In Response to Guest Reviewers: To the guest who wondered "Who will figure it out first?" –– heh, although we don't get an answer tonight, we will be getting an answer to that sometime this season...
Author Note: I have missed this. So very, very much. It has been much too long a delay and for those who have been patiently waiting, your patience is truly appreciated.
Now, today's update. This is all about giving a shout-out to the piece that sparked this whole concept. It's playful, filled with a range of emotions, not to mention Chelsie moments! And if it looks remarkably familiar at times, well, it is a shout-out to Time and Time Again ;) :)
Enjoy!
Spoilers for Series 2, Episode 1.
Good intentions, kind sentiments –– these are remarkable concepts. Noble, even. To take hold of kindness and carry it through life's difficulties is no small feat. It is far too easy to let it slip away, to let any well-meaning intention dissolve into frustration, exhaustion.
As for sentiments? Sentiments can become a laughable matter. Sentiments become memory, memory becomes distanced, detached. What was once remembered with great clarity turns dusty, forgotten. Tucked behind reality, buried underneath the trenches of an unending war––
Charles.
Yes, Elsie?
I think we've had enough of that, wouldn't you agree?
Well, I'm not sure––
Yes, you are.
…
…
Right. I suppose I was getting a little carried away. It's true: with everything going on with this war of ours, we've had enough of that attitude.
Quite.
And this may come as a surprise to you, but I really would be pretending if I said I still believe that. Truly believe it, that is. Sometimes, I can convince myself I still do believe it. There are nights where all I can think about is the horror of the trenches and the endless cycle of fear––
Charles.
–– Right. Well, those nights aside, I've come to realise something. I've looked back on the life we've made for ourselves. And I know it's not perfect but I really do believe we're beyond those fears, at least a little. Of course, I won't pretend I can always remember that on my own. I can't say I don't get sucked into fear from time to time. But then I look at you and I remember.
And these are the times I've the urge to kiss you.
Only the urge?
Yes, well, I'm sure these lovely readers of ours are not interested in hearing more about that! Certainly not after the wait we've put them through.
'Readers'? What 'readers'? And what's this about a 'wait'?
Never you mind. If there were, in fact, any such readers, I'm sure they'd be much more interested in other things.
Elsie, why do I get the feeling that––
That we ought to be getting on with it? I quite agree!
"You should let William do that." It was a good thing she'd come in when she did. He looked as though the Germans were already on the steps of Downton. And to think, Charlie had been the one who had talked of how important it was they didn't lose themselves to this war.
"He's got enough on his hands, getting the uniforms out of mothballs." Her man was off again, much like a horse at the races. Except he didn't have a finish line –– only ruthless standards. "I must remember to put Anna on alert for dinner tonight."
Elsie sighed. Charles remained oblivious. She turned back toward the exit. He was still fumbling with the task before him, clearly overworked. She proceeded to shut the door, sparing a moment to roll her eyes at his antics because, yes, her husband was so rushed he hadn't realised the door was now shut.
But it was shut and it was going to remain shut for as long as she needed it to.
"I thought we agreed we would keep from 'drawing up battle plans'," He'd been doing his best to imperiously whirl back around to his work, intent on being indignant about the matter. Problem was, she was unequivocally in the way. "That with a war on, we were better off not working ourselves to death."
"Elsie, I'm not––" He hushed up at the sight of an eyebrow arching, her hands going to her hips. It was only once he was stood still that Charles realised how much his heart had been racing. And that he'd been perspiring, if only a little. And that he hadn't actually taken a proper breath in minutes–– "All right! All right. I suppose I was getting a bit carried away."
"'A bit'?" But tension slid into tiredness, her gaze far more weary than exasperated, "Charles, you have to ease up or you'll give yourself a heart attack."
His scoff was drier than the air, the butler displeased at the very thought. He'd been doing better this time round, much better. Yes, he'd been spending more nights than not going over every inch of the job. And, yes, his dreams tended to revolve around fending off the Germans in the middle of dinners.
But, compared to the last war, this was nothing!
Only his behaviour was hardly what he'd promised, now was it?
Before his wife could say another word, "I doubt it would have to come to a heart attack. A collapse, perhaps, but not a heart attack."
She took a page of his book, settling the matter with a harrumph. Though, because it was Elsie and not Charles doing the speaking, words were soon added: "As though you've any control over that."
"You may be right about that," He conceded. Still, he could hardly be kept from offering a refutation, "But if you think for one moment this comes from regret,"
The man let the rest of that statement trail off, silence scattering his sentiments amongst the dust.
