is ill and confined to bed with what appears to be flu - that's why I missed breakfast. Once we got Miss Sybbie sorted, of course, I had my regular meeting with Her Ladyship, except Lady Mary joined us as we were confirming details for the family's Christmas celebrations so that meeting was necessarily longer than usual - not that I'm complaining, because everything was already in good shape there."
"I'm sure it was," he said, reaching for her hand. She took his fingers and squeezed them.
"Quite right. After that, I assisted Mrs. Patmore in going through the final grocery delivery of the week and putting the store cupboard to rights, and then I finally managed to carve out time to wrap all of those." She pointed to the sideboard, which was once again piled with the gifts she still had to wrap. "I have nine more, and I'll be damned if I'm leaving this room until they're done."
Charles sets down his cup and saucer and gets up to examine the gift pile. He sees the small tags written in Elsie's elegant script, remembering so many Christmases past when he'd have a gift or two mixed in amongst them.
"It's strange, not having one over there for you," she says quietly, having easily followed his train of thought.
"Can I help you with them? My hands are behaving today, mostly. I don't know that I can do that fancy whatever-it-is-you-do with the ribbons and the twine, but I can manage some crisp corners, I think."
Elsie smirks. "You wrap, and I'll tie?"
Twenty minutes later, the gifts are splendidly wrapped.
"Charlie, thank you! That went much better with two, I don't mind saying."
"I'd say we work very well together, Mrs. Hughes," he says with a wink.
Elsie gets up from her seat and locks her door, then promptly sits on her husband's lap.
"We do make quite a good team, Charlie." She snuggles him closer, and he manages to land a kiss to her neck. "Mmm, that's nice."
"That's about as risqué as you'll get, too, being here - locked door or no," he advises.
"I know. And from the way this day has gone, I think I have about a minute and a half left of peace."
"Well, then. I suggest you rest your head on mine, and enjoy that minute and a half in complete and utter silence in your husband's arms."
And so, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, that's precisely what she does.
TBC
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