Author's Note: We're back!

Now, do you remember that little oneshot all the way from Series 1? The one where Elsie officially met Charlie Grigg (instead of Bates, Anna, and Sybil)? Keep that oneshot in mind for this….

Today's Inspiration: No quotations today. Just the aforementioned author's note as food for thought.

Spoilers for Series 4, Episode 1.

She always did enjoy an excuse to see him. Silly, really, all things considered. But she could allow herself this one moment of silliness every so often, so long as it didn't get in the way of their jobs.

"Afternoon post." Elsie warmly greeted Mr. Carson with the letter, glancing once again at the return address on the envelope. Charlie Grigg rang a faint bell, but it little mattered: all letters rang bells, what with a job like theirs.

"Ah, thank you." Her smile grew for a heartbeat before fading into a neutral line. Not only were there more letters to deliver, there was no point in letting him catch her smiling. He might very well faint at the sight, if not fiercely protest the impropriety that came with such a sentiment.

Really, she ought to be more careful. If she kept up with such cheekiness, she was liable to give her mirth away–– "Oh, not this again."

That didn't sound good. Was this Mr. Grigg solely a deliverer of bad news?

Or was Mr. Grigg himself the bad news? "Not what?"

"Oh, nothing!" Elsie watched him chuck the letter away, doubtlessly uninterested in whatever Mr. Grigg had to say.

Now, why is that name familiar? There was a reason she knew it, she simply couldn't recall the details.

Well, whatever it was, Mr. Carson was barrelling on, oblivious, "Let me know when the upholsterer arrives. I want to be there when you explain the job in hand."

Why must you be so difficult? "Very well, but I can easily manage."

"He needs to grasp the quality of the tapestry on the chairs before he starts slamming nails into them!"

"And I couldn't make him see that?" What did he think this was, her first day on the job? But he was already gone and her head was already swiveling back to the thing that started the man off.

Oh, yes. Charles Carson was terribly irate with the upholsterer of all people. That simply had to be the truth, now hadn't it?

It only took a single glance at the wastepaper basket to make her decision. Perhaps seeing what this Mr. Grigg had to say would jog her memory. If nothing else, it might solve the mystery of the irate butler.

The woman shut the door in seconds, carefully making her way over to the crumpled mess in question. Methodically reaching down to pluck only the letter, Elsie delicately smoothed out the crinkles and folds to reveal––

Oh.

That Charlie Grigg.

Well, now. This certainly posed a dilemma. After all, how could she broach this particular subject? Certainly not now, not when they'd made the unspoken agreement never to mention it.

She would have to let the matter go, fling it away from her thoughts and refrain from doing anything about it. At least, that was what the woman said she had to do.

As for sticking to that plan, well….

_._

Having cast the Grigg matter as far away as she could, Elsie had doubled-down on her duties and proceeded to lose herself to work. She couldn't do her job if she wasn't aware of every detail, now could she?

Which, speaking of details, "A lot of letters for a Tuesday."

The housekeeper shook her head at the sight, quizzical, "How do people have time to write when the week is just beginning?"

"It's Saint Valentine's Day," Mr. Carson informed her, stunning the woman into silence. And, no, it only wasn't the fact that he'd remembered. It was also that he proclaimed it so openly. As though he didn't find the subject of romance deeply disturbing.

"Oh, imagine your remembering that and my forgetting it." But as Elsie thought over the assortment of letters, her mind threatened to go back to Grigg's letter and all the questions that came with it. Yes, she would have to put a stop to that at once. "Who would have thought such a thing?"

If only she'd known she was only making matters worse.

"I am not a complete stranger to romance, Mrs. Hughes," Well, this was quite a turn of events! She never would have imagined having this discussion –– and certainly not with Mr. Carson of all people! "If that's what you're implying. Maybe I am now, but I wasn't always."

With that forlorn statement of his, the woman had been thrust back into that day all those years ago. The one wherein she made Mr. Grigg's official acquaintance, where the tactless man insisted she was Mr. Carson's wife and had brought up someone named Alice.