"Oh, I knew you meant it back then, when we finally sorted it out. And I think you thought you meant it now. But with the way you've been going in the last year alone,"
The housekeeper sighed and shook her head, grateful there had been no conscription the last time. More than that, she was grateful he was too old to be taken now. She never thought their getting on could be considered a blessing. But 1914 was proof they were blessed, in their own small way.
Mind, just because they were blessed didn't mean she couldn't keep from teasing him, "I don't suppose you've decided to lead a front of your own?"
"Now that you mention it, the thought has crossed my mind." Charles looked to be entirely serious, at least for the first moment. However, once his wife rolled her eyes at such cheek, he decided to give into the mirth and refrain from maintaining a solemn tone. "You know, you'd think I'd know better after all this time."
"You can't have everything." Now it was his turn to roll his eyes at her, sending the woman off into a series of snorts and chuckles.
"Quite." Charles tersely agreed, giving up on the silver for now. Rather, he preferred to get a proper look at his beautiful wife, something he hadn't done in weeks. Really, had he been that distracted by their work?
It seemed so, given the fact that Elsie was blushing at the unexpected attention, "There's no need for that –– there is a window, after all."
"Hang the window." Did the words feel foolish? Yes. Was it worth it to see her blink, disbelief beginning to emerge? Absolutely.
"I don't think you can hang a window, Charles." Their eyes continued to meet each other for as long as they possibly could. But given the likelihood of an interruption, this couldn't last forever. Nevertheless, she was determined to make it last as long as she could, "Mind, I do think there's a way to beat the Germans."
"Oh?"
She nodded, looking to be quite serious about the subject, "But given the window, perhaps we're better off discussing it another time,"
Elsie. He couldn't stand it when she teased him like that, the butler interjecting, "I doubt it. In fact, if we were to leave, we might give the whole thing away. There could be a German spy amongst our ranks."
Her snort was muffled as she turned her head away, the pair of them feeling wonderfully ridiculous, "Really? And who might that be?"
"Personally? I suspect Miss O'Brien."
She chortled at the suggestion, turning away in an effort to muffle the laughter. He took this as his cue to guide her away from the window –– with perfectly innocent intentions, mind.
In fact, his intentions were so perfectly innocent he felt compelled to curiously inquire, "Now, what was this way you mentioned?"
But the idea of Sarah O'Brien being a German spy proved to be too amusing for the woman to concentrate now, shoulders shaking with amusement as she tried to rein in the ensuing laughter, "I'm–– I'm afraid you'll–– you'll have to give me a moment."
This was not a pleasing turn of events, not in the least. Here they were, uninterrupted for minutes on end, and she was too distracted to take advantage of it. However, Charles could admit the fault was entirely his, "Next time, I'll have to keep my suspicions to myself."
This only set off further mirth, more's the pity. And when the woman finally regained herself, "I don't suppose I ought to save mentioning this 'way'? I suppose it would be best to wait to share it this evening."
But before he could offer any sort of a pithy response, there was a blasted knock at the door, "Yes, I suppose that's for the best, Mrs. Hughes."
Fortunately, in spite of the housekeeper's fit of laughter and the butler's attempts to enjoy their time together, the pair looked fairly innocent in their current positions. She'd managed to turn back toward the door, her face a neutral mask. He'd delegated himself to a respectable distance at once, albeit unwillingly.
If only that had lasted.
For you see, dear reader, it was Miss O'Brien who had opened the door and interrupted the scene. Which meant that Elsie couldn't keep but staring at the butler with the faintest traces of amusement, her lip being fiercely bitten in an effort to suppress another round of chuckles and snorts.
As for Charles, he was continuing to bemoan his foolishness. Had he made no quips about O'Brien, Elsie wouldn't have been distracted. And then there might have been something salacious for the lady's maid to interrupt. Not that he wanted to be found out. Simply that he wanted to enjoy his wife's company again now that he'd been reminded of what a treat it was.
_._
It turned out that her tactic to beat the Germans –– later revealed as live in spite of the fears that continually surrounded them –– was a sound tactic, indeed.
If only such a tactic worked when it came to anything involving the blessed Lady Mary.
"I don't suppose that's our nightcap?" She was, of course, alluding to the bottle her man was currently decanting. Luckily, this was only a tease, not a pointed reference to the long hours he tended to keep these days. She knew the man would not be working himself to death –– not today, at least.
"Very funny, Mrs. Hughes." Elsie withheld a snort at the imperious tone, the taut quality giving away the whole tale. There was only one person who could bring out such a tone in the man. Or, more specifically, one couple. Honestly, the garden party had been over for two years now! Couldn't his outrage over that have lessened, if only a little?
