25th of December
Christmas at Downton Abbey is a splendid thing. There is so much that goes into each and every aspect of it, from the decorating to the tree, lights in windows, and wreaths on the doors. Exquisite, delicious foods of the season produce amazing smells that seem to linger in the kitchen (and, truth be told, the entire downstairs) and it seems to last for weeks upon weeks even though the season is, in actuality, shorter than that by a bit.
Charles walks around the table that someone has set for their dinner. Previously it had been Mrs. Patmore who'd taken care of it all, that year when they were a small group and when he'd barely been able to focus due to Elsie's presence and the excitement that awaited them. But this year he can tell by the precision and care that it must have been Andrew, and Charles can't help but wonder if it's a nod to the fact that he's joining them for the first Christmas as simply the housekeeper's husband and not the butler, if Andrew wanted to show him that there are still standards being upheld. Or it could simply be that the current butler also demands precision, and Charles finds that he prefers that particular rationale. It's nice to think things didn't fall apart again once the royal visit was over and Charles was plunged full-force back into retirement. It was a feeling he'd had when surveying the grounds just a few nights ago, but then again that had been outside and this is in, and he's always been much more particular about the smaller details.
Charles sighs happily as he reaches out to tap a spoon one millimeter to the left and remembers the night he and Elsie returned to the cottage together hand in hand once the entire royal visit was over. Things at home certainly hadn't fallen apart, either. He hadn't even bothered packing his things at the Abbey that night, preferring to waste no time returning to his own bed where he could appreciate both his lovely wife and the effect that her spunk and sass had produced in him over the course of those four days.
That was a good night, he thinks with a small smile playing about his lips. And something had changed during that week, too, something quite fundamental: Charles Carson had decided that, despite the excitement of the visit and his pride at being asked to oversee it all, he rather likes being retired. Not every minute, of course; some days are endless and dull without Elsie home to talk with or just be with, and there have been days when he's been unbearably lonely - that was the most unexpected part, given that a butler truly lives most of his life in relative solitude, both physically and mentally. But in general, Charles has found he enjoys being able to participate a bit more in village life. He likes having the time to share a pint with Mr. Mason when he feels the desire to do so, or to linger in the library, or even to run to the grocer's and pick up something they've run out of at home. A year of married life has taught him many lessons about being a husband, and some of them have to do with helping his wife now and again ... and the smile on her face when he does so is worth quite a lot to him. He has a routine now, keeping the kitchen tidy and sweeping the floors once Elsie is at work, preparing their dinner once a week, gardening in the warm months and catching up on reading in the winter ones. He was quite bored at times, it's true, but Eve has instantly changed all of that, and she'll fill both his time and his heart in ways he suspected Elsie knew all about the instant she'd put in the request for one of the Sanders family's kittens with Mr. Molesley.
He hears Elsie's footsteps approaching, the swift click of her heels on the floor. She slips into the room and slips her hand into his, giving him a little squeeze and resting her head on his arm.
"And how do you find our table, Charlie?"
"It's perfect," he replies easily. "I see it's set for ten this year. Quite a large crowd."
Elsie gives a slow nod, which he feels against his arm. "Yes. Perhaps for the last time, too."
He looks down at her. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, it's not that much of a stretch. You've retired - for good, this time," she says with a wink. "We're talking about my own retirement. Mr. Molesley's proposed; the Bateses are looking at purchasing the bed and breakfast ..."
"Daisy and Andrew are getting married," he adds, and then he remembers the tenth chair isn't for Thomas Barrow. "And ... then there's Mr. Mason."
"And Mr. Mason," she agrees. "I'll be surprised if most of us haven't moved on a year from now."
"Lady Mary will never be able to replace everyone," Charles says sadly.
Elsie knows where his concern lies. "It would take a great deal to make Anna leave, I agree," she says gently. "But if they take on a business ..."
"Well, perhaps they'll invest in one but not run it full-time. It wouldn't be that different to what we'd originally planned."
She turns and tips her head back a bit to look him in the eyes. "You just don't want to imagine everyone gone from here. It's too much for you, isn't it?"
Charles tilts his head. "Perhaps," he allows.
Elsie says nothing else. The staffing concerns aren't the only major change the Crawleys will have to face in the next year, but Charlie is the last person she needs to remind of that. He's finally managed to pull himself out of the melancholy which had gripped him so fiercely until just a couple of days ago, and she'll not plunge him back into it.
