Author's Note: Did I mention we're taking liberties again? Because we're absolutely taking liberties again.
Also, for "Ten Other Way" fans, a bit of this might look very familiar…. And, additionally, I will be sure to respond to all prior reviews for this story as soon as I can. In other words, you should all be getting a response either in the next chapter (for guests) or via a PM before the next chapter is posted (for users).
In any case, I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Romance is definitely not my speciality. Also, I don't own Downton Abbey. And, finally, did I mention liberties of all kinds are being taken?
_._
Sixteen Hours Prior
"I'm afraid," Doctor Clarkson had come earlier to examine the butler of the house, having been called the second Mrs. Hughes and Anna had found Mr. Carson at the bottom of the cellar's stairs. However, that had been what now felt like ages ago. Now it was time for the good doctor to announce his diagnosis, much to the growing dread of the housekeeper and her employers. "That it looks to be a case of amnesia."
"'Amnesia'?" Lord Grantham demanded, not incredibly familiar with the term even if it did ring somewhat of a bell. Mrs. Hughes kept a sharp eye on the doctor despite this exclamation, having no desire to put any focus on watching the family in this moment.
Perhaps, had it been Lady Mary or someone else she had less fondness for, Elsie would be more determined to detachedly observe the proceedings as a whole. That way she could anticipate both the needs of her employers as well as the future usage of the staff in this instance. As it stood, there were only two people she cared about in this instance: the one who had fallen and the one who would be able to give her the information she needed.
Therefore, the good doctor was the only one who held and would continue to hold most of her focus for now.
"Simply put, Lord Grantham, Mr. Carson has temporarily lost his memories. Not all of his memories, mind, but I'd estimate at least those of the last ten years."
The shock wasted no time in settling in and neither did the borderline-impertinent questions: "Is he expected to regain his memories or is this a permanent lost, Doctor?"
"Robert," Cora reprimanded the harsh words that unashamedly took to the air, even if she was wondering similarly. Dr. Clarkson hesitated at this, knowing that the answer he had was undesirable at best.
"There have been cases where the patient has recovered their memory; however, I cannot guarantee when or even if that'll happen." He neutrally informed them, doing his best to keep solemnity out of his tone.
Well, that cheered the housekeeper up immensely.
And while this latest information would explain as to why Mr. Carson hadn't recognized Anna when he'd initially woken up, there was one other question it did not answer. That would be the question of why, upon stirring back into consciousness at the bottom of the steps, he had referred to the housekeeper of Downton as–– as––
As his wife.
"But, surely, this amnesia isn't all that!" "Dr. Clarkson, I refuse to believe that we will have to let go of Carson over this –– surely there's another way." "Does this mean that Thomas will have to serve for the foreseeable future?"
Oh, she'd murder the lot of them.
Present Time
That conversation with the doctor had occurred several hours ago. After the discussion with the family was held, she had discreetly pulled the man aside to inform him of additional details pertaining to Mr. Carson's fall.
Details that most likely should not be mentioned to the upstairs household anytime soon. Or, at the very least, details she had no desire to share anytime soon. If her fellow Scot thought otherwise, she would at least have to give some consideration to the idea.
Of course, by now she already knew his opinion….
Fifteen Hours Prior
"Mrs. Hughes, do you mean to tell me that Mr. Carson believes you to be his wife?"
The good doctor was gracious enough not to look as appalled by the revelation as she might've expected. Certainly his Lordship would have been gaping at the sound of that, most certainly in a mixture of incredulous shock. Her Ladyship may have even let her jaw drop a little at this, not necessarily as scandalized as her husband might've been but naturally shocked by the proclamation, nevertheless. Luckily, the doctor was the only individual in the room, so there was no need to worry about the family's reaction just yet.
"That is correct, Dr. Clarkson."
And Heaven help us when it comes to what to do about that.
Because if the physician before her became convinced that that charade needed to continue, the housekeeper might just throttle him along with the rest of this wretched house.
Present Time
Elsie Hughes may have been loathe to admit it, but she couldn't deny it any longer:
She was stalling.
Without a shred of doubt, she was delaying her actions when it came to the words that she and the good doctor had exchanged
And, if she got her way, she would keep on stalling for at least another minute.
Fifteen Hours Prior
"I understand that this may make things a bit awkward between you and Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, but I'm not sure if it can be helped."
Are you now? "I am sorry, Dr. Clarkson, but I am not sure as to what exactly you mean."
"Well," At least the man looked as uncomfortable as she felt, "If Mr. Carson does believe you to be his wife, it may be necessary to–– to––"
She wasn't going to be helping him out.
Not this time.
"Well," Dr. Clarkson started up again, finally starting to understand the disconcerting reality that lay before him. Nevertheless, he adamantly held to his belief, "We're not really sure as to what Mr. Carson remembers. And though I'd hate to put you in a tricky position, I'd also hate to risk delaying his recovery merely because it's a little… 'awkward'."
The fellow Scot was repeating himself, clinging to that silly word as though it were a shield against her growing irritation. In any case, the housekeeper had found something concerning in that last statement, something that was far more important than any shield.
"Dr. Clarkson, why would this risk delaying his recovery?"
Present Time
Honestly, she was a grown woman and had been housekeeper for quite some time now. If opening that door had meant stopping a ghastly scandal from ensnaring the whole house, the door would have long since been opened.
But, no, the door remained firmly shut. Because there was no scandal to speak of, not yet at least.
And even though she was quite aware of the numerous tasks she had ahead of her, Elsie Hughes remained firmly convinced that stalling was the best course of action.
Fifteen Hours Prior
It had taken Dr. Clarkson quite some time to respond to her last question, but he eventually gave a tentative response, "With the trauma Mr. Carson has already experienced with his fall, any further distress might cause him to regress in his recovery. If any more pain befalls him now, those memories could become permanently lost."
That was indeed serious news. The idea of the butler never fully recovering from this was a concept she hadn't dared to consider. But, she needed further confirmation that this was the role she had to take on, that this was their only option, "And you truly believe this is the only way to guarantee his recovery?"
"I'm afraid, Mrs. Hughes, that nothing is a guarantee with these sorts of cases." Naturally. After all, when has this blasted house ever been that lucky? "But, yes, I really do believe that this will help increase his chances for a full recovery."
"And when Mr. Carson does recover?" Because she needed to believe this would work. And, if she believed that, she also had to consider the consequences of going along with this. She had to recognize that the disparaging consequences that came with this solution were too numerous to count. "When his recovery ends in horror when he realizes what occurred? When he contemplates the scandal he will have inadvertently brought upon the house?"
"Better five minutes of scandal than a decade of life lost."
Well, that line of reasoning's hardly melodramatic. But then Elsie thought about those horrifying moments where it was unclear if her friend was breathing. That was painstaking recollection that was shortly followed by the reminder that there was no guarantee of a complete recovery, not in the truest sense of the word. That, if things had gone worse, she could have lost someone she held dearly to her heart.
It was a thought that had haunted her ever since yesterday. But, it wasn't the worst contemplation. What felt worse was thinking about how great the damage might've been to his recollections. Had the trauma taken too much of his memories away, had he not recognized her at all–– it was a line of thought not worth thinking about, something she never wanted to consider.
"Besides," It seemed the doctor wasn't finished speaking, giving the housekeeper a chance to pull herself out of those dark thoughts, "I can only suppose you both will discreet enough not to call attention to yourselves? And, thus, avoid any 'inadvertent' scandal?"
"You suppose correctly." Elsie sharply informed the man, refusing to show how flustered she felt about that last question. Though, with that sharp admission on her part, it was clear what she had to do next.
"So, I take it you've agreed to this, then?"
My, my –– it's only now that I'm being asked? She thinly smiled at his question, knowing as well as he that this was not a legitimate inquiry. Still, it did require an official answer. And, so, an official answer he would get:
"I have."
Present Day
The housekeeper had been standing in front of the door for what felt like an age, even though it couldn't have been more than thirty seconds. None of the other servants currently roamed this section of the servants hall; everyone had been put to work several hours ago. Which is where she really ought to be. But it looked like her work was to be delayed this morning.
Not that the traitorous part of her minded in the slightest.
Said traitorous part of her mind proceeded to lift a hand to knock on the door and then had the gall to go through with the action, forcing her to open the wretched thing and finally take a step instead to greet Mr. Carson. Oh, why had she agreed to what had to be a disaster in the making? The housekeeper could only hope that the butler would've long since recovered his senses and that this charade wouldn't have to come to pass. Yes, that's exactly what would occur: she'd step in that door and he'd be his normal gruffy, curmudgeon of a self––
"Elsie! Dr. Clarkson had mentioned your dropping by today, but the more time went on the more I thought I'd dreamed the whole thing. But––" Said man exhaled in relief the moment she opened the door, sending her a sincere look of great fondness the further she stepped into the room. "But, I knew it wasn't a dream."
At his words, she could almost believed that they really were married. At any rate, her heart was furiously beating away at his tone, thoughts of work temporarily gone. The sound of her Christian name had disarmed her shields, the resolution in his voice making her own personal concerns begin to crumble. The whole statement felt as soothing as a caress –– not that she'd know what that felt like, mind –– and touched her heart as though it were all true.
It didn't help that this was the first time in almost a day she'd seen the man. That the last time they were together, she didn't know what on earth was going on or if he'd truly be all right. That all she had for assurance was an unsteady pulse that
"Mr. Car–– Charles," Blushing, never having this unusual pleasure before, she cast her thoughts back to her conversation with the doctor, recalling Dr. Clarkson's instructions.
Fifteen Hours Prior
"And what am I to call him? Somehow, 'Mr. Carson' seems inappropriate." This was less of a question and more of a quip, the intention being to convey how uncomfortable she was in the situation.
"I think we can agree that your Christian names can be spoken in private."
She inwardly bristled at this, unsure of how it would feel to speak as such. If they were servants of a lower status, if using Christian names were a natural part of the job, this part might be easier. But, that was not their relationship. Their roles were ones that had to be shrouded in formality, had to be walled up in every possible aspect.
And, until today, she never thought that would change.
Still, needing to prove how ridiculous this all was, the woman arched an eyebrow and went for the real question on her mind, "And if he expects me to perform duties befitting a–– a wife?"
The good doctor was kind enough to ignore her stumble in words, bemusedly fixing his gaze on the floor before focusing on her again: "Do only what you feel comfortable with, Mrs. Hughes. I have already informed him that, in an effort to fully recover, he is to refrain from overworking in all capacities."
Well, that did little to reassure her.
Present Day
"Charles," She repeated, ignoring the fact that it was already far too easy to say his name. "It's not a dream. And," Taking a step forward, continuing to breathe in the fact that he was far more alive and well than he was yesterday, "I'm grateful to see that you're all right."
It was all true. Because, if this experience taught her anything, it was that she held a great deal of fondness for her dearest friend –– a level of appreciation that would make his absence terribly painful. And the fact that he did remember her, that he believed them married, was certainly jarring, yes; however, to have any connection to him was something she felt no urge to relinquish, not now.
The man beamed appreciatively at this, flecks of concern tinting his demeanour, "And are you all right, Elsie? Is everything all right downstairs?"
The Scot hadn't been surprised that he wanted to know how the downstairs was running. That he had asked about her first had been far more shocking.
"Everything's perfectly fine downstairs. Thomas," Remembering that he wouldn't remember Thomas, she saved her complaints of the younger man for a later date and focused on the positives, "Has been stepping up, as well as O'Brien, Anna, and Mr. Bates. They all believe you to have a case of the flu, of course. But, truly, nothing has fallen apart in your absence."
The butler nodded without any real sustenance to the action, definitely blanking on every name –– all except for one, "O'Brien's still around after all this time?"
The housekeeper chuckled at this, satisfied to carry on talking about O'Brien even as he began to shift the topic back to his real priority: "But, none of that matters when my capable wife is at the helm. So, really, how are you, Elsie