Taking a closer look at the bottle in question, having learnt a thing or two ever since she married the man, "Surely there's something nicer to be had, what with Mr. Matthew's return?"
A singular grunt was all she got for her question.
"I see." They were never going to agree on this, were they? He was convinced Matthew Crawley was the cause of Lady Mary's broken heart. On the other hand, she knew that Lady Mary had broken her own heart. "Well, you know my thoughts on the subject."
"Something I still struggle to understand, Mrs. Hughes."
It seemed Charles needed to be reminded of the truth, "She refused him when she thought he'd have nothing. And when he was heir again, she wanted him back."
"I thought caution was a virtue."
Is that what you call "caution"? "Caution maybe, self-interest is not."
And when the butler remained petulantly quiet, she took it upon herself to make a comment, "Perhaps Miss Swire is a gentler person."
Elsie certainly hoped so. She liked Mr. Matthew, and wanted him to be happy.
"If you ask me," I don't recall doing so. "This Miss Swire who, it may interest you to know, is not to be found in 'Burke's Peerage' or 'Burke's Landed Gentry'," Her opinion of the woman was soaring to new heights at the knowledge. "Has an eye to the main chance."
She knew Charles could be ridiculous at times, but this? "That's not snobbish, I suppose?"
His scowl intensified, the man straightening up as though they were only butler and housekeeper. But she knew not to take this personally. His upset was all due to the ever-so-blessed Lady Mary, "I like to see things done properly, Mrs. Hughes, and I won't apologise for that."
Well, if that were the case he would have never proposed! Propriety would have dictated that they remain as far apart as possible, colleagues only, nothing more.
She kept quiet, sensing there was more. As usual, "Now, if you'll excuse me!"
Elsie had no qualms about excusing the man, not when he was in such a persnickety mood!
She would not take it personally, any of it. Not this outrage over Mr. Matthew. Nor his inevitable frustration when Ethel came barreling belligerently upstairs later that same evening. She would, in fact, keep quite neutral about everything she could. There was no need to add any kindling to the flame, after all.
And, no, she wouldn't be pushed to speak at breakfast the following morning, when Lady Sybil's kitchen endeavours were discussed by the butler in question, "Did I see Lady Sybil in the kitchen yesterday?"
Here we go. But she was determined to keep out of this, content to let Daisy and Mrs. Patmore do all the talking.
"She wants to learn some cooking." "She says that she's gonna train to be a nurse, so she needs to know how to cook and clean, and everything."
Yes, her husband may be doing better than the last time they were at war, but he was still a fussy old curmudgeon. One she dearly loved, but one she knew to steer clear of when he was in this sort of mood. For this was the sort of mood that brought out the crabbiest part of him –– especially since this involved the family.
Case in point, "Has she told her Ladyship about this?"
"It's supposed to be a surprise."
And seeing as how surprises were one of Charles' least favorite things, Elsie decided it was time to step in and say something, "Mr. Carson, it speaks well of Lady Sybil that she wants to help the wounded. Let's not give her away."
If only his glance didn't give the truth away: there would be no keeping silent on this.
But before she could argue the point, someone else was speaking up –– rather audaciously so.
"Why shouldn't she learn how to cook and scrub? She may need it when the war's over." The housekeeper stiffened at Ethel's impertinence, not caring for the girl's tone. "Things are changing, for her lot and us. And when they do, I mean to make the most of it."
I'm sure you do.
Judging from Mrs. Patmore's snort, it seemed they were in agreement on this subject. An agreement that didn't deter Ethel in the least, the maid's attention now directed toward the cook, "I take it they ate all the pancakes last night, then?"
"They did." The redhead declared with a small smirk. Why did Elsie suspect that had been a lie?
Glancing at her husband, silently tilting her head as she sipped her tea, she nearly guffawed: Charlie's response, though subtle and discreet, was quite easy to understand. Suffice it to say, Mrs. Patmore's statement about the pancakes had indeed been a lie.
"Is everything all right, Mrs. Hughes?"
The housekeeper nodded, resisting the urge to bite her lip in response. If William of all people had noticed her reaction, they were in trouble. Fortunately, Miss O'Brien was only invested in reveling in her victory over Ethel. They could only be grateful Thomas wasn't around to make trouble.
Of course, whether Thomas was there or not, Ethel was more than happy to stir the proverbial pot, "Mr. Carson, did they really eat all the pancakes?"
_._
He knew Elsie wouldn't approve of this. But after a great deal of deliberation, Charles felt the best response was not to withhold Lady Sybil's cooking attempts. Rather, he thought it in her Ladyship's best interests to be informed at once.