Later that night, when the goose has been carved and a blessing given, everyone digs in. Beryl has completely outdone herself, truly, and a small part of Elsie wonders if the cook did it as much for Mr. Mason's benefit as for that of the staff.
She looks around the table at her companions. Andy and Daisy are sharing a bit of a joke, Anna stifles a yawn, and John Bates's seat is empty because he's gone up to fetch Johnny from the nursery and prepare him to head home. Charles is making an effort to include Mr. Molesley in the conversation he's having with Mr. Mason, and Elsie sees Miss Baxter sort of taking it all in and wonders if the maid will remain in service after the wedding. Surely she won't, if Lord and Lady Grantham do end up residing full-time in London, but one never knows. There are teaching jobs there, too, she supposes.
The entire scene gives her heart a little lurch. She'll miss this when she leaves, and she is painfully aware of Thomas's absence from it all. It isn't lost on her that of all of them, the one who isn't here this evening to celebrate what's likely the last Christmas at Downton for half the people at this table is the only person for whom Downton will still be home and employer for a number of years to come.
Well, she amends silently, him and Daisy. If that isn't the strangest coincidence, Elsie doesn't know what is. She wonders if Daisy remembers having an ill-advised, schoolgirl crush on Thomas all those years ago.
She slips her left hand over and onto Charlie's knee and he takes it in his without even missing a beat in the conversation he's holding with Joseph Molesley. Elsie remembers the hundreds and hundreds of meals she's spent at this table with Charles just to her left, all the times she wished she could just reach over and touch the man and let him know how she feels.
She squeezes his fingers, grateful.
"Come on, Charlie. it won't take but a minute." Elsie practically has to push him to the stairs, although in all fairness it's very late and they've both had a long day. "I need to go up anyhow and turn off the lights."
"I suppose someone should check and make sure everything's been locked up properly."
Elsie knows the butler did that before he left, save the front door and the library and great hall, but she keeps silent and nods.
Charles enjoys following her up the stairs, seeing the layers of crinoline and goodness knows what else swishing around her legs. He almost reaches out to touch her, but silence is more important at this juncture than a bit of naughty fun. When they reach the landing, he checks his watch and brushes Elsie's wrist.
"I'll just check everything up on the gallery and you can deal with the tree."
"Alright. It'll take me a few minutes. It appears as though a few things need picking up."
Charles looks over her shoulder and sees a few toys scattered about. "It does look as though the children had a good day."
His eyes are happy at the thought, and Elsie wonders whatever happened to her curmudgeon.
Perhaps he's just in the Christmas spirit, she thinks with a smirk.
Charles walks determinedly, feeling a bit out of place doing this particular job out of normal livery. It's like walking through a world of which he's been part of for such a long, long time but one where he no longer really belongs: he's not the butler any longer, and he's certainly not dressed as smartly as the family who are normally walking about this part of the house. While he doesn't often think of the man at all, Charles can't help but consider this might be how Mr. Branson used to feel in those early days, days when he was more than the chauffeur but barely part of the family.
He looks over the railing and sees Elsie bustling about, straightening two small dolls that he knows belong to Sybbie and Marigold, and he's reminded that whatever he might think about Tom Branson, the man is certainly a full-fledged member of the family now, and a wonderful father to his bright, beautiful daughter.
By the time her husband returns to her side, Elsie is finished tidying up. He joins her where she stands looking over the tree one more time.
"There's something a bit more magical about it all in the darkness, isn't there?" Her voice is hushed, hardly a match for the magnificent space in which they're standing.
Charles looks at his wife, appreciating the complete sense of awe on her face. She loves the Christmas season, and the happiness that often flows out of her during the holiday has, this year, finally flowed right into him.
"Charlie." She moves to the right and pulls him gently along. "Here it is."
He watches her point to the ornament she'd spotted the other night. She lifts it off the branch and hands it to him, and his hands are fine tonight so he takes it from her and examines it.
"I suppose it could be her." He examines it a bit more closely, struggling in the low light and holding it at arm's length. "She's smiling."
"I'm sure it is her," Elsie tells him. "Or at least, I've never seen it before."
She takes it from his hands. "She always had such a zest for life, didn't she? When she was younger, I mean. I didn't know her then, or his Lordship's father, really. But I imagine that to be true knowing her now."
"She did," he nods. "Much like she is now, yes; there was no getting away with keeping anything from her. She always sorted out the truth." He takes the ornament back and puts it on the tree again. "Did you ask Lady Mary about this? Or her Ladyship?"
