Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters and I certainly do not obtain any economic benefit out of them.
Light Bulbs
A dim light flickers across the deep red tones of the library. Centuries of history stares at the present. The wise and erudite past. The bold and daring present. Both vying for power. Charles Carson stands and watches the Earl of Grantham leave the library for the night, his day at an end. Alone, Charles breathes in the faint smell of old books and upholstery that had mingled with that of strong liquor. Somewhere in the carpet some whiskey has been spilt, Charles thought. That is what makes fiery smell that distinct. He would have to ask Elsie to look into that early in the morning, before the family started their day.
The electric lamps glare at the tall and broad butler. The fire now in glowing embers, whispers in crackles. He is a figure it knows too well. The electric lights, modernity's fearful invention, sees him as an imposter. An intruder. A rock that barely moves as the waves hit loud and painfully upon it. That is Charles Carson and change. Soft music from the gramophone that Lord Grantham had left on floats upon the night air and whispers over the warm surfaces of the library.
Outside a noise of jangling of metal comes closer. Faint at first and louder as it approaches the library. A familiar sound. A sound that had always made his heart sing with joy and flutter with feelings he couldn't recognise. Of course he knows them now. Inside and out, as much as he knows now the woman around whom those feelings were centred. Every inch of her heart and skin. Every dip and rise of her pale skin as it stretches over her bones, delicate yet strong. Freckles like constellations sprinkled across, that he traces every night when they cuddle and every time after they had made love. Every corner in the depths of her boundless heart. Every single piece that completed Elsie Hughes.
She appears at the large door and pauses, one hand upon the door frame. When their eyes meet, she smiles at him. Eyes glowing in the light from the light bulbs. How easily, he thinks, that the light glimmers in her eyes. How fluid it is upon her deep blue depths. Her smile, still enchants him, weaving a web of unspoken happiness and glorious love around him, around them. And it tugs his heart strings to her, still, after so many years, so many decades. Still, it draws him to her, all his life and love.
When he returns the smile, she steps into the library and leaves the door ajar. He is mesmerized by how the light plays upon her. The light bulbs painting her into a dream like beauty, a vision. But of course she is beautiful, despite the glaring glow of tungsten. Even in the faint light of the moon, beneath the soft starlight, bathed in candlelight or even in the unforgiving darkness, she is beautiful. Day or night, she is a vision to him, his angel.
Without a word he holds out his hand, the movement relaxed and simple, carefree even. And she takes it. She had assured him, two summers ago that he could always hold her hand if he needed to feel steady. He had asked for her hand, in marriage to make his whole life steadier, last Christmas and this spring they had taken each other's hand. Promised each other of their devotion and love in front of God and men. She was his and he was hers, they were each other's.
In a swift motion his free hand lands upon her back and hers lands on his shoulder and they look deep into each other's eyes. Gazes locked and hearts aloft in joy and love and all the emotions that bound them together. He leads her slowly to the tune of the music. A slow yet beautiful waltz, just like the two of them. She giggles. So unlike herself, she thinks, as she tries to stifle it. But it dies down and is replaced with a smile as her eyes lock with his again and she drinks in whole the devotion and open admiration on display in his eyes. The steps slow and they sway more than dance to the tune of the music. Her head comes to rest upon his chest and she closes her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her lips. His warmth seeps through his livery on to her cheek and she inhales sharply. A comforting warmth, a reassuring warmth, a loving warmth.
He smiles proudly, looking down at the woman in his arms. Part of him can't believe that this is real, that this moment is really written in time and not just a dream spun out of his imagination. They stop swaying and stands still, their hands making way around each other's backs into an embrace as the music surrounds them, entwines them. And they stand in solitude, basking in the shared affection. His cheek comes to rest upon her soft hair and she inhales the scent of him through his livery.
Seconds fly and so does minutes. She gently untangles herself from his embrace and leans back to look at him.
"I'll be waiting for you Charlie," she whispers and walks to the door. Looking back over her shoulder she smiles at him and he returns it. His mind focusing on one thing and one thing alone, to walk home to their cottage with her hand tucked into the crook of her elbow. To hold her close as they close the cottage door behind them. To kiss her beneath the roof of the house they've made into their home. To love her in the bed they share, to show her that his love for her is depthless.
He quickly turns the gramophone off, without thinking, mechanically. Puts out the fire completely. Gives one final check to make sure everything is in order. He switches the light bulbs off and closes the door behind him.
A throat clears to the left of him and it calls his attention. He turns his head to see Lady Mary smiling at him.
"It's very late Carson, I thought you must already be on your way," she says, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"In fact I am My Lady, I was just closing the library door behind me. His Lordship only left a few minutes ago," he says professionally and adds to it a second later. "Can I help you with anything My Lady?"
"Oh no, I just wanted to pop into the library to fetch a letter I left on the bureau," she replies with a smirk and Carson's face goes red when realisation hits him. Lady Mary must have seen them.
"My Lady…" he begins but Lady Mary raises her hand and cuts him short.
"Go on Carson. It's already late and Mrs Hughes must be waiting for you," Lady Mary's eyes lights up in mischief when she refers to his wife.
He smiles at her, remembering the dark haired, proud, yet rather mischievous young girl she once was. "Good night My Lady," he says with a bow, his affection for his favourite Crawley daughter in his eyes.
"Good night Carson," Lady Mary smiles and steps into the library and switches on the lights.
He chuckles and walks to the staircase. Elsie must be waiting, he thinks as he switches off the last of the light bulbs behind him.
THE END.
Hope you all are keeping safe and doing well! And I also hope you enjoyed this little story. I would be very grateful if you could leave your thoughts about this in the reviews. I love reading your reviews. Thank you! See you soon! And in the meantime stay safe!