"I'm sorry to trouble you, milady," Well, here goes nothing. A pointless phrase, in his opinion. But it was also one that served him well today.
"What is it, Carson?"
"Something has been going on and I don't feel quite easy that you've not been made aware of it." That wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth.
And, no, not even Elsie was aware of the whole truth –– not in this instance.
Right. He needed to focus on Lady Grantham. Fortunately, she was more than willing to speak up, snatching back his attention, "Goodness,"
Needlework had been paused in favour of intrigue, the woman ensnared by the enigma before her, "What is this dark secret?"
There weren't dark secrets in Charles Carson's life, but there were regrets. Not many, but enough to cause more than a fair share of sleepless nights and somber days.
Quite possibly the biggest of all regrets was that he and Elsie had never been able to have children. There was no begrudging the situation: it had all been thanks to age, nothing more. Nevertheless, that didn't stop him from wondering once in a while what that life might have been like.
So, naturally, when Mrs. Patmore had mentioned Lady Sybil's endeavours, those old thoughts came back. And with it came an even older image: one of a blue-eyed, dark haired girl toddling about the kitchen.
Not a young woman preparing for war, but a child exploring the world around her.
Charles hadn't thought about her in years. And still, he saw dainty hands reaching for the counters, nowhere near the right height. Feet scurrying away from a flame made too hot. Flour landing on top of mischievous hair after a plot gone wrong –– so many images of a little girl they could never have.
He'd already made up his mind by the time these images came back.
But that renewed bemusement only solidified his new plan.
The truth was plain and simple: if he had been in her Ladyship's shoes, he would want to witness any moment he could. He would want to cherish every speck of flour, every harmless mishap, everything that came with such scenes.
Of course, given his role at Downton, it was imperative to approach this as a butler was wont to do: put on a disapproving air and give nothing of his own secret away, "Lady Sybil has spent the last two days in the kitchens."
"What?" Her Ladyship may have sounded alarmed, but the woman's face was past the point of lighting up. Blue eyes blazed with delight, her countenance filled with a joyful disbelief.
Charles continued in a hushed tone, pretending to be unaware of her sentiments, "She asked Mrs. Patmore for some cooking lessons. And seeing as how Mrs. Patmore couldn't refuse,"
"I'm afraid I'll need to see this for myself, Carson."
I thought you might. "Of course, milady. I do believe they're at work as we speak–– that is, if now is an acceptable time?"
Her nod was regal, the woman setting aside the needlework with a refined, determined air. As for himself, he was once again distracted. This time, that little girl was reaching for her mother's keys. In a blink, she was trying to stand on top of his chair, biting her lip at the confusing papers scattered about his pantry, papers she had just made a mess of.
For once, it didn't cause him pain to see such a sight.
"Oh, and Carson," The butler turned back to the aristocrat, revealing nothing as he continued to dutifully listen, "I'd prefer to observe from a discreet distance."
"That can be easily arranged, milady."
Much as he'd promised, their venture to the downstairs was discreet. As for remaining out of sight, well, it was difficult given the windows of the kitchens. But it seemed Daisy, Lady Sybil, and even Mrs. Patmore were far too distracted by their culinary chores to notice.
"Now, steady. Even the most experienced cook can burn themselves if they're not careful." At the sound of harm possibly befalling Lady Sybil, Charles felt the urge to shoo the young lady out of the kitchen. But one look at Lady Grantham told him that would be quite the mistake.
Not to mention he could hear Elsie chiding him for being far too protective. Only in his mind, of course, but it was the thought that counted.
"Do you think it's ready?" Right. There was no time to change a thing. He could only witness the scene and pray for the best.
"I know it's ready!" "Go on, you don't want to spoil it."
Pretending to be focussed solely on the kitchens had been easy enough. The trouble was that he couldn't help but wonder what their little girl would have done in the lady's stead.
But it was Lady Sybil he was observing, no one else.
Charles turned toward the mother, doubling down on his efforts to remain disdainful, "It seems she's made a cake for your Ladyship, as a surprise. But as I'm uneasy with surprises at the best of times," Was it necessary to continue emphasising his supposed disapproval? Given the reputation he'd built in this house, it seemed best: "I wonder if the whole exercise is entirely appropriate."
His heart tightened at the sight of the youngest Crawley proclaiming her success to her newfound colleagues. But he felt no pain. Only a sense of contentment. They may never have that little girl, but they had something equally wonderful. And–– and if he drifted any further into his reverie, this supposedly discreet venture would be found out!
Which meant it was imperative to make a fussy remark and bring this moment to an end, "No, I'm not comfortable with this, milady, I'm not comfortable at all."
