25th of December

Christmas Day dawns with flecks of snow blowing through the morning light. Elsie rises and prepares a quick breakfast for herself and Charlie, and with a quick kiss and a promise to see him later on, she's out the door in a hurry. The brisk air does her good, and by the time she arrives, she's wide awake.

Being wide awake is a very, very good thing, because instead of being in the nursery as he normally is, young Johnny Bates is currently sitting at the servants' table, banging away on a small xylophone.

Banging. Loudly. Repeatedly.

Elsie ruffles his hair and wishes him a Happy Christmas before managing to escape to her sitting room and hang her things by the fire to dry.

She can still hear the ... music. It is music, she reminds herself. Just of a different sort than she's used to.

Mrs. Patmore brings a tea tray and closes the door tightly behind herself.

"Happy Christmas to you, then," she says to Elsie, who returns the sentiment and hands her friend the small gift she'd had tucked away in her desk.

"Can you sit a few minutes and open that?" Elsie asks, waving to the chairs, and the cook nods.

"I can sit in here all day if you promise to keep the door shut," Beryl grumbles. "He's been banging on that thing for twenty straight minutes, and it isn't hasn't even gone eight yet."

"Where's Nanny?"

"Up getting the others dressed after their baths. Anna does Johnny's at night when they get home, and he was wide awake today so he couldn't keep himself occupied upstairs. Oh, that reminds me. You'll be pleased to hear that Anna was blown over by the horse. She'll be in to see you herself soon, I'm sure, but it was all she was talking about at breakfast."

"Oh, that's lovely," Elsie replies. "We were so afraid she sussed it out yesterday when Mr. Bates had an errand to run - to our cottage, of course, but he couldn't tell her that."

"Evidently she did not." Beryl looks at the small box in her hand. "Why am I afraid to open this?"

"It won't bite, I promise you." Elsie hands Beryl a cup of tea, then prepares one for herself. As the steam reaches her nose and warms her face, she remembers the conversation she and Charles had only that morning, and she looks over at her friend. "Go on, then."

Beryl sets the tea aside and slides the red and white twine off of the package. Peeling off the paper, she looks over at the housekeeper, who is watching her with rapt attention. She sets the wrapping aside and lifts the top of the box.

"Oh, my goodness," she breathes, and her head snaps back up. "This is too much, and you know it."

"It is not," Elsie counters. "It's from the both of us." Her argument is a weak one. In Christmases past, Elsie might have gifted her friend a box of soaps or lotion, and Charlie was always good for a bottle of sherry or wine.

But this year is different in so many ways.

Beryl tucks her finger underneath the brooch and lifts it from the box. It's silver, pristinely polished, and it depicts a small wreath of flowers. It's neither too elegant nor overly casual, and she can see instantly that it's something she'll use often.

"Originally, we thought it might be suitable for the wedding," Elsie says.

Beryl nods. "It's a far cry from what I've got tucked away for you two," she replies quietly.

"We'll have none of that, if you please. You've kept our kitchen well stocked with Christmas treats for the past three weeks at least. If Charlie hasn't put half a stone on because of you, I'll be shocked."

"Well, I'm sure there are ways he can work that off," Beryl counters.

Elsie - positively mortified - laughs loudly, the sound of her voice echoing off the walls of her sitting room.

"I'll have to see if I can find some things for him to do around the house, then." It's a horribly open-ended comment, but fortunately Beryl lets it lie.

"Thank you for this, both of you," she says instead, holding up the brooch. "It's lovelier than anything else I have."

"'A woman deserves something lovely on occasion,'" Elsie recites. "You have Mr. Carson to thank for that sentiment, I'll have you know, though he'd be horrified I've shared that with you." She sips her tea. "So, tell me what else I've missed this Christmas morning?"

"You'd never guess in a million years," Beryl tells her, sitting back and setting the brooch in her lap before retrieving her own cup.

"Has there been a proposal, then?"

Beryl's eyes fly wide open. "How in the world did you know that?"

Elsie glances to be sure her door is still closed before lowering her voice to answer. "Because he came to seek help from my husband."

