24th of December
At Charles's encouragement, Elsie enjoys a long, luxurious bath before dressing for work. He uses the time to clean up the kitchen a bit, leaving their plates and cups on the rack to drip dry. Given that he'll be accompanying her today, Charles then stocks the small wood stove in the back of the kitchen so that it'll burn down slowly while they're gone. One of the hall boys will run down this evening and reload it for them, too, which is one of the many advantages of living in a cottage on the estate. Confident that it'll burn steadily but slowly until then, he heads upstairs to get ready.
When Elsie exits the bathroom, Charles makes his way in - but not before cornering her in the hallway and bestowing several kisses to her mouth, neck, and shoulder.
"Your skin is very warm," he murmurs against it, and she has to push him away in order to ensure they don't arrive any later than the ten o'clock time she was already generously given. She does so with a laugh, though, and a small thought for why it took months into their marriage for them to slip into that sort of thing with any type of ease. On the one hand, she wishes it hadn't taken so long, but on the other, Elsie supposes they both appreciate it all the more now.
He returns and dresses quickly before sitting on the bed to watch as she plaits her hair - always the last bit of transformation back from 'Elsie' to 'Mrs. Hughes'. It's a mystery to him how she can do it so quickly, despite his knowledge that it comes from years of practice. He's tried following the movements of her fingers so many times but just ends up getting lost.
Today, though, she styles it a bit differently in order to highlight the beautiful pins. Each goes in securely on the sides of a tightly braided bun, with the two picks holding each in place, the carving serving as a subtle adornment that peeks out from the arrangement.
"There," she says, satisfied. "How do they look?"
"Like they were made for you," is his reply.
She takes up the hand mirror and turns this way and that to catch the reflection, admiring the look of them in her hair.
"You're right," she declares, setting down the mirror and turning to him. "Thank you again, Charlie."
"You're more than welcome."
He helps her on with her coat, hides the key inside of the wreath on the door so that John Bates can retrieve the horse in a couple of hours, and holds out his hand.
She takes it gratefully and gives him a little squeeze.
The servants' hall is alive with activity when they arrive. Thomas Barrow gives Charles a friendly nod on his way by, which Charles returns in kind. Things are not always smooth between the two men, but it's coming along better than either of them expected at the outset of Charles's forced retirement.
"You go on ahead," Charles murmurs to Elsie, nodding to where the John Bates is sitting at the far corner of the table. "I'll catch him while Anna's occupied upstairs."
Elsie takes his coat with her and goes to her sitting room; she's not there twenty minutes when there's a soft knock at the door.
"Mrs. Hughes?" Joseph Molesley's whisper comes through the crack in the door and Elsie rushes to open it and usher the man inside before closing the door again rather quickly. She eyes the basket in his hands and looks up at his face.
"No trouble, then?"
"Not at all, Mrs. Hughes," he replies quietly, and he slides the top of the basket open to reveal a black kitten inside. She's tiny and her fur is sleek and short, and Elsie runs a finger over her soft head and smiles at the white bits of her tail, chest, and nose. The kitten yawns and curls up into a ball, promptly falling fast asleep.
"I fed her this morning," he says, "and we played for quite a bit, too. She should sleep for a good couple of hours off and on, and the basket is plenty big enough for her for the time being." He tips his head towards the servants' dining area. "I heard Mr. Carson in there talking with Mr. Barrow, and I think they're heading down to the wine cellar in a moment."
"Good. That'll keep him occupied for at least half an hour and give me time to dress up this basket a bit with a bow." She smiles gratefully at him. "Thank you so much, Mr. Molesley."
"I still can't imagine it; Mr. Carson - with a cat!" He chuckles and shakes his head. "They shed and they nibble. They're not very proper, are they?"
"Well," Elsie reasons, "they do fairly well on their own, unlike a dog, and we're often away from the cottage for long hours. Besides, cats hunt mice, which will possibly be Mr. Carson's favorite thing about this gift."
"Perhaps." Joseph peers underneath the lid of the basket one more time, ensuring that the kitten is slumbering away - and, Elsie thinks, perhaps to say goodbye until he sees her again. "She is practical."
"She is," Elsie agrees, and the kitten starts to purr in her sleep. "And you never know, Mr. Molesley. It might not take her long at all to wrap him around her little paw."
