Author's Note: Don't look now, but we've got another update!
Speaking of updates and the likes –– thank you to all who are continuing to follow this little story! Moreover, may I just say, I'm so touched this has gotten 100 reviews! Once again, thank you ❤︎
Now, this is Series 5. The series that officially gave us a lot of proper moments. Aka, Chelsie fluff will be much more abound this time around!
Enjoy!
Spoilers for Series 5, Episode 1
Charles Carson never thought he'd be reduced to this ridiculous behavior, hunting down subordinates at a time like this. But given the fact that Barrow and James had yet to put an end to their loitering downstairs, it seemed he was to be proven wrong.
Silently, the man approached the pair. Somehow, he got the feeling this was not the sort of conversation he would not approve of. And thus, he had no qualms about sneaking up on them.
"Don't tempt me." The footman was confessing something to the under-butler, quite possibly smirking underneath that salacious tone. "Because I know this: if I weaken, I'll pay for it."
He didn't like any of the implications presented in this conversation, not in the least. "This sounds very much like the kind of boys' talk I do not allow."
Charles took a modicum of pleasure in watching the men pale, both looking every bit guilty. The butler continued in a curt manner, "If you can both tear yourselves away from your smutty deliberations, I need you both upstairs."
He hadn't thought much of his lecture at the time. It certainly hadn't kept his attention once his Lordship asked him to attend a meeting tomorrow. Which reminded him: after dinner, he needed to ask a favour of his housekeeper. It would be easy enough to find her, given there was only one place Mrs. Hughes tended to linger this late at night.
A short time later, he'd arrived at the door in question, knocking, "Do you have a moment?"
She smiled at him, standing up, "What is it?"
"There's a group arriving from the village tomorrow morning. Can you get one of the footmen to bring coffee and something to eat at 11?"
"Oh, come and find me when you want it."
"I can't." Mrs. Hughes needn't look that bewildered. Was a double-take really necessary? Granted, even he could admit the affair was peculiar. "I'm in the meeting myself. That's why I'm telling you now."
"What's it for?" There went his little detective, deftly sorting out the plot before her. Not that he minded her curiosity. Personally, he found it to be one of her more endearing qualities.
"I don't know. But his Lordship asked me to be there."
"And I don't suppose it has anything to do with 'smutty deliberations'?" Charles nearly stumbled, freezing at the thought of her overhearing that moment. As for Mrs. Hughes, her smile only widened, mischief sparkling about the woman.
She gave a chuckle at his continued astonishment, shaking her head. "I'm only teasing you, Mr. Carson. I'm sure it's all perfectly innocent."
"Of course." He cleared his throat, aggrieved. "I'm sure you're right."
She chuckled and left him behind without another word, back to being the ever-professional housekeeper he knew her to be.
As for himself, he needed a moment before he could make it to his chair.
The problem was, it was one thing to lecture subordinates on the subject of smutty deliberations. It was quite another to hear that phrase come from her lips. And given how his thoughts still lingered on the image of that beach, he found her quip to be entirely distracting.
Unfortunately for him, that quip of hers was only the beginning of the surprises yet to come.
_._
Elsie Hughes didn't tend to be surprised by life these days. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She'd been surprised when she'd found herself at Brighton Beach all those months ago. She was just as surprised, if not more so, when she wound up holding hands with a dear friend and colleague.
But once enough time had passed with no mention of that day, she knew that life had gone back to a normal routine. And thus came an end to any more of those surprises.
That is, until Mr. Carson had fervently knocked on her door. It seemed the man's mysterious meeting had come to an end and he felt it time to pop by to explain himself. If by pop by she meant he rapped up a storm of knocks on her door before entering without permission.
Whatever words she chose to use, it all led to the same thing: the butler telling her that they wanted him to be in charge of the war memorial committee!
She thought it a wonderful change of pace but knew better than to say anything. But then Mr. Carson had continued to keep quiet on the subject for the rest of the day. And he grew even more quiet the following one.
All of this meant she would have to prod him for answers if she wanted to know his thoughts.
Mind, she did have other things to attend to. Namely, bestowing Mr. Gregson's German primer to Lady Edith. It was astonishing they'd found it after all this time, given how long it'd been since the man visited. But now that they'd realised it'd been left behind, there was only one thing for it: return it to the one person who would cherish it.
