April
The last of the snow melts just days before the funeral. It's as if the Dowager Countess of Grantham, with one final wave of her hand, struck it from the earth completely. As Elsie looks out the window and examines the field surrounding the cottage, she imagines that she can see the crocuses that will soon dot the landscape with color: a deep, glorious purple spread out over the land. She thinks it rather fitting.
Charles is upstairs in their bedroom, and she can hear him grumbling from where she stands by the kitchen sink. She takes a deep, calming breath before hanging the towel on the hook to dry. It has been a very long week since they heard the news of Lady Violet's passing, and while it wasn't unexpected in the slightest, it has still shaken Charles terribly. Despite knowing her husband inside and out, Elsie was nevertheless a bit startled by his reaction; not by the existence of his grief, no, but by the way in which it had manifested itself so deeply. She'd expected tears, of course, but not the profound, soul-wrenching sobs he'd let out once in the privacy of their bedroom with only his wife to witness the outburst as she tried in vain to soothe him with words of love and comfort, her arms stretched tightly around his shoulders. She'd expected an angry outburst or two, perhaps unkind words falling from his mouth before he could rein them in, but hadn't counted on the small plant pot he'd hurled against the stone wall two days ago when he couldn't get his hands to manage the repotting of her small fern. And she'd expected moodiness, but not the volume of silence that had bled from him these past few days in all the in-between moments, as if he'd feared opening his mouth would only cause words and memories to come forth that would multiply his sorrow.
But today, all of that seems to have simmered down and melted away. Today she has the Charlie she has been waiting for, the one who is suffering quietly and trying to put himself together in order to say one last farewell to one of his favorite people on Earth.
Elsie climbs the stairs quietly and enters the bedroom, stepping for the first time in days into precisely the scene she assumed she'd encounter: Charles, standing before the mirror that hangs over the dresser, swearing a blue streak under his breath as his hands, which have been trembling mercilessly the last few days, refuse to knot his necktie. She steps in front of him and wordlessly moves him away from the dresser, turns his body a bit towards her, and gently pushes aside his hands so that she can take care of the tie herself.
"Thank you," he mutters. "I should have had you shave my face, too."
Elsie glances up to see the small bit of tissue sticking to a red spot by the cleft of his chin, and when she leans back to see more clearly, she spies another tiny cut up by his earlobe.
"Oh, Charlie," she says quietly. "You know I would have."
His face softens for a moment, and he nods once. "I do know, and I should have asked. I thought I'd be fine with the newer razor, though, and you were finishing up from breakfast."
"Well, no matter now." She reaches up and pulls the tissue away gently, grateful to see that the nick is no longer actively bleeding. "I think that'll be alright."
Charles heaves a deep sigh, and Elsie deposits the tissue bit on the dresser and leans into her husband, who in turn wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly. They stay like that for several moments, and Elsie feels him calm in her embrace.
"Better?" she asks eventually.
"Mm, I think so. I'm sorry for the past few days. I've been miserable to be around, I know."
"You've been grieving, Charlie, and we all do that in different ways. We've been fortunate enough these past many years not to have lost anyone special, and it's easy to forget how much it hurts to lose someone you love."
In years past, back when he was the butler to her housekeeper, he'd have scoffed at her use of the word 'love.' But he's not the butler now, and in a few more months she won't be the housekeeper. And he's learned a good deal about what makes up a family, and also about the value of the people he holds dear - and who hold him dear in return.
And so it is that he says nothing but allows his heart to clench and his breath to hitch once again as he squeezes his wife more tightly.
The church is understandably filled to the brim, with people spilling out onto the stairs as well. But Lady Mary made sure that there was a spot for the Carsons just behind where the family is seated, and Elsie has to admit that she's very touched by that kindness. She holds her husband's hand tightly throughout the entire service, unwilling to let him go for even a moment, knowing that he needs her steadying presence now more than ever before. The familiar prayers and hymns wash over them, a sort of balm in the way they're forever unchanged.
The reception at the Abbey is just for family and staff, and it's Phyllis Baxter's first event to have planned entirely without Elsie's help, a trial of sorts to see if she is up to the task of housekeeper. Elsie is certain she is, although she was a bit surprised Phyllis wanted the job, what with the wedding coming up at Christmastime. But with the road successfully paved by the Carsons and the Bateses for staff living out of the house and still getting their jobs done effectively, the family hadn't needed much convincing; once Phyllis and Joseph are married, she'll move into his cottage, and it's about the same distance from the Abbey as where Charles and Elsie now reside, so there was really no reason to deny the request. It does put Lady Grantham without a lady's maid, to be sure, but as she told Elsie just two weeks before, she'd rather train a new lady's maid than a new housekeeper, particularly given how she and Lord Grantham are now spending so much time in London. In the end, Lady Grantham knew Phyllis wouldn't have remained in the lady's maid position if they were to relocate to London on a permanent basis, so now she can ensure that the woman stays on in the family's employ indefinitely.
"There you are, Mrs. Hughes. Everything alright?"
Elsie turns at Thomas's greeting and smiles gratefully at him. "Lost with the fairies a bit, Mr. Barrow, but I'm back now."
They stand side-by-side, looking out over the gathering. The somber tone has turned to one of jovial reminiscing dotted with the tinkle of laughter, as these things often end up doing. Funeral breakfasts are often a source of good stories with a bit of spunk and fun thrown in, and the Dowager Countess had certainly provided them all with enough of those to last many lifetimes.
"Are you looking forward to retirement, Mrs. Hughes?"
It's an easy question on the surface, but at the same time it's not. Elsie hears curiosity in it and also a bit of apprehension. She forms an answer carefully before speaking.
