A/N: Hello! I'm back with another Chelsie fic!

This AU begins in 1918, so events in this chapter are inspired by (but not necessarily the same as) events in Series 2 canon.

Also for the purpose of this fic, I'm going to say Charles and Elsie are younger than they would be at this time in canon. So, I'm imagining Elsie to be in her late 30s in 1918 and Charles in his 40s ... I know that doesn't make sense, strictly speaking (as it would technically make them younger than Lord and Lady Grantham), but as this is a Chelsie-centric fic, the ages of other characters don't matter so much. Therefore, I hope you're willing to suspend any disbelief for the purpose of my little story – this is fanfic world after all! :)

Enjoy! X

October 1918

Mr. Carson sat at his desk, trying valiantly to complete the wine ledgers in front of him. Usually he found satisfaction in this task, but today it seemed overwhelmingly tedious and his concentration dissolved in mere minutes. Rubbing his temples in frustration, he attempted to refocus, just as a sharp knock sounded on his pantry door.

Most likely Mrs. Patmore.

Uncertain whether to be gratified or irked by the interruption, he looked up in time to see the well-meaning cook bustle in with a tea tray.

"I thought you could do with a break, and perhaps some company too," she said by way of greeting, already setting out two cups and pouring the tea in a manner that brooked no argument from the butler.

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore," acknowledged Mr. Carson, abandoning the bothersome ledgers and making his way over to the small table.

Over the past afternoons, Mrs. Patmore had taken to having a spot of tea with the butler. In place of the housekeeper, he thought. It was a kind gesture on the cook's part and while she wasn't his equal in the same way a housekeeper would be, her visits provided Mr. Carson with some welcome companionship.

The cook and the butler chatted amiably as they sipped their tea, assiduously avoiding topics of any great consequence. Before long though, the conversation petered out into a grim silence, as their minds returned to the events of the last few weeks.

It had been the news of William and Mr. Crawley that had initially thrown the house (both upstairs and down) into turmoil. When the two men had finally returned from the front, a palpable sense of relief surrounded the Abbey, only to be replaced by shock and sadness when William hadn't made it through. Mr. Carson was certainly not one to form particular bonds with his troop of male servants; showing any fatherly affection would most surely be inappropriate. Even so, a deep-down part of him was proud of his lads and genuinely cared about them, and William's passing pained him a great deal more than he would admit.

As Mr. Crawley had begun his slow recovery upstairs, and the shock of William's death waned a little, tragedy had struck Downton once again. The dreaded influenza had swept through the downstairs quarters first, catching a few of the younger maids and footmen, as well as the housekeeper, Mrs. Ainsworth, and rendering them useless for days. Above the stairs, Lady Grantham had suffered the worst, but was carefully nursed back to health by a surprisingly-devoted Miss. O'Brien.

In the end, only Mrs. Ainsworth had fully succumbed to the flu's strong grip.* The woman's elderly body had simply been unable to fight it any longer, Mr. Carson supposed with a pang of sadness ...

"Have you received anymore applications for the position of housekeeper then, Mr. Carson?" The cook's enquiry interrupted his gloomy reflections. Since Mrs. Ainsworth's sudden passing almost two weeks ago, they'd scrambled to place advertisements in the local shops and newspapers but were yet to find a suitable candidate.

"As a matter of fact, one arrived just this morning, though I doubt it will amount to much," he replied, raising his eyebrows sceptically. "The position of housekeeper requires high skill and I'm afraid there are few experienced women who would be willing to join as prestigious a house as Downton at this tumultuous time."

"Nevertheless, at least it would relieve Anna of the extra duties. The poor girl looks like she's about to collapse from exhaustion!" Mrs. Patmore had also noticed the heavy circles under the butler's eyes, though she refrained from mentioning it to him at this moment.

"Hmm yes, that is one reason to employ someone sooner rather than later," conceded Mr. Carson with a nod. Up until now, the household had been hobbling along without a proper housekeeper, the majority of duties having been divided between Anna and Miss O'Brien. However, Mr. Carson suspected that Anna was bearing the brunt of the extra work and it was starting to take its toll on her.

"All I'm saying, is don't be too quick to dismiss the applicant simply because she doesn't reach every last one of your exacting standards," advised the forthright cook. "In times like these, we must be prepared to make sacrifices and take whatever comes our way, Mr. Carson." Collecting their empty teacups, she headed to his office door. "Anyhow, I'd best get on with dinner preparations."