Did this Alice have a hand in causing her butler this grief? She'd wondered similarly at the time, but knew better than to ask, wanting to leave it well alone.

Only, she couldn't leave it alone now. She might have been able to ignore his letter from before, but she couldn't ignore his pain today.

_._

Elsie almost hadn't recognised the man. Not here, in the dust and depression.

"Mr. Grigg?"

"Do I know you?" It didn't surprise her that Mr. Grigg had forgotten her. It'd been ten years, if she remembered it right. And she had only been there for a second in the grand scheme of things. Besides, it was probably for the best that he didn't recognise her.

"You wrote to Charlie Carson at Downton Abbey." Charlie. She knew that had been his stage name, she'd seen the flyer herself years ago. But to say it aloud felt different. Strange. But not bad, not exactly.

Grigg turned around to take a good long look at her. She met his eyes with a composure she didn't feel, letting a flimsy explanation fall out, "I work with him."

He startled at the proclamation, confusing her to no end. It wasn't that shocking to work with Mr. Carson, was it? Or was it the fact that she'd come here instead of the butler? "You're the wife."

Of all the things to remember! More to the point, of all the mistakes to make! And, worst still, the man wasn't giving her a chance to correct him, "Charlie sent you, then?"

Elsie was flustered, caught off-guard. She was capable of managing this conversation, it was true. Still, she couldn't deny her shock at the turn it had taken.

"Not exactly. I," Stole a glance at something I shouldn't have seen. "Volunteered to come myself."

Well, that was the truth.

Even if Mr. Carson had no hand in it.

"'Course you did." Grigg acknowledged with pride, a knowing glint flickering in his eye. "I knew you were a good 'un. Knew you were right for Charlie the moment I saw you." The glint diminished, something dismal taking its place, "I'm glad he has you, to be honest. Makes it all easier."

She could not question what it was he spoke of. To do so would betray what little of Mr. Carson's trust she had left. And whether she wanted to know what Grigg spoke of or not, she couldn't –– the man was currently coughing up a storm.

Elsie looked around the workhouse, determining here to be as good a spot as any to sit. She might be betraying a trust in coming here, but she could see now she was right to have come. This was not the man she'd met all those years. And if she could sit and listen and help, she would.

"What did he say about me? What does he plan to do?"

"Mr. Carson is––"

"Oh, c'mon, you're with an old pal." His grin was duller this time around, a haggard quality clutching at his demeanour. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the man, though she knew better than to pity him. He wouldn't care for her pity and she wouldn't like giving it. "You can call him Charlie. I won't tell."

The woman inwardly sighed, that strange feeling coming back. "Very well. Charlie is very busy. He," Well, she'd already lied once today. "Wanted me to find out how you are. Then I think he'll come up with a plan."

"I knew it." What a mess she was dragging them all into. What a mess, indeed. "He said some harsh things when we last met, but we go back a long way, Charlie and me. And whatever's happened, to theatre folk like us, that means something."

"Yes. I'm sure it does." Oh, how was she going to manage this?

For now she knew, much as she didn't want to, she had to tell Mr. Carson.

_._

It was as bad as she had expected and then some.

"You took a letter out of my wastepaper basket when I had clearly crumpled it and thrown it away?"

Why bother asking when you already know the answer? "I could see it had upset you. I wanted to know why."

"I'm sure! But it didn't occur to you that it might not be your concern why I was upset?"

You never let it be my concern! Not that he would ever see it that way. Besides, she hadn't remembered Grigg until after she found the letter. And it hadn't been her intention to go, not even when she knew the truth!

But would any of that matter to him?

I rather doubt it! "Well, anyway, I did it and I read it and I went to see him!"

Oh, and now her butler was going to go storming away, off to pick the candlesticks for tonight as though that would solve everything. Well, she knew very well that was not how life worked!