"I am looking forward to having my days free to spend with Mr. Carson, yes. There will be opportunities to become more involved in certain aspects of village life, and less of a need to rise before the sun does - although I'm not sure I'll ever break that habit," she says with a smirk. "Our time will be our own, although there will certainly be struggles, I'm sure."
She thinks for a bit.
"I'll miss the people so very much, Mr. Barrow. Painfully so, I think, and so I hope you'll all visit from time to time and allow us to do the same."
He nods. "Of course. You'll always be welcome here."
"And you at our cottage, Mr. Barrow. Thomas. Please know that."
Thomas inclines his head, turning from her gaze a bit and glancing out over the room again. "I appreciate that more than you know," he tells her quietly, so quietly that she's unsure at first of what he's said.
She reaches over and squeezes his forearm briefly, then lets go. With his hands clasped behind him and his arms therefore hidden, no one in the crowd is any the wiser.
"I must go find Miss Baxter and see if she requires any assistance," Elsie tells him. She can feel his eyes on her as she leaves his side, and for not the first time, she feels a wrench in her heart at the upcoming pain of leaving it all behind.
September
Charles lifts the last of the boxes off the small side table in the housekeeper's sitting room. He's been trying to think of it that way and not as 'Elsie's office' for the last month, but it's only begun to stick since she's been taking personal items home over the course of the past week and a half. But some things she couldn't remove early, like the pen and ink set that she uses daily, the small teapot that was her mother's that she still uses on occasion, and the small wedding portrait that she refused to remove from her desk until today.
He reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws the envelope that Elsie has instructed him to leave on the desk for Mrs. Baxter. He knows not what the words say, but knowing his wife, he imagines it to be a combination of practical advice and kind encouragement. The two women are very different in many ways, but in those two things - practicality and kindness - they are nearly identical in as much as Charles can see.
He waits until he hears Mr. Barrow's voice disappear down the corridor, then gives Elsie two or three more minutes to say her goodbyes in the kitchen before he joins her. He's wary of walking in on a scene of open weeping, particularly on the part of the cook, but he's surprised to hear them laughing before he even rounds the corner.
"There you are." Elsie holds her hand out to him in a very uncharacteristic gesture, and he takes it tentatively and ignores the knowing smiles from Daisy and Beryl.
"Seems as though everyone in here is holding up splendidly," he observes, grateful.
"Mrs. Hughes - wait, no, it'll be Mrs. Carson now, finally," Daisy says, "was just telling us that you'll be bringing her for a celebratory dinner this evening."
Charles's eyebrows fly up. "Is that so?" But his eyes are twinkling, and Elsie sees it when he looks at her. "Yes, we'll be going into Thirsk to celebrate. I just didn't want to rush you."
"I think I'm ready, Charlie." She turns to Beryl and Daisy. "We'll see you on Sunday after church, then, Mrs. Patmore?"
"Yes," Beryl says firmly, holding herself together for the sake of her friend. "Dinner at the farm after the service." Her eyes fix on Charles. "Mr. Mason'll be very happy to see you, Mr. Carson. Evidently there's another litter of kittens on the way."
"Information which I will be very happy to pass along at the next library board meeting," Charles replies quickly. "There were a couple of parents asking about where to get one last time we all met."
"Good answer," Elsie adds, and they all laugh. "We've had our hands full with Eve, and I can't imagine having two of her."
It's such a comfortable atmosphere, and Elsie is thankful for it, for the lack of tension and sadness that she'd prepared herself to experience.
"Best be on our way," Charles says softly, and she nods. With a kiss to the cheek for each of the women, Elsie turns and takes her husband's arm.
"Let's go home, Mr. Carson," she says brightly.
And, as she leaves the house behind, she feels bright. Her heart is light and joyful for the future, for days spent in bed in her husband's arms and nights spent working steadily away at her knitting while Charlie read quietly by the fire. She looks forward to having their friends over, to weddings (of which she's expecting three now and not just the one she expected a year ago this month), to more children being born, and more time to just be Elsie and not Mrs. Hughes.
Charles squeezes her hand and tugs it a bit, pulling her over to the side of the path, and he leans down and plants a kiss on her lips.
"Alright, then?" His eyes are full of love and kindness and care, and Elsie basks in it all.
"Absolutely, Charlie. I can't wait to get home and simply be, well ... your wife. To spend the rest of our days never having to part for even a second if we don't want to."
He kisses her again, touches his forehead to hers, and laughs lowly. "That, my dear, would be positively magical."
She leans back and brushes her gloved fingers over his cheek. "Well, a wife can dream, Charlie. A wife can dream."
She takes his arm and they make their way back to the cottage, each looking forward to dinner out, a long and likely very loving night, and not having to wake up at dawn come morning.
The End
I originally didn't plan for an epilogue, but I didn't feel it right to leave everyone hanging regarding the Dowager's passing.
I often start a story thinking it'll be about one thing and having it end up being about something completely different by the time it finishes; this story, however, was a rare exception to that rule. This was always meant to be a story about how Charles is struggling with being fully retired after having had the chance to return, albeit briefly, to his former domain; about Elsie, struggling with her own age and the challenges of missing her husband; and about how they both are searching for ways to insert a bit of Christmas magic in the lives of the other (with a little bit of help from their friends and, of course, Mrs. Adler). I hope you have all enjoyed this adventure.
I would be remiss in not thanking brenna-louise one more time for being willing to come up with a beautiful cover image for this story in her own signature, sweet, wonderful style, and also Hogwarts Duo, who kept me going as we struggled through some of the weirder prompts together.
I'm taking a bit of a fanfic break for the next few months (save one thing I owe a reader and another small thing I owe a story). I wish you all a peaceful, happy, healthy New Year. Thanks for being here with me for the last 30 days or so. xxx
CSotA