"He did not."

"I can assure you, he did." Elsie's brow furrows. "Do you know, Mr. Molesley said that he doesn't feel he has any true friends, and that's why he ended up coming to see Charlie. He looks up to him, I think."

"Well, don't they all, really?" Beryl nods in the general direction of the butler's pantry. "Not like now."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Elsie muses. "Andy certainly has enjoyed a positive relationship with Thomas."

"That's Mr. Barrow to you," Beryl says with a wink and a chuckle, and Elsie rolls her eyes.

"You know what I mean, though. But it made Charlie sad, I think, to hear it. And perhaps it made him think about how he, himself, is perceived at times."

"It's been a hard transition for him, hasn't it? Not being the butler, but also perhaps not feeling useful?"

Elsie considers her friend, who has just put into very few words a sentiment that's taken Charles months to find the words to describe. "That's precisely it, you know. He's at odds and ends at home all day alone when I'm here. He finds things to do in the village, of course, but it's more difficult in the winter." She doesn't add that Charlie's tremor is worse in the cold, or after he's had a bit less sleep due to keeping his wife warm in their bed. She and the cook are close, but not every secret that Charlie has needs to be shared.

"Well, perhaps it's time for you to consider joining him."

It's a quiet statement, a thought that Elsie lets it sit between them for a moment before she reaches for it gently and sends it back.

"I am, actually. Likely within the next year." She looks pointedly at Beryl. "Absolutely no one else knows that besides myself, Charlie, and Anna - and Anna only found out because she asked me specifically about it. But I've not made any firm decisions nor done any solid planning, and I certainly haven't addressed it with Lady Grantham."

"But it's in the cards," Beryl says, nodding.

"We did plan to tell you soon," Elsie says, but Beryl just waves off the concern.

"You've told me now, and I appreciate it," Beryl replies. "It'll be a different place then, that's for sure." Beryl plays with the handle of her cup, runs her fingertip along the edge. "I may just be following you, you know."

It's Elsie's turn to be surprised. "Will you?"

"Well, nothing is certain," Beryl hedges, and Elsie is pleased at the darkening color that appears on her friend's normally pink cheeks. "I mean, once Daisy and Andy are married ..."

"Don't tell me there's another wedding to plan!"

"Not yet," Beryl says. "But I think it's coming." Then she laughs and shakes her head. "Oh, heavens, would you listen to me? As if I know anything about these things!"

"You never used to think you didn't know anything about these things," Elsie reminds her. "You were at Charlie and me for over a year!"

"Longer with him," Beryl clarifies. "But need I remind you about Mr. Tufton? The last time I had any ideas that someone was interested in me, it turned into quite the disaster!"

Elsie laughs. "True. But Mr. Mason is different. He's a very kind and unassuming man. And he cares for you. Everyone can see that."

"Daisy says the same. She's the one who put the idea in my head."

The hope, Elsie thinks. Not just the idea.

Elsie looks at Beryl, sees that hope in her eyes, and then contemplates the history they share. Years of bickering and leading and leaning on one another, mentoring and supporting and - yes - loving one another. She sends up some hope of her own that when the time comes, they'll both actually be ready to leave the house behind.

The sound of Mr. Barrow's knock at the door puts an end to her musings.

"Come in!" she calls, and he does.

"Happy Christmas to you, Mrs. Hughes," he says. "Might I have a word?"

Beryl gets up and tucks the brooch box into her pocket before quickly piling the tea tray back up.

"I've got to get back anyhow," she says, and then she cocks her head. "Ohhhh, bless him. It's over."

"What's that?" the butler asks.

"Young Master Bates's concerto," Elsie replies wryly. "Xylophone in G ... except it wasn't. Not quite, anyhow."

"Well, he was having his fun. It is Christmas after all, Mrs. Hughes," Thomas says.

Elsie glances at Beryl, who is now just about out the door and behind the butler, and she bites her lip. The cook's face, always so very expressive, expressed precisely what Elsie thought about Thomas making such a statement.

"Mr. Barrow, what can I do for you?"

TBC