Author's Note: I will definitely get to any PMs and reviews as soon as I can. Things are a little hectic over here, so I wanted to make sure this update got out, if nothing else.
Heavy angst, cheeky humor, foreshadowing to Series 6, and a little resolution to a prior update –– it's all here, folks!
Spoilers for Series 4, Episode 5.
Elsie rather doubted she would be receiving the mercy of God for this. But it didn't matter now. She had done it and there was no more to be said of it. She had to use everything she had learned in life –– making sure the right words were spoken, being sure not to babble on nor keep too quiet. But now her confession was over at last.
If only John Bates agreed, "You haven't said when it happened."
"Haven't I?" Her words were pinched with a tight sort of innocence, the kind where the speaker knew the truth. She could only pray for a knock on the door, some sort of interruption.
It didn't come.
"Was it the last night of the house party?" Bates took a shallow breath, the ends of it shuddering. Her hands clasped just a bit harder, her eyes boring into that corner. She could not give anything else away. "The night she told me she fainted and hit her head."
But looking toward that corner wouldn't help today. Certainly not when he looked at her like that.
"Is that when it happened?"
Mr. Bates knew the truth, at least about the timing. His question was a tormented fact more than anything else. And if she denied it, if she said anything to the contrary, he would leave and Anna really would be finished. "Yes."
"Then I know who it really was."
Shock protested this, hands tightening, "I've told you who it was!"
"I don't believe you." It wasn't a growl but it cut through much the same. "I think it was Lord Gillingham's valet who teased her and flirted with her from the moment he arrived."
It felt pathetic to say, but she could only imagine the sort of pain he felt. Never before did someone truly look ready to murder someone and this was the very reason Anna wanted nothing to be said. What had she done? "But it was not Lord Gillingham's valet!"
Elsie couldn't meet his gaze, couldn't keep her heartbeat calm as she forced her lies to remain light, "I don't believe he ever left the concert. It was not him."
"Do you swear that?"
"Why must I swear it?" Where was that interruption when they needed it? Whenever she wanted to indulge a conversation with Mr. Carson, catastrophe was upon then. But when she was cornered by the valet, all was mercilessly silent. It were as though he'd choked the noise out of the downstairs––
Now, that is quite enough of that!
Really, she would not be taking on the histrionics of the butler at a time like this!
"You must swear it. On everything you hold dear." His voice was threatening to break, nearly cracking as Bates asked, "Will you?"
I can't–– "I've said––" Could she get away with this? Could she convince him without having to swear on a single thing?
She would have to try.
"It was an outsider! It was no one who was staying in the house." Elsie desperately drew a breath, panic beginning to overtake her, "A man broke in and waited down here –– how many times must I repeat it?"
"Do you swear?"
Fine. She was doomed enough as is. "Very well. If it makes you feel better, I swear."
"On your mother's life?"
"My mother is dead!"
The valet was undeterred, each question striking another chink in her armour, "On her grave then!"
"I've said I swear." And so long as he didn't force her to say those words outright, she wouldn't have to officially bring her mother into this –– not that it mattered much now. In the eyes of the Lord, she'd done as such already.
"Because I will find out who he is." Heaven only knows what'll happen if you do.
"You're welcome to try." It wouldn't work to bat his proclamations away, much as she would have preferred. "But I don't know what you've got to go on."
She had to stop looking at the wretched corner, else she was liable to give it away. At least there was something that pulled at her more than that corner: the image of a husband fraught with pain.
The housekeeper looked away from the sight, knowing better than to try to comfort him with more words. He wouldn't take kindly to it, and she didn't think she could stand it if she had to lie again. Heaven only knows the sort of things she would have to say if they continued to speak.
And to think, there had once been days where a limp-corrector seemed the worst thing for Mr. Bates. If she'd known then what she knew now, she would've smacked him for causing himself such unnecessary grief and then tossed the thing into the lake.
The valet's getting up was what kicked the woman out of her reverie. She opened her mouth to speak but found there was nothing to be said. Or, rather, her words were failing her.