Joseph leaves her with the basket, and Elsie manages to fashion a large bow out of some ribbon she'd tucked away, securing it to the basket with a bit of wire. She tucks the entire thing underneath her desk for the moment in order to focus on some work she needs to get done. Mrs. Patmore and Daisy have everything set for the next few days on their end, and as Elsie goes over the notes the butler has left for her, she checks off a few more things on her own list and then adds two that he'd thought of when she was at home.
It's going on noon when Charlie reappears. Elsie had taken the kitten out once to entertain her and nearly had a heart attack when the kitten decided to hide underneath the table and curl up against the wall. Fortunately, the door never opened in that time, and with a bit of twine and cunning, Elsie managed to lure her out and cuddle her to the point of sleepiness before depositing her back in the basket. If there is any one thing she's grateful of at the moment Charles opens her door, it's that kittens spend a good amount of time asleep ... and that her work dress is all black, else he'd have spotted the few stray pieces of fur she hadn't managed to remove from her lap.
"Where on Earth did you get to?" Elsie asks, tipping her head to receive a kiss to her cheek.
"Well," he says, rubbing his hands together to warm them, "Mr. Barrow had some ideas about reorganizing the wine cellar."
"Did he?" Elsie is secretly quite pleased, indeed. She'd asked Mr. Barrow yesterday to keep Charlie occupied so that Mr. Molesley could sneak his Christmas gift into her sitting room unnoticed, but it appears he went above and beyond in that department - and, not atypically, used the opportunity to his own advantage as well.
"He did."
She looks at him over her specs and sets her pen down. "And? You don't seem displeased by the idea. I gather from the time you spent down there that you agreed?"
"I did, surprisingly. The quantities of wine his Lordship and the family are ordering - and consuming, of course - are changing. Consumption in general has dwindled over the past few years, and it wasn't sensible to keep the non-rotating stock where it was located. We cleared some of the back shelves, relocated the portion of the collection that's mine to a place either you or I can access it more easily, and shifted some of the collection of reds to a different area altogether."
Elsie eyes his clothing. "You're remarkably clean, given all that!"
"Well, I can't bear to be untidy. You know that."
Elsie's foot tingles where it rests gently against the basket, and she hopes that Charlie - in his quest to be eternally tidy - really won't mind a tiny bit of cat fur on his chest now and again. She knows he seems quite big and booming to the rest of the world, but there's a softness to him both inside and out that she's come to adore.
And she suspects that there's a tiny, empty spot in his soft heart that a little kitten just might be able to fill.
"Charlie, sit down," she instructs. "I think it's time to give you your Christmas gift."
He does so, and he watches as she gets up and closes the door more tightly, curious.
She makes her way back to him and stands before him, placing her hands gently on each side of his face and tilting his head back so that he's looking into her eyes.
"Elsie?" His brow furrows, but his eyes are alight with ... something.
"No," she coos, chuckling, "that's not what I had in mind." She kisses him on the forehead. "I'd have locked the door for that, I think," she adds with a wink.
"You've been quite the vixen lately," he reminds her. "Not that I'm complaining. But I am intrigued. I don't see a gift anywhere, so naturally I ... wondered."
She rolls her eyes. "Naturally you hoped, you mean. No, your gift is here. And I think it's ready for you."
Charles watches as his wife moves away from him, wondering at her odd choice of words. She removes a basket from beneath her desk, and suddenly he knows precisely what his gift is.
"You didn't."
"You don't know what it is," she volleys, setting the basket on the small table by the chair.
"I have an idea."
He spies a sliver of worry on her face and is quick to dispel it.
"I'm not cross," he assures her, his hands lifted as if to wave off the concern. "Quite the contrary. If the contents of this basket are what I suspect, I think it could be an exciting new chapter for us."
"Go on, then." She motions to the basket as she sits across from him.
Charles pushes the bow aside and lifts the lid, and his eyes light up with sheer, pure joy when he spies the small kitten.
"You did," he breathes, and he smiles brightly at his wife. "Elsie, this is ... perfect."
She returns his smile and breathes a sigh of relief. "I wasn't sure," she admits. "But we do have a mouse problem at the cottage, and when Mr. Molesley mentioned getting a cat, I was intrigued. And then one of his students at the schoolhouse mentioned needing a home for some kittens that his own cat had given birth to, and there we were." She reaches in and scratches the kitten's ears. "She was old enough to leave the mother yesterday, so the timing couldn't have been better."
