Chapter Nine

Mrs. Sloane's Tea Shop

Mrs. Sloane's shoppe is cozy and well-appointed. Several small tables covered with crisp white linen table cloths are arranged throughout the room; a vase of fresh flowers from her garden placed in the center of each table adds a bit of elegance to the place. While not The Netherby, it's certainly a step up from The Grantham Arms. It is a place where dignified people go to enjoy a piece of cake, a piece of tart, a place of biscuits, or a sandwich and a cup of tea. Mrs. Sloane's isn't an establishment for a pint of beer or even a glass of wine or for those looking for any kind of trouble.

Violet Sloane is an attractive woman. Of medium height she's a slight woman with once blondish hair now streaked with white, and twinkling green eyes, hidden behind wire-rim spectacles. The wife of local school teacher, George, her family has lived in Downton longer anyone can remember.

Elsie and Charles have ordered a dish of apple crisp each and whilst Elsie's ordered a cup of tea, Charles prefers coffee with a slash of milk and two cubes of sugar. Elsie notices that her companion has a sweet tooth and files that bit of knowledge away. She's not sure when, if ever she'll ever need to draw on it again, but being observant and taking into account people's likes and dislikes is just who Elsie is, who she's always been. Mrs. Corbin once told her that the skill of making people comfortable would serve her well when she became housekeeper at Parkside Hall. Unfortunately, being housekeeper is a dream unrealized; one Elsie tries not to think of.

"Mmm, this apple crumble is very good," Charles smiles and closes his eyes as he relishes a spoonful of the treat. For a moment, he is taken back to his boyhood and in his mind's eye he sees his mother bustling 'round the kitchen of their cottage gathering apples, freshly churned butter, sugar, flour, and the old mixing bowl that had been handed down from her mother's mother. Thinking back, he still marvels at how she turned all those ingredients into the most delicious crumble.

"My mother's was always a little soggy," Elsie grins. "My grandmother was the baker. My mother never really picked up on it. It requires a certain touch I think."

"I remember once when Sarah and I first married and she burnt an apple crumble so badly that I had to throw it out pot and all," Charles laughs merrily, his belly shaking, and his eyes crinkled in delighted remembrance. He looks down for a moment to catch his breath and when he looks back up, the sunlight streaming in the window catches his glistening eyes.

"You miss her a great deal," Elsie interjects gracefully, saving him from further discomfort.

"I've embarrassed you Miss Hughes," Charles apologizes. He is very uncomfortable that he has allowed himself to show such emotion to a woman who is no more than an acquaintance.

"You've not embarrassed me Mr. Carson." At this Charles settles and his hands stop their nervous fidgeting. "It's good to remember those we love. After all, the business of life is the acquisition of memories. If we don't remember what's written on our hearts what is the good of living?" Elsie continues.

Charles feels his lips tug into the smallest of smiles. With just a few words, this woman has made sense of it all. Not all memories are good, nor are they all bad, but they are written on one's heart and mind. Charles has pushed down the memories of Sarah so that he hasn't thought of anything other than his grief at the loss of her and their child and his nagging feelings of guilt. With his visit to their grave and the kind words of Friend Carter and Miss Hughes, he feels that he may be able to put things into perspective.

"That's very wise Miss Hughes."

"We all carry scars inside or out Mr. Carson." Charles is unsure of what she means by this. He knows that her mother recently died and that she has moved her sister down from Scotland to live with her. He wonders if there is more meaning behind her words, something that she isn't saying.

"I should hate that you've experienced such grief." When Charles suddenly realizes that he may sound impertinent and personal he bashfully looks down into his plate of half eaten crumble.

Elsie shakes her head just the slightest bit at Mr. Carson and herself as they struggle to make conversation with one another without becoming shy and embarrassed. It's been quite some time since she's sat across a table in a tea shop and made small talk with a gentleman friend and she wonders if perhaps she is the first woman since his wife's death with whom Mr. Carson has shared tea.

"Mr. Carson, I've enjoyed our tea, truly, but I must be getting on," Elsie mentions as she looks at the watch pinned to her coat. "I've to collect some linens that need mending from the hotel and then embroider numbers on others. Rotating linens is a never-ending business," she laughs lightly.

"So you are a seamstress?" Charles inquires, his curiosity piqued.

"No. I work as a maid. I clean rooms and see to the linens at the hotel. In my previous position, I was head housemaid at Parkside Hall and, well, the tasks are much the same." She hopes that he doesn't ask much more about her life. Elsie isn't interested in explaining why she's left service when so many young women are envious of a position in a great house and the security that it brings. Once, only six months ago, she was one of those girls, thankful for the certainty of three meals a day, a regular wage, and a roof over her head.

"Did you not enjoy your position in service?"

And he has asked the question that she's hoped he would not. She doesn't wish to explain why she left service. That she left because she has an invalid sister who isn't quite right and who needs constant care and that they've no family left to tend her. That she's given up the independence that her mother instilled in her and given up a career that she's worked so very hard for because Becky needs her more. Elsie doesn't tell many people about Becky or her condition. She cannot afford to let her guard down because when she has, people have been cruel to Becky or told her that imbeciles belong in an asylum.

" … Mr. Carson, it's so nice to see you again. We've just made some ginger crisps and I thought that you'd like to take some home. I know how you enjoy them." Elsie breathes a sigh of relief as Mrs. Sloane presses a packet of ginger crisps into Charles's hand and the conversation is diverted.

After Mrs. Sloane excuses herself, Charles slides the packet across the table and draws Elsie's attention to them. "Take them to your sister Miss Hughes; a treat." Elsie is overwhelmed at the small kindness that Mr. Carson has extended to her sister, a woman he's never seen nor met. She accepts his gift and tucks them away in her handbag for safekeeping.

"Thank you Mr. Carson. I'm sure that she'll enjoy them just as I've enjoyed …" she fumbles for the appropriate words before she settles on " … sharing apple crumble and pleasant conversation."

"So have I Miss Hughes," Charles concurs noticing the pretty blush coloring his companion's cheeks. "So have I."

tbc ...