With the book in hand, Elsie rose out of her chair and–– and got distracted by the butler coming out of the kitchens. Any thought of Mr. Gregson's primer vanished as her attention became redirected, "Have you made your decision about the memorial?"
"Oh, not yet." Why am I not surprised? But the woman kept quiet, knowing better than to interrupt him just yet. "I'm not comfortable being placed ahead of his Lordship."
As she suspected. Still, they did ask for him. Not his Lordship, not the Old Bat. Him.
Mr. Carson carried on, looking to be put off by something,"You should have seen his face, Mrs. Hughes. He felt very let down."
Well, his Lordship was a grown man. He could act like a child or he could accept the circumstances for what they were. Besides, "It's for the committee to make the choice and they've chosen you."
"And the country has chosen a labour government, so people don't always get it right."
The housekeeper scoffed at that argument, finding it to be a poor example of debate. No, the more she gave this thought, the more she could see the truth: it wasn't simply a case of loyalty to the family. That had a hand in it, but that wasn't everything. "What are you afraid of?"
Elsie felt honoured Mr. Carson didn't hesitate to respond, well aware of how long it could take the man to talk about this sort of thing. They may have been friends for over thirty years but that didn't mean every conversation was this forthcoming.
"I feel a shaking of the ground I stand on," She didn't doubt that one bit. She also didn't think it entirely accurate, but it did help her to understand the man's hesitation. "That everything I believe in will be tested and held up for ridicule over the next few years."
"Mr. Carson," He was a daft man, but he was also endearing in his own way. Still, the truth had to be shared: "They've been testing the system since the Romans left."
The butler's impending scoff faded into a regretful sigh, "Oh, I suppose that's true. The nature of life is not permanence, but flux."
"Just so." At least he was getting there? "Even if it does sound faintly disgusting."
She had to at least try to hide that smile of hers. But with his bafflement as plain as day, there was no harm in letting humour slip through –– if only a little.
_._
He didn't like the idea of living in flux. But he did see how pleased Mrs. Hughes was that he'd been selected for the committee. It made him a bit proud to have been chosen in the first place, in spite of his misgivings.
So when his Lordship had given his permission to accept, there was only one thing left to do. With a teacup and saucer to keep his hands steady –– composed, he had to use the word composed if he wanted to remain focussed –– it was time to inform her of the news.
Although it felt bold to step in without knocking, she didn't seem to care. With that in mind, "The die is cast. I've accepted. His Lordship told me to take it."
Charles pretended to be taken with anything but her. Only he couldn't help but watch her eyes light up with satisfaction, taking great pleasure in being the cause of such an emotion. "There you are, then!"
"But he was sad." That was the only thing that frustrated the butler. He didn't like the idea of witnessing such sadness, certainly not from his Lordship. "Not with me, but maybe because things are changing."
"Well, they are," Yes, he knew that all too well. "Whether we are sad about it or not. But the more important thing is: how do you feel?"
"The thing is," He watched her pause when it came to fussing with the tea. He could tell the woman was intrigued. Frankly, he'd been taken aback when he realised it himself. "I'm not sure what I feel."
The man hastened on at once, not wanting to leave any misunderstandings behind, "I know I'm not impressed with the committee –– they really should have asked his Lordship."
"But?"
Charles always did appreciate that ability of hers.
"The ground may be shaking," He was hesitant to carry on, but he knew there was no point in dragging it out, "But I find I'm not entirely opposed to it."
Not if it gives way to sand.
Too late did he recognise he'd been looking at her hands, wondering what it would be like to hold them once more. And then he realised how ludicrous it was to wax poetic about the sand. It immediately became clear that he had to get on with it if he wanted any hope of regaining his composure.
"Well, I," But the butler couldn't think of a single excuse, that was how distracted he had become.
"Yes, you better," She looked desperate to get rid of his company, much to his disappointment. But there were standards to set and hands to hold–– hands not to hold, and he really ought to have been gone by now.
_._
There were quite a few things Elsie wanted gone in this house. But if she had to pick one, it would have to be Daisy's lack of confidence. The girl was brighter than she thought. And if the cook and the butler bothered to show faith in her abilities, she might begin to understand her real potential.
That was why the housekeeper brought up her perspective, "I think it's sharp of Daisy to want to learn to manage figures."