"She's tiny." He reaches in the basket and touches her back. "And soft. I mean, I know cats are soft, but she seems exceedingly soft."
"She was the runt of the litter, but Mr. Molesley assures me she has some spunk. She was playing with him last night and again this morning, as he wanted her to be able to sleep a bit in order for this entire gifting to work out, and I had her out earlier as well. There's a lot of spunk in this one."
Charles looks at her. "I love her." And then a thought occurs to him. "Are you sure it's a girl?"
"Positive. She'll need a name, too, but that's on you. She'll be your companion, not mine."
His face softens as he realizes that, of course, Elsie would have another motive for getting him a kitten.
"I wasn't so lonely as to be miserable," he tells her gently.
"No," she agrees. "But now you'll not be lonely at all. She'll take care of things at the cottage when we're away, but I have a feeling the two of you will be fast friends as you bond whilst I'm away at work."
"Which won't be for much longer," he reminds her, and she acquiesces with a nod.
"We hope not," she allows. "Although she'll be an adult cat by then, for sure. Now, I'll let you come up with a name and get to know her. And do watch the claws and teeth, Charlie. They're quite sharp on the wee ones."
"Do you think I can take her out?" The kitten is waking, after all, and he very much wants to hold her.
"Of course. Best get her used to your smell," she says. "And let her have her cuddle time on your chest when she can, because I can assure you that - cute or no - I won't be getting displaced from that spot when we're in bed."
A sly look crosses his face. "I could call her Vixen," he suggests.
"Oh, Charlie," she whispers, mortified. "You wouldn't dare."
But he just raises his eyebrows and smirks.
"Don't. Please."
Charles laughs lowly. "I won't," he replies. "Because we'd have to continually explain it, and I doubt my responsible housekeeper of a wife would appreciate that."
"Nor would you," she reminds him. "Ever the pinnacle of propriety."
He looks back at the kitten. "Her eyes are such an odd shade, somewhere caught between green and gold. She's such a marvel."
"That she is," Elsie says softly. "Look at us, Charlie. Parents."
She meets his gaze and he smiles brilliantly. "Just so."
Charles lifts the small kitten from the box. "She nearly fits in the palms of my hands," he marvels.
"That won't last," Elsie reminds him. She wants to add something else about how fast they grow, but the words fizzle out when she sees Charlie lift the kitten to his face and give her a bit of a nuzzle; the kitten, in turn, rubs her head on his chin.
"That's me, put in second place," she mumbles with a laugh.
"You know that's not true," he says. "But look at her, Elsie. She's absolutely marvelous."
Elsie crosses the room again and lays her hand on her husband's arm, squeezing it as she reaches around him to pet the kitten again. "It took you much less time to fall in love with her," she teases.
"Indeed."
"We're a proper family now, though, aren't we?" She drops a kiss to the top of Charlie's head, and he leans back to catch a second one on the mouth, humming against her lips.
"That we are, Mrs. Carson."
The kitten rubs her head on Charlie's wrist, yawns, and curls back up in his hands ... and promptly begins to chew on the cuff of his shirt.
"No," he says firmly, tapping her on the nose with his finger, but she picks up the task again about three seconds later.
Elsie gives a soft laugh. "And so it begins. Parenting."
But Charlie just shifts the kitten's position so her face is pointed elsewhere, then leans down and kisses it on the head.
"That's alright," he replies. "We'll get there in the end, won't we?"
Elsie she shakes her head, knowing full well that he wasn't addressing her at all. With a smile, she squeezes her husband's arm once more and returns to her desk, hopeful to clear it of all tasks before mid-afternoon.
TBC
A/N: Not a bicycle! Sorry, C4E. And not a new idea for me, either, but hey - sometimes a guy needs a pet, and a dog really is not feasible with the lifestyle they lead right now. I nearly died when I read Hogwarts Duo's kitten chapter in "A Very Chelsie Christmas." (Are you reading that, by the way? You really should be reading that.) However, since this was a) already written and b) a black kitten instead of a white one, it stayed. It was one of two coincidences we had, but given that she's only just published the chapter with the other one, I don't want to mention it now and spoil it.
So ... Charlie's kitten needs a name. Any takers? (I have had this story written since Nov 29 and still do not have a name for this cat. No joke - I've got to add one in.)
Blessings to all for finding a bit of winter solstice peace in these last few days leading up to Christmas and Hanukkah. xx
CSotA