In Response to Guest Reviewers: To the guest who spoke of what the last episode revealed, absolutely. If he'd only been concerned about the affairs of the house, he would have had a very, very different reaction. Moreover, those walls of theirs seriously have ears!

Author's Note: One day, I'll get back to proper consistent updating! In any case, I hope you enjoy today's update! We're mixing it up a little bit and staying far away from angst.

Spoilers for Series 3, Episode 4.

He had been concerned with her, what with her strange silence from the other morning. She'd dismissed the matter all at once, citing Ethel's mysterious letter. Without anything else to go on, he'd been forced to let the subject go.

But then he had to genuinely let the matter escape him, getting caught up in the chauffeur's return. Such a return was blasphemous to say the least. The coward had abandoned Lady Sybil! He'd gone so far as to leave her in Dublin of all places!

Let it be known that Charles Carson was in quite the foul mood.

Let it also be known that there tended to be only one person he wished to speak to when in such a mood.

Only, she was not sitting round the others at the table. He couldn't hear her keys anywhere downstairs. But seeing as how he could see light peeking out from under her door, he knew she hadn't retired. It seemed the Lord had blessed him with an opportunity to bemoan these circumstances, after all.

Except there hadn't been an opportunity to speak about it! He'd barely gotten started before she was revealing the horrors she was bringing to the house: that toaster of hers. So, not only were they sheltering a dangerous revolutionary, she simply had to bring it upon herself to cavort about with that thing.

Honestly, as though they didn't have enough to contend with!

Oh, but it only got better from there. Because after that, she had gone and nearly set the downstairs ablaze! She'd scared him half to death with that stunt of hers and all in the name of making toast. If she wanted to make toast, couldn't she simply get Mrs. Patmore to do it?

But he knew very well that, now that she'd gone and bought herself a toaster, she would never go back to asking Mrs. Patmore. Yes, well, he would never dare to use it. It didn't matter if it was a matter of starvation, he would never ever touch the thing for as long as he lived.

_._

It had taken longer than she liked, but Elsie was rather pleased with herself for getting on with her toaster. She would certainly be suggesting they use it for the upstairs breakfast, seeing as how it had already made a world of difference down here.

If only a certain butler agreed with her on the matter. Not that she expected it, but he was being unnecessarily curmudgeonly over the matter, pitching a fit over the tiniest mention of it. Well, at least they had avoided the subject tonight. She had her work and he had his, and so it remained easy enough to stay in their rooms instead of sharing a nightcap.

But were they really going to accomplish anything if he remained this stubborn?

"It would only take a minute," Elsie proclaimed in the direction of his wall, well aware he could hear her. After all, she'd been listening to his stomach growl for the last ten minutes, much as he had tried to hide the noise.

"I can assure you there's no need, Mrs. Hughes." The woman did not dignify that with a scoff. Rolling her eyes seemed far more apt. That, and getting to her feet.

"Where are you going?" He called from his room, unable to see a thing with the door mostly shut. That incapability suited her just fine, especially now.

"Never you mind." Elsie was going to fetch some bread to toast and then she was going to make sure he actually ate it. Even if it meant sitting on the man and force-feeding him both slices, she would do it.

The slices of bread were retrieved in less than a minute along with a spare plate. The toaster was brought out soon afterwards, smoke gently taking to the air as she adjusted the dials to the appropriate settings.

"Mrs. Hughes, I must insist––"

"That starving yourself is foolish and unnecessary? I quite agree." She didn't bother to maintain her glare, knowing it was far more important to keep an eye on that bread. She knew how he liked his toast and there was no need to mess this up –– not when messing it up would only give him another excuse to run away.

Minutes later, the housekeeper was pushing the door to his pantry open, "Now am I going to have to force this down your throat? Or will you finally take care of yourself without my needing to help?"

"I hardly need you to––" Mr. Carson began to grumble out a response before recognising that this was not the wisest course of action to take. "Oh, just give it here."