And, yes, she would refrain from bringing up the decade old conversation, it was true. But she would not allow him to turn his back on Charlie Grigg now, not when things had so obviously changed. "Don't you want to know how he is?"

"If I wanted to know how he is, I would have answered his letter!" Why did he have to be so infuriating? Well, if he was going to run away from his problems, she had no qualms getting straight to the point.

"Mr. Carson, he's in the workhouse!" Aha! A crack in the stupid façade that composed the butler of Downton. "And in case you're wondering, it's as bad as if we were reading about it in a novel by Dickens!"

"Haven't they closed the workhouses?" Well, at least he had shut his pantry, turning back to her. He may be as indignant as ever, but this was an improvement. Mind, he was liable to storm out any second, so it wasn't much.

"No, they haven't! Not all of them."

"Well," Oh, don't you dare sweep this under the rug. "At least he's in the dry."

"If you can call it dry when there's mould in the very air that you breathe! This is a man you––"

Sang and dance with was what came to mind. It was what craved to be thrown into the atmosphere. But the woman refused speak of it. She refused to give him any more ammunition. She would have to start again.

Breathing in deeply, doing her best to maintain her patience, "This is a man you worked closely with." Not her best, but she was trying to curb her anger. It would have to do. "Do you feel nothing?"

"I don't feel I could be helpful, no." And why not, you ridiculous man? "And I would thank you not to ever ask me that question again."

With that, the butler strode out of his pantry and ran away from the truth. Again.

Elsie scowled at the way out, glaring at his retreating back. He could run away all he liked, this was something she wouldn't stay away from. And if he wasn't going to help, there was someone else she could turn to.

Someone who probably needed this more than him, if she were honest.

_._

"Charlie Grigg is going to stay with Mrs. Crawley?"

Once again, why put it like that when you're the one who asked? Of course, could she really complain? When this was the first time he willingly brought up the subject? "The authorities have released him into her charge. I'm collecting him on Friday."

And, no, he would not be stopping her from doing this. He could lecture all he liked, she would still be collecting Grigg on Friday, and that would be that.

"But why has she agreed to this?"

Honestly! "Because she is a kind woman and he is a man in need."

"I cannot believe that you are imposing on Mrs. Crawley at a time like this, when she is almost broken by grief."

"It's because of her grief that I am imposing." And yours, too, not that you'd ever see it that way. She had never forgotten how he sounded only days ago, when they spoke of romance. That had been what prompted her to take action. And it was his grief that kept her going, despite his inevitable protests.

"I don't understand you."

"No. You wouldn't." But there was no need to bring up Becky's tale today. She wouldn't share how her family had failed to come to terms with her sister's condition. There would be no elaboration on what a misery it was to watch grief fester into resentment.

After all, he wouldn't understand the moral of the story.

Nor would he realise he had a chance to mend his own grief.

_._

The drive from Ripon to Mrs. Crawley's house had been mostly quiet, thank the Lord. She didn't know if she was up to the task as masquerading as Mr. Carson's wife for much longer.

"Come in, Mr. Grigg." There was the woman's spirit showing itself for the first time in an age, that determined air the housekeeper had sorely missed. "Mrs. Hughes has told me all about you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Crawley." Elsie guided Grigg into the house, taking note of that cough of his. She had hoped it would dissipate after leaving the workhouse, but that was not meant to be. "I was wondering if Charlie might be here." He looked at her meaningfully, "You know, your hu––."

"No, Mr. Carson's very busy." It felt unkind to be thankful for his exhaustion. But with the man so worn out, it meant he had little strength to question her words. "But I'll tell him that you've arrived safely."

"But he does know I'm coming here?"

"We talked of it yesterday." That was a relief to hear. Because if Mrs. Crawley was bringing her talk up, that meant the conversation couldn't have gone too terribly. "Now, I've run a bath and dug out some clean clothes from the missionary barrel. They should fit you, at least until we find something better."

We, the housekeeper silently repeated to herself, consoled by the burgeoning vigour.