"I'm afraid I agree with Mrs. Patmore." You would, wouldn't you? No doubt Mr. Carson was in no mood to deal with any more changes. "Why does she need to? She's a cook."
Did he know nothing of that way of life? "Cooks have to balance their budget!"
"She can learn enough of that without being an expert in algebra."
The urge to scoff at the lot of them grew. Didn't they recognise how important it was to learn what you could? "She may not always be a cook."
"Possibly not, but she won't be Archimedes either." Now she was scowling at the man. One didn't have to be Archimedes in order to do well at mathematics. "I'm sorry but I don't think we should encourage it."
And, of course, Daisy just had to interrupt them, "I'm going up. I want to read a bit before I turn out the light."
"Oh, well done with your studies, Daisy!" Because she would continue to support the lass, whatever the butler decreed. "It's good to have more than one string to your bow."
"It's even better if you don't have the brain of a kipper." Now that was only a lack of confidence, not the truth!
"See? What did I tell you?" And now Beryl would be absolutely convinced she knew what was best for the girl. "She's lost her confidence because of it."
"And no mathematical skill is worth that."
The housekeeper glared into her glass, uninterested in taking a sip. And though it became clear her friends thought this the end of the subject, she couldn't stand the thought of leaving it there.
"I don't suppose the two of you've always been so 'confident'? So assured of yourselves?"
Silence. An awkward one, at that.
"Well?" Elsie sharply continued to question, quite aware what the answer was for Beryl. As for Mr. Carson, well, she never suspected the man to be lacking in confidence. No doubt, he found the very question to be wholly unnecessary.
Needless to say, not that she'd ever know this, she was unequivocally wrong.
_._
If there was one thing Charles thought wholly unnecessary, it was the committee's dismissal of his Lordship. The aristocrat was far more than someone who could lend a piece of land and it was high time they recognised that.
So, when he was asked for his decision, he gave it –– with a condition attached: his Lordship had to be made patron if they ever wanted the butler to agree.
Hours later, Charles was grateful he'd done as such. Not only would it help to pull the aristocrat out of his sadness, but it also put Miss Bunting back in her place. He didn't care to interrupt dinner, but felt compelled tonight.
And at least the interruption had been in the name of a good cause.
Better still, it seemed it had garnered the attention of a delightful friend: "I gather from Mr. Moseley that you gave the good news to his Lordship?"
"Ah," Charles was pleased by the question. He thought her interested before but this only proved the matter –– something that was a delight to see. "That is correct."
"How did you get them to agree?" Mrs. Hughes had only been privy to his thoughts on the subject, not the plan. But now that it had worked out as he hoped, the man had no qualms with revealing his little scheme.
"I said I wouldn't serve if they didn't make him patron."
"And have you told him that?" She should know better than to ask that!
"He doesn't need to know everything, Mrs. Hughes. Nobody has to know everything."
Least of all you.
Charles couldn't say for sure when his sentiments toward Mrs. Hughes had shifted. He wanted to say things had changed the moment she'd held out her hand all those months ago. But that was only when he began to comprehend the truth. That wasn't when his sentiments changed.
Truth be told, he wouldn't be surprised if it'd been a gradual shift over the years. To be even more blunt, he wouldn't be surprised if he'd fallen in love from the beginning and merely failed to realise it. For the more he thought of it, the more he realised that was what this was. With Alice, it had been fondness. Infatuation. Thoughts he would have categorised as love, but now realised fell deeply short of the reality.
The housekeeper's ensuing nod brought him back to the conversation at hand, but their discussion was over. It was time to walk away. Mind, that didn't stop him from holding onto the image of her looking so wonderfully proud of him, inadvertently leaning in a bit closer than normal.
Oh, he was being utterly ridiculous. Holding onto that image, reminiscing over that beach. He could jest about the matter or he could simply accept the truth: much had changed, and not all of it was bad.
_._
Elsie had jested about the house burning down plenty of times. But now that they were facing that very reality –– the staff stumbling down the stairs as flames ravaged heaven only knows –– she vowed never to poke fun at it again.
Fear swirled up and down the lot of them, keeping up with the rapid pace. She herself had to look past the butler stationed on the steps and into the crowd before her. If nothing else, the housekeeper needed to make sure that everyone was accounted for––
Darkness. Inexplicable darkness.
Ch–– An unwitting turn back toward the butler had her collide into Beryl. Fortunately, her friend was far too distracted to question it.