She nodded, readily handing off the plate. Once that task was accomplished, she went back to standing in the doorway, her arms crossed as she fixed him with a look.

"Is there something else, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I'm simply waiting for you to eat your toast, Mr. Carson. And, yes, I will stand here for as long as it takes." When his jaw continued to loosen, eyebrows threatening to furrow, "How can I know you've eaten if I leave now?"

If the man thought he was going to get out of eating, he had another think coming! And she would stay here for as long as it took to get that message through his incredibly thick skull.

As it happened, it seemed the butler knew to pick these battles carefully.

Or, at least, he was being much more careful tonight.

Elsie watched with bated breath as Mr. Carson appeared to have accepted the situation. He cautiously reached out to take hold of the slice of toast, hesitant. The man looked to be inwardly debating his actions, as though choosing to accept the toast were a matter of life-or-death.

Yes, well, she had no qualms about making that decision for him, "I'm more than happy to force-feed you if that's what you'd prefer,"

"Of course not," The butler's response was swift and gruff, the man snatching up the first slice at last. But he looked to be rather tentative again, something that nearly set her off.

"Mr. Carson,"

"Right." Glaciers melted faster than this, a fact even he could recognise. Fortunately, it took only one more century for the man to take a bite out of his toast.

She kept a sharp eye on the whole proceedings, biting back a smile as she saw surprise go through him. Mr. Carson tried his best to look unhappy, as though it were torture to eat this, but he couldn't quite keep the newfound appreciation out of his eyes.

Knowing full well it wouldn't serve her to give him a good tease, not yet at least, Elsie took back the plate and left him with one last food for thought: "I'll leave you to it then. Just know that my toaster is here if you need it."

_._

Suffice it to say, Charles Carson's opinion on toasters had become altered ever since that night. He would never claim to be a fan of the invention, but he couldn't deny it had its uses.

Such was the case today. He had been feeling unusually peckish and, with a traveling salesman cajoling most of the staff away, now was as good a time as any to take advantage of their absence.

She had given him permission to use it whenever he liked, after all.

Meticulously eyeing the hallway, the man made sure not a soul was about as he snuck on over to her sitting room. The device was tucked away exactly where he remembered seeing it last, looking as though it had been waiting for him.

Right. How was he supposed to use this? He hadn't exactly been paying attention the few times Mrs. Hughes brought it out into the open. All he could remember was her mentioning something about dials and the likes.

Yes, well, how hard could it be?

_._

Elsie Hughes would always be grateful for the fact that she had returned early. Having already splurged what little money she had left on her toaster, she found herself uninterested in making another purchase. And with Beryl promising to keep everyone in check after she was gone, the housekeeper knew everything was well in hand.

Or, so it should have been.

"What on earth?" Smoky tendrils were wafting through the air and they was coming from her sitting room! But there was no reason for that, now was there?

Hastening forth, the woman opened the door to her sitting room only to collide right into the culprit.

"Mr. Carson?" Her voice held more incredulity than the room held smoke, the woman stumbling backwards for more than one reason, "What is the meaning of this?"

"It's that infernal toaster of yours, Mrs. Hughes!" Despite the absurdity of it all, she snorted at that exclamation, unwittingly taking in more smoke. Batting the fumes away, trying not to choke on neither her laughter nor the air, Elsie hurried on over to the object in question. It was easy enough to adjust the settings and keep the toaster from setting the room on fire, she just needed a moment to see what went wrong.

"Now then," She turned around, smoke stinging her eyes and forcing them shut, "It's simply a matter of––"

Sand was deposited before she had a chance to protest, the sand bucket finally being put to use. Though whether it was being put to good use or not was quite another story….

Today's Inspiration: "They're gonna get up to some shenanigans with that toaster, aren't they?"

Author's Note: I figured a bit of humor would be a nice change-up compared to all the angst and seriousness of the last two chapters.

In any case, as always, I hope you enjoyed this and that you have a lovely day! 'Till next time.