"This way, Mr. Grigg."

But the man couldn't walk away, not yet. He was turning back toward the aristocrat, looking to be quite serious as he spoke, "You're very kind."

Yes. This was not the same man she'd met ten years ago. However poorly he treated them in the past, he had changed.

"Nonsense. It's the least I can do." Elsie kept from smiling, having not heard those words for quite some time. It didn't surprise her in the least that the aristocrat went so far as to guide the pair up the stairs, only turning back round when he reached the first landing.

The housekeeper straightened up, making sure her smile didn't reveal itself to the woman now marching down the stairs. The last thing they needed was to cause any embarrassment.

"While I'm sorting him out, I wondered if you'd like to look in at the kitchen and tell Mrs. Field that he's arrived, and to put his luncheon on a tray." Mrs. Crawley looked back up the stairs, back in her element. "I think he should stay in bed today and then we can see where we are."

"He's right. You're very kind." Not many would do this. But that was one of the reasons she respected the woman.

"No, no. We must all do what we can."

Elsie kept an eye on Mrs. Crawley until the woman was out of sight. Then and only then did she shake her head at the statement, thankful she'd managed to do something. If nothing else, this more than made up for everything she had gone through with the butler.

_._

Who needs sleep, indeed? Not only had yesterday turned out to be quite an adventure, so had this morning. After she and Beryl had cleaned up most of the broken shards, they'd begun to scamper upstairs only to realise the day was minutes from starting.

After that, it had seemed pointless to do more than change their clothes and get right back to it. If only her body agreed with her. The darn thing wanted to retreat back into bed and sleep the whole day away, as though she could afford to do that.

No, the best thing for it was to pick up the pace from there. That, and keep any yawns and sleep-deprived stumbles discreet. The last thing she needed was a member of staff thinking her incapable of doing her job.

Twenty minutes into the day, her objective for the day –– to stay alert and on top of things –– had seemed quite doable.

Now, however, she was beginning to doubt herself.

And it was all thanks to one mistake.

Elsie had decided to sit down for just a moment, wanting to check a paper in her room before she continued with her rounds. Now she wasn't trapped in her seat, not exactly, but she was knackered enough she had no desire to get up and keep going. It felt foolish to say, but it was the truth.

"Mrs. Hughes," Now what? "Might I have a word?"

You've already had seven, why not add one more? She resisted the urge to chuckle at her quip, choosing instead to treat the man with decorum. "Certainly, Mr. Carson."

The door was shut long before she had given permission, the cheeky devil. Elsie almost chuckled again for absolutely no reason, a tiredness threatening to ruin her composure. But she knew better than to laugh. Instead, she would set her tiredness aside and discuss whatever the butler had to say.

For once, he wasted no time in getting to the point. "I still don't understand you."

"My, my." She drew out each echo with more than enough of a tease, feeling utterly ridiculous. But as ridiculous as she felt, it was strangely exhilarating to be too tired to care about propriety and society and all of that nonsense. "And what don't you understand?"

The butler looked perturbed by her, quite possibly having recognised how little sleep she'd gotten. But this was Charles Carson–– nay, in honour of all he'd put her through this last week, today she would be referring to him as Charlie Carson. And Charlie Carson didn't notice a thing unless it involved Downton, his standards maintaining Downton, the eldest daughter of Downton, or all three.

Suffice it to say, her sleep-deprivation would remain a well-kept secret.

"I still don't understand what could have prompted you to impose on Mrs. Crawley and I certainly don't know why you couldn't have left that letter alone in the first place."

Elsie leant forward in her chair, eyed the butler for a good long while, fought back the urge to yawn for the twelfth time that morning and sharply inquired, "Does it matter?"

"Does what mattered?"

She paused, lightening her tone. It would do no good to start off a row, "Your understanding."

When he looked to be as confused as before, an impatient sharpness broke back into her voice, "What difference will it make to understand this?"