"I'm not leaving, Mrs. Hughes." He informed the woman, looking to be horribly stricken by it all, "But I will find out the truth."
The door was shut none-too-gently, dust from the ceiling sinking into the air. But she didn't notice a thing, eyes glued to the door. Breathing had been delayed, put to the side until she was truly alone.
Eyes swiveled back to the corner, shudders evening out, hands easing.
"Mrs. Hughes?" How had it gotten so dark –– how long had she been caught unawares? And how could she have gotten away with it? She was the housekeeper here, not the kitchen maid! "Is everything––"
"It's quite all right, Mr. Carson!" Fear snapped out a testy response but she was already swiping it aside, "I'm sorry. You took me by surprise is all."
"I see." Did he? "I just thought you should know: Mr. Moseley will be coming by later."
Her lips numbly quirked at the thought, strangely amused by it. Well, not so amused as much as marveling at the thought of a life where the most distressing question was whether or not Joseph Moseley would reclaim the role of footman.
"No doubt," Mr. Carson intoned, ignorant to her thoughts. "We will be secure in our complement of staff, whether Alfred leaves us or not."
Elsie ignored his following mumbles about whether or not it would be a true complement, suspecting this matter would not go in the butler's favour. But there was no point in ruining anything else today. The valet's declaration to find the man who had–– who had committed such an evil act was unsettling enough.
Turning back to Mr. Carson, she knew at once she needed to respond, "I see."
He looked at her expectantly, no doubt waiting to hear more. And because she suspected this next part was what he wanted to ask of her, "Do let me know how that conversation goes."
"You have my word." Oh, good. At the thought of words and promises, blue eyes latched back onto that corner. Heaven only knows what'll happen if she has to have another one of those conversations.
"Mrs. Hughes," Why was he still here? Didn't she do as he asked? "Are you sure everything is all right?"
Her breath caught, frustratingly so. Words prepared themselves to be gracefully spoken but wound out flopping out instead, "Quite so, yes."
Too late did the woman's head turn back to him. Had she been just a second faster, she might've noticed the bemused nod he'd given her, a nod that was paired with rather worried eyes.
But she hadn't been fast enough and he was too concerned to let it be terribly obvious.
"Well," Elsie didn't need to look at the man to know his hands were fidgeting behind his back. It was the first thing to genuinely amuse her in quite some time. "I best get on with it."
She nodded at the sentiment, wishing for life to follow in the man's footsteps. Better for it to get on with everything and leave them all well alone than persist in stringing out this folly.
_._
As disappointed as the lad had to be about his letter, Charles knew Alfred's rejection was for the best. After all, Mr. Moseley had proven himself quite unworthy for the role of footman.
Yes, it seemed that God Himself was decreeing that those mature deliberations needed to be cast aside in favour of true maturity. Alfred may have been dejectedly withdrawn all day, but he was choosing to stick with the task at hand. And that was all the butler could ask for.
So, truly, thank heavens they hadn't become stuck with Mr. Moseley. Because he rather doubted the man could do even that.
Now, if only they didn't have to be stuck with James. At least Mr. Barrow attended to his responsibilities, when he wasn't stirring up trouble. James Kent, however, never attended to anything. Not without heavy protest, if not an utterance on the unfairness of it all.
Really, if he had to choose who he had to be stuck with, it wouldn't be the likes of them.
"Mrs. Hughes?" He hadn't meant to walk past her open door, only he couldn't help but notice, "Is there something in the corner?"
"What?" The woman was much too taken aback for his liking. She'd been in a daze all day after Mr. Moseley's oh-so very mature deliberations had been spoken. Yet he doubted the former servant was the cause of this disconcertion. "No, there's nothing there."
"Are you sure?" He could swear the housekeeper has spent a decent amount of time examining that corner of the room over the course of these last few weeks. He had half a mind to examine it for himself, see what it was that attracted her attention. "I could swear,"
"You swear, Mr. Carson?" Her play on words crept in before he could finish his statement, causing the man to unashamedly scoff in her general direction. What a childish thing to say –– she must really be determined to distract him.