"No," she replies quietly. "It's such a personal touch, and I didn't want to be intrusive."
"My money is on Lady Mary," he admits. "I've no doubt she knows the true story behind all of that. The Dowager never would have confided such a story to Lady Grantham, nor admitted the truth to her had she been asked."
"Well, we all sorted it out when he was here," Elsie reminds her husband. "Still, it does seem the thing Lady Mary would do."
Charles sighs. "I think she's struggling with the idea that her grandmother can't be here forever."
Elsie slips her hand around his waist and leans on him a bit. "She's not the only one."
"No. She's not."
He heaves a deep sigh. "I suppose ..."
Elsie moves to unplug the lights, plunging the hall into a darkness that's only lit by the small lamp on the side table, and that's when it hits him:
Mrs. Adler, the sweet, magical little shop ... the hair pins that were perfect for Elsie - just what he'd been searching for even though he hadn't known it until that moment ... the way Mrs. Adler knew Johnny's name without having been told ... the way she knew Charles when he walked in the door ...
... and the brief mention that she knew the Dowager, too.
Gooseflesh erupts on his arms, and suddenly Charles knows exactly who put the ornament on the tree, and where she managed to find such a perfect glimpse of exactly what it was it was that she, herself, had surely been seeking.
"Charlie?"
He turns to his wife, his eyes full of emotion and images he has no words for right now.
"I'm fine," he tells her - the smallest of fibs, but she'll let it slide for now as she always does, knowing her husband so intimately well by now. "Let's go home, Elsie."
She takes his hand, relinquishing it only when they're in her sitting room and then putting on coats, hats, and gloves. The walk back to the cottage doesn't take very long and the air is quite cold. Elsie hears the crunch of the snow beneath their feet and wonders if there's ice hiding beneath it, just waiting for one wrong step on either her or Charlie's part. It's a relief to her when they arrive at home and have made it inside, the door closed firmly behind them.
Eve comes to greet them at the door, and Charles scoops her up, nuzzling her face and smiling when she purrs contentedly in his hands. Elsie scoops out up a bit of food for her, which the kitten eats quickly before retiring for a long snooze by the fire in the extra basket Charles put out for her that morning.
"Are you hungry?" Elsie enquires.
"Not particularly." Charles looks at his wife as she hangs her coat. "Are you?"
She opens her mouth to say something, then decides against whatever it was and shakes her head.
Charlie knows that look in her eyes. He draws her close and leans down for a quick kiss.
"Let's go up," he suggests, and she nods.
They undress silently without much care for where their clothing ends up, and the only real sound in the room comes from kisses and the rustling of the fabric. Elsie isn't rushing in tomorrow, and she or Charles can take care of the mess later. It's much more important to her to be attentive to her husband, to appreciate the fine figure he cuts and the way his skin feels beneath her hands, or how he shivers a bit when she drags her fingernails lightly across his back and down from there.
She pulls him toward the bed, climbing in and holding the blanket up for him, and he slides in beside her.
"I love you," he whispers, and she smiles as she reaches out and brushes the back of her hand over his cheek.
"And I, you." She props herself up on her elbow and kisses him deeply, lowering herself again as he moves his body over her before trailing his kisses from her mouth to her chin, that sweet spot behind her ear, the tiny freckles on her shoulder, and further down from there. She gasps, which only serves to fuel the fire he already feels.
Before they're entirely lost to each another, Charles leans up and kisses her on the mouth one more time.
"Next Christmas," he says, "we won't leave the house."
She quirks an eyebrow at him, her heart already racing from the feel of his mouth on so many parts of her body. "Do you promise?"
"Mrs. Carson," he says, "we might not even leave this bedroom."
"We don't have to leave it now," she reminds him, reaching down and caressing him softly and relishing in his swift intake of breath.
"No," he agrees, settling himself over her. "We don't."
They move slowly, with care for one another's pleasure but also with a desire to not rush this night. So many things have changed and will continue to change, but one thing is certain to both of them:
Their lives are filled with so much magic, especially if they slow down long enough to see it.
We'll continue with a short epilogue in a couple of days. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter; I think, of all of them, it's my favorite.
I wish you all a Christmas filled with joy and love. Thanks to each and every one of you for following this story and sending it your love, to brenna-louise for the beautiful image that graces its description, and to nanokouw for encouraging me to dive into this year's NaNoWriMo and work on this set of cheerfulchelsiechristmas prompts.
Blessings to you all. xxx
CSotA