It seemed her Ladyship had other intentions. "I was worried about Lady Sybil,"
Charles softened at the candour. Quietly, cognisant of the fact that there was more to be said, he kept his thoughts to himself as she continued, consoled by the sight before her, "But I'm not worried anymore."
Right. Although the answer was as plain as day, he felt obligated to turn toward his employer and ask, as though shocked by this turn of events, "So you don't mind, milady?"
"No." Of course she didn't mind! Had their roles been reversed–– but that was a pointless thing to contemplate. "I do not mind. And I'm very grateful to you."
It was a funny thing, to be ignorant as to why she would be so grateful. To act as though nothing had gone according to plan when it all worked so perfectly.
"And Carson," He suspected he was about to wholeheartedly approve of what she would say next. As it happened, he was right. "The cake will be a surprise whether you approve or not, so, please, don't give me away."
His glance away from the woman was the essence of impartiality, right up until the moment she disappeared from sight. Then and only then did he allow himself the faintest of smiles, a queer mixture of bemusement and content.
_._
To say Elsie was knackered was to say the Dowager carried a bit of cheek from time to time. Listening to the sordid statements of Mrs. Bates, managing Lady Sybil's things, watching as their valet was snatched away from them in the course of a single day….
Needless to say, she was in desperate need of a quiet moment with her husband.
If only the man wasn't going back to his old ways, hunched over his notes, doing everything they'd agreed not to, "I wish you'd stop working for one minute!"
Oh, and, of course, Charles was going so far as to lightly dismiss the words, far too taken with his task! Just where was all that talk of not giving into the job? "At least put the light on or you'll strain your eyes!"
Thankfully, he was willing to do this, if nothing else, "It's getting dark so early now."
But then the passage of time seemed to strike the butler, her man quite suddenly peering up from his work, "Has she gone?"
There could be no mistaking who he wondered about, "She has. So we've lost Mr. Bates and Lady Sybil in one day."
"Can't believe it." Ah, yes. Charles undoubtedly thought it all his fault and was now adding to his workload as though this would change the circumstances. Yes, he certainly had changed since the last war, hadn't he? "I suppose I'll have to look after his Lordship now, on top of everything else!"
At least he was displeased about it. Complaining about his duties –– that was a rarity for the man. Mind, "And I don't want any jokes about the broomsticks and sweeping the floor."
At last: a small moment of mirth, their first of the day. Nothing more than a shared look and an amused scoff, the butler proceeding to regale her about the regimental dinner and everything that entailed. She tried to reassure him of its inevitable success, well aware it was either try to console him or let the man work himself into an early death.
Here's hoping it's the former and not the latter.
"You know, when Mr. Bates first came to this house, I thought he could never do the work." This came as no surprise, seeing as how he had shared that opinion every moment he could. "But now I can't imagine the place without him."
And of course Charles couldn't leave it at that. He simply had to perk up and turn to her once more, innately curious, "Did you see this coming? Because I didn't."
"No? Well, you were gone when she came in, I suppose." At his sheepish air, Elsie got the hint there was more to that than she realised, "I take it you were thinking of giving Lady Sybil away?"
When he reminded absolutely hushed, she curtly asked, "I take you did more than think of it?"
"Right. You were saying you saw this coming." He cleared his throat, his cheeks reddening, the subject awkwardly shifted. Yes, well, if Charlie thought he could get away without a lecture, he was mistaken. Perhaps not today, but they would be talking about this soon enough. "Care to elaborate?"
Well, this was her chance to explain the sorry tale, "I have a confession: I let them have their tea in my sitting room."
His curiosity was piqued to say the least, "That was nice of you."
She wouldn't deny the truth, any of it, "It was quite nice, but I had my reasons."
In seconds, the housekeeper reminded the butler of the grate and the wife teased her husband over a silly moment more than fifteen years old. He would blush at such a moment but, for once, set aside his inevitable bluster in favour of something far more effective, "Now, if I was a gentleman, I wouldn't want to know."
Elsie arched an eyebrow, well aware that was a tongue-in-cheek remark. Well, two could play at that game. And if they remained cognisant of the time, they could do far more than play at that game.
"But," His wife calmly began, mirth continuing to flicker away in her gaze, "You're not."
"Fortunately."
Let it be known there were many reasons he'd closed the door.
Let it also be known Vera Bates was nowhere near top of the list.
Author's Note: That last scene always manages to crack me up –– hence, my keeping (mostly) it as is. The best part is, that final exchange has even more layers to it, given the context.
Regardless, I really hope you enjoyed that. With any luck, I'll have another update much sooner! 'Till next time.