Well, he would play along. But only for now. "Very funny."
It was only as she chuckled away that Charles realised this was the first time in an age he'd heard her laugh. And, his mind mischievously piped up, prodding him to point out, "Did I just hear your stomach growl?"
"No." Her protest was sheepish, her face tinged endearingly so. He waited a moment, keeping a knowing gaze directed right at her. Seconds later, as he suspected, "Maybe."
"Well," The butler didn't need to glance into the hall to know the truth, "Mrs. Patmore's retired for the night. And I rather doubt you're hungry enough to want my attempts."
"Your 'attempts'?" Mrs. Hughes leaned back into her chair, holding to a look of her own. "And when was this?"
"Oh," Charles tried to brush it off, thoroughly uninterested in rehashing that particular memory, "It was a lifetime ago."
Her eyebrow could arch itself as much as it liked, she could tilt her head and reveal that charming neck of hers if she so wished, he would not be regaling her of the Egg Incident of 1896. The things he did for Lady Mary–– focus. "I don't suppose you've ever attempted anything in the kitchen?"
She snorted, "Cooking is something I don't pretend to be good at, Mr. Carson."
"Noted." To be filed in the little, endearing details about Mrs. Hughes drawer in his mind. "So, what do we do?"
"Have you already forgotten?" She rose out of her chair, rummaging around the room to retrieve a very familiar device. "We may be no cooks in the kitchen, but we're not entirely helpless."
Ah. It was to be that solution, was it? The one that threatened to burn down the house and was far more revolutionary than any chauffeur?
So be it.
"How could I ever forget your toaster?" It was the stuff of nightmares and somehow also dreams. It made perfect sense for nightmares. As for his dreams, he was still trying to work out why of all the objects in the world her toaster had dared to appear thrice. "You have the bread, I take it?"
"Why would I offer it if I didn't?" Something came over her face as she stepped forward, the woman having to get past him to get to the kitchens, "I suppose this is 'another time'."
"'Another time'?" Charles was distracted by her brushing past, his confusion keeping him from getting out of the way in time. "What do you mean?"
The housekeeper had her back to him, nearly out of sight, "Never you mind!"
It was strange to think it but Mrs. Hughes sounded different this time round. He'd heard those words on countless occasions over the years, yet they seemed unique tonight. There was that queer melancholy from before, the unexplainable one, but she also sounded –– flustered?
Charles was about to replay the sound in his mind when two slices appeared before him and all thoughts left him. Apparently, he was rather hungry himself!
"I didn't mean to assume, only," Why on earth was she biting that lip of hers? And why was he distracted by it? "It didn't feel right to take a slice for only myself."
He shook his head, holding out a hand, "I'd be delighted."
"You'd like to toast them yourself, Mr. Carson?" She opened her mouth to finish her thought but his hand lifted an inch, gesturing for the woman to stop.
"Allow me," Charles began to speak with a tired smile, tickled that they were so at ease with one another tonight, "'My, my.'"
Her smile widened, the housekeeper parroted the phrase as she handed over the bread.
Taking the proffered slices, he pivoted around and readied himself for the task––
"I don't suppose you'll be able to manage without setting fire to my sitting room?"
Sparing a halfhearted glare in her direction, wholly unaware he was about to echo a sentiment now days old, "I promise."
Author's Note: Ah, the joy of wanting things to be resolved in as cheeky and sweet a manner as possible. And the desire to subtly shift a Series 6 plot in a different direction. I've no desire to completely ignore it, but I'm doing a little plotting of my own.
As for today's inspiration, it was a combination of my sister's curiosity with the cooking side of the episode as well as her being reluctantly relieved Bates knows. Relief because he finally know, reluctance because she's 170% convinced he's going to go after Green now.
In any case, I'll definitely be sure to get to any reviews and PMs by the next update. Hope you enjoyed this and that you have a lovely day!