"Don't worry!" Oh, yes. You're the essence of reassurance. The good news was that teasing Mr. Carson had helped the woman regain her composure, making it easier to move in spite of the lingering darkness. "Don't worry here!"
So much for those words consoling the staff. If anything, his statements only shoved everyone into further action. Beryl, for instance, proceeded to force her way down the stairs as quickly as she could, as though that would get them out safely.
Then again, the cook wasn't concentrating on being safe, now was she?
It was with a silent sigh that Elsie did her best to chase after her friend, determined to keep the woman in one piece. No point in racing down the stairs if it only landed you a broken neck.
But it seemed everyone had similar ideas as Beryl, the semi-orderly queue fading into throngs of panic as terror took hold of the crowd. By the time she'd made it to the redhead's side, a curtain of chill was slamming into her.
The housekeeper was crossed between commenting on her friend's foolishness and the cold, but there was no time to get caught up in either subject. She needed to continue accounting for everyone, take stock of what was left to be done, and––
"There's no point in bringing that out," Confusion escaped into the night's frost, the woman whipping around at the intrusion. What on earth was he on about? "If you're not going to wear it."
Heavens. Elsie ought to be helping ferry out the blankets and confirming what little information she could, not standing stock-still behind the fire truck. Fortunately, her impersonation of a codfish didn't last long, "Mr. Carson?"
"Your blanket," The butler began to point out, reminding the woman she'd yet to put the thing to good use. "You will be putting it on, yes?"
"Need I remind you where I come from?" She was being more defensive than she needed to be but it was true. Given the temperatures she'd had to put up with up back in Argyll, the cold didn't truly bother her. Yet her comment only seemed to encourage further disapproval from the man. And since a lecture was the last thing she wanted, "But if it'll make you happy,"
"It will." Mr. Carson informed her, not even protesting her choice of words. Elsie considered that to be the end of this indelicate conversation but the man looked to think otherwise. Why else would he take another step in her direction––
Oh.
He was waiting on her to put the blanket on.
Hands fumbled into action, the housekeeper quick to bundle herself up, so to speak. The sooner she took care of this, the sooner they could get on with whatever needed doing.
Only, "And how do you intend to stay warm?"
Now what? Elsie lightly scoffed, once again oblivious to what he was going on about. She had her blanket, quite literally, well in hand. However, she was not stunned into silence this time, "You must be cold yourself."
The man may have been wearing layers but the cold would seep in if he didn't button up. She ought to know, what with a childhood that'd been coated in frost. Layers were only a part of the key to staying warm. Something she ought to inform him of, given the circumstances.
"That doesn't matter." Was that a retort? A lecture in disguise? She couldn't tell, not with his hands now warming up her shoulders, brushing out the crinkles and folds. It seemed in her haste to wear the thing, she'd made a mess of the edging. "If we don't get you straightened out, we'll be short of a housekeeper in the morning. And that's the last thing we need."
"Hardly." Elsie gave a shiver, much to her irritation. Shivering wouldn't help to prove her point that she was perfectly fine. That he was the cause of it –– instead of, say, the cold –– made it all even more vexing.
"Mrs. Hughes?" The butler paused in his efforts, only now becoming aware of where his hands rested. But they remained insistently attached to the blanket, warmth plunging through the material.
"Yes, Mr. Carson?" Vexation effortlessly slipped off into the darkness, replaced by a peculiar heat. It was distracting, prompting the woman to look up at him. The man continued to look at her, but remained silent. Just what was her butler thinking?
"Would either of you happen to know where I can get my hands on a blanket?" Beryl remained utterly oblivious to the moment at hand, coming round the fire truck that'd hid them so well, "Daisy's left hers behind in the excitement and God only knows what that's doing for her confidence."
"I'll fetch one for you," Elsie was more than happy to step away, praying that no one caught the colour in her cheeks or the way her shoulders ached for the warmth now gone. "And then you can have yours back in no time."
She didn't waste any time listening to whatever the cook said in response. Instead, she made for a cowardly beeline for the nearest way out, wanting any path that would take her away from the butler and that strange ache.
Three minutes later, the blanket business had been sorted out, Mr. Carson was sufficiently engaged with his Lordship and it looked like tonight's fiasco was finally coming to a close, "We can all go back inside. The excitement is over."