Dragging himself up from the armchair with a tired sigh, Mr. Carson returned to his desk; those blasted ledgers certainly weren't going to write themselves.

The next week slipped by, each day slightly shorter than the last. Autumn was settling in and the cooler temperatures echoed the sombre atmosphere which still lingered over the Abbey.

Having finished his porridge, Mr. Carson stood up from the servant's table, signalling that breakfast was over and the day had officially begun. As the surrounding staff dispersed in a flurry of movement, his eyes landed on the empty chair to his right. Following the application last week, there had been no subsequent respondents to the advertisement for a new housekeeper. Therefore, the butler had decided to conduct an interview with the woman, who—he consulted his pocket watch— was due to arrive at Downton any minute now.

"Oh, Good Morning, Mr. Carson!" exclaimed Mrs. Patmore, as she entered the servants' hall and started clearing away breakfast dishes. "I didn't expect to find you in here still."

"As a matter of fact, I am awaiting the arrival of the housekeeper applicant. She's due here for an interview this morning. Although," he added, a disapproving frown crinkling his forehead, "she is currently a minute late."

"I suppose that's already a mark against her name in your book, is it then?" joked Mrs. Patmore, knowing just how much the butler valued punctuality.

A loud chime rang out through the dining hall, and Mr. Carson turned to see the bell labelled Back Door, swinging on its hook. "Ah, that'll be her now, I expect." He smoothed down his waistcoat and made to leave the room.

"Indeed." Mrs. Patmore continued to clean the table-top and load the dirty plates onto a tray. "And for the sake of all of us, I do hope she turns out to be suitable for the position," she remarked as he left.

Mr. Carson strolled down the hallway, hoping much the same thing himself.

"It would be highly … irregular, Mrs. Burns …" The butler perused the paperwork in front of him, his brow furrowed.

"I realise that, but I believe I could make it work."

Mr. Carson looked up to meet the steadfast gaze of the woman who sat opposite him. She was perhaps a few years younger than himself and wore a tidy, dark-green coat, her auburn hair pinned up neatly under a matching hat. Upon her arrival, Mr. Carson had been rather intrigued to find that she spoke with a lilting Scottish accent.

Despite her well-presented appearance and genuine demeanour, however, the butler could not get past one fact: she was married … Or at least, she would be, had the late Mr. Burns not died on the Somme.

In his opinion, the house needed someone who could be fully devoted to the family, and he doubted that a widow with a young son was the ideal candidate for this.

"And what if your child were ill? This is a working household and as housekeeper it would be vital that you reside here full-time." he said, sounding slightly harsher than intended.

"Oh, that wouldn't be a problem, Mr. Carson. You see, Freddie received a scholarship to Ripon Grammar. She lowered her eyes for a moment, before glancing back up at him. "He's recently begun boarding there," she said, and Mr. Carson noted a hint of sadness in her voice at this last statement. He had never previously considered how life must be for young women like her; the widows of the country's defenders, who had lost their husbands and were now forced to look for work to support themselves and their children. Perhaps the poor woman was lonely, what with her husband gone and her child away at school …

"Well, there's nothing wrong with your references. But of course, they are from before you were married." Mr. Carson cleared his throat before continuing … "I'll discuss it with her Ladyship, and we will notify you of the outcome within the next few days," he finished formally.

"Thank you. I assure you that I am willing to do whatever I can to make this work." Pushing her chair back to stand up, she gave him a sincere smile; a smile which, for some reason, Mr. Carson couldn't help but return.

As he watched her leave, the butler found himself feeling oddly conflicted. On one hand, he was most definitely uneasy about employing the woman, given her circumstances. Yet she did seem highly competent and he thought, in terms of work-ethic, she might fulfil the housekeeper position quite nicely indeed.

He remembered back to the advice Mrs. Patmore had given him the week before: in times like these, perhaps sacrifices must be made after all.

*In actual fact, the Spanish Flu mostly killed younger people (age 20-40). So, we'll just have to say that Mrs. Ainsworth was part of the unlucky minority...

A/N: As you can see, Elsie's situation here is inspired by the backstory of housemaid, Jane, who appeared in Series 2 of DA. Don't worry though, unlike in canon, it won't be Robert who takes in interest in the new housekeeper... :)

Please do review if you have time - any feedback is highly appreciated! x