Charlie looked flustered by her question, as though she'd put him on the spot with some sort of proposition. Elsie really didn't see how that could be the case, all things considered. It wasn't as though she'd proposed marriage. Just a simple question about his need to understand things.

Though, speaking of marriage, according to Grigg, we are already–– she had to bite back another laugh at those thoughts, reminded of another time. Last year before the cricket match there had been a moment wherein she had briefly wondered if they were the parents of the downstairs.

Focus, Elsie. For Mr. Carson –– and, yes, she needed to respectfully refer to him as such, entertaining as it was to call him Charlie –– looked ready to speak up.

"I don't think you understand what a difference it would make." The man admitted, prompting her to blink. She must've been more sleep-addled than she thought. For a second, she thought he'd looked at her with something far more than friendship or fondness.

Elsie promptly discarded those thoughts, not in the mood for that sort of silliness. He was caught up in his past. Any emotion he showed was only a response to that.

"All right." If he wanted to know the truth, so be it. "You were bothered by it, Mr. Carson. You were bothered by it and so I was bothered by it. As for Mrs. Crawley, well, I've already explained myself."

Oddly enough, the man looked more perturbed than he had before. Now why was that? He asked for an explanation and she'd given him one. She'd even kept out any sort of suppositions, not wanting there to be room for confusion.

"Mrs. Hughes," Elsie tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. He paused, as though debating the subject once more. Really, didn't Mr. Carson know better than to be this confusing? She hadn't enough sleep to manage what was clearly a complicated matter.

Something shattered outside her door, which was probably the housekeeper's cue to force herself back onto her feet. Please, let it be a foolish hall boy or even Ivy. Anything but Beryl. She didn't know if they could handle anymore of the cook trying to prove her skill, not when it came to the new appliances of the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson," Thank heavens she'd been able to stand upright without tipping over. Really, sleepless nights were not her forte. They never had been, they never would be. "If you'll excuse me,"

The man unwittingly held her back.

With the lack of sleep she'd gotten, she was on edge when it came to sudden movements. Anything suddenly crossing her path had the woman stop in her tracks, a weary brain doing its best to quickly comprehend her situation.

But what did that mean in this instance?

Only that she'd come to a stumbling stop the minute his hands began to fidget in his lap. It wasn't normally she paid attention to, but today held her focus.

Elsie looked down at the hands, wondering what they were on about, "Is there anything else, Mr. Carson?"

Funnily enough, at the sight of his hands right before her, another peculiar thought came to her. She had the urge to reach out and grab them. There was no reason to, it wasn't as though they'd keep her from stumbling. She simply had the urge to do so.

Fortunately, she managed to refrain from doing any such thing.

Unfortunately, she nearly missed the man's words because of it, "I'm still confused, Mrs. Hughes."

I'm sure you are, though I've no idea why. Her hands carried on with threats of reaching out and meeting his, but that wouldn't do. "That may be so, but you needn't worry."

"Oh?"

Elsie firmly nodded, "Because whether you understand things or not, you're strong enough to face them. And that's a fact."

Mr. Carson drew silent, his hands stilling.

Somehow, she suspected the message finally got through.

Or so she prayed.

Author's Note: Ah, sleep-deprivation. The cause of many plot bunnies.

As you probably guessed, this is a Part 1 of a Part 2 deal. Or, on the off-chance I haven't remembered the next episode right, it's a Part 1 of however many episodes it takes to resolve Grigg's situation.

In any case, you guessed it: I hope you enjoyed this and that you have a nice day!

P.S.: If you want to end today's update on a lighter note, you should know that this is what technically happened next:

Elsie managed her way out of her room well enough after that moment, just barely avoiding a collision with the door. Really, if her body was this hellbent on being knackered, she might very well have to sneak back into her pantry to nap.

My pantry? Unbelievable! The woman had to keep from laughing at the idea. She was supposed to be helping to clean heaven knows what. How could she do so if she foolishly thought his pantry to be her sitting room, of all things! Just what were they coming to?