There was no time to think of what a relief that was. There was still work to do, "Might Lady Edith sleep in his Lordship's dressing room tonight, milady, since the bed's already made up?"
"Of course."
Five minutes after that and any distracting thoughts about the butler were long gone. Instead, she found herself bemused over the actions of the middle Crawley daughter. Whatever was going on between Lady Edith and that fireman –– Mr. Drewe, if she wasn't mistaken –– she doubted she would approve.
But there was nothing more to do, not now. And so, Elsie watched the fire truck fade into the night, eventually turning back to follow the others. The family had long since retreated back into the house. As for the servants, what little she could see, it looked like everyone had hastily made their way back into the house.
Everyone except for one rather worried-looking butler, that is, "Mr. Carson?"
"There you are!"
She tilted her head at the obvious concern. Straightening out her blanket's edging, waiting for her outside. Would he cease to confuse her tonight? She rather doubted it. "There was no need to wait for me."
"I beg to differ." The housekeeper shook her head at this, letting her dearest friend carry on speaking, "I was being quite serious about being short of a housekeeper, what with the cold,"
Her laughter broke through his lecture, "Have you still forgotten I'm rather acquainted with the cold, Mr. Carson?"
"Be that as it may, Mrs. Hughes," The man was ushering her back through their customary entrance, the downstairs entirely deserted, "There's no need to strengthen that acquaintance."
Look at the two of them, talking about the cold as though it were a person! She must have been spending more time with him than she realised, she'd never given into these kinds of metaphors before.
"Well, I promise not to 'strengthen that acquaintance'," Really, Elsie would have to keep from snorting at the idea. "If you promise not to lose sleep over another patrol."
The butler froze as though he'd been caught with his hand in the biscuit jar, his bluster taking a nervous turn, "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?" He had the look of someone who felt overburdened by guilt. No doubt he thought it all his fault. "No one's to blame for that fire, least of all you."
The butler was opposed to that statement, gently disagreeing, "Be that as it may, there's no harm in making sure nothing else happens."
"But there is, Mr. Carson." Elsie was reminded of the last time he'd taken it upon himself to be this vigilant. She didn't know if she could manage him having another collapse, "You may think nothing of another patrol tonight. But when you become convinced this must be a new standard to set, when you spend your nights waiting for another fire to strike,"
"I doubt it'll come to that." Won't it? She could see it now. Him collapsed in an undignified heap at the bottom of the steps, unconscious or worse. All thanks to a newfound paranoia, one designed to ensure nothing else happened. "But I want to be sure of no more accidents, at least for tonight."
The housekeeper remained in his path, unconvinced, "If you're going to insist on patrolling, I am going to have to insist on accompanying you."
"What?" This of all things shocked him? Not the incident with her blanket, but this?
"You heard me." And no matter what Mr. Carson said she wouldn't allow him to continue in this nonsense. Honestly, there wasn't likely to be another night like this for years to come, if ever again! "I'll only allow you to patrol on that condition."
"You'll allow me to patrol?" He began to dryly question her remark as though it were the most absurd thing she'd ever said. But then the butler paused, trailing off. Well, whatever he was thinking, she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. If he dared to challenge her, he would receive a challenge in turn. And if he thought he could order her to bed, the man would find he could do no such thing.
"All right." An acquisition so quickly? Mr. Carson had to be more exhausted than she thought. "But I insist: the moment you feel tired you are to take yourself upstairs."
Elsie bit back a scoff at the familiar words, reminded of a time that'd been over and done with for quite a while now. Instead, she nodded, knowing better than to officially agree. He'd have to carry her up the stairs if he wanted her in bed–– and that is quite enough of that.
The woman cleared her throat in an effort to dispel that silliness, avoiding his curious stare, "I don't suppose we ought to go on that patrol of ours?"
Mr. Carson looked as though he still wanted to protest her involvement. But she was already gesturing for him to get a move on, and there was something else –– something in his eyes that told her, much as her butler grumbled about, he didn't mind this.
Truth be told, neither did she.
Today's Inspiration: "Look at them, being all cute!" (Suffice it to say, my sister is 170% here for this ship).
Author's Note: All I'm saying is, Elsie came down the stairs with her blanket in her hands. Yet five minutes later she had her blanket wrapped around her like a shawl. It's entirely likely that she did this on her own, but isn't it nice to think he had a hand in it?
Regardless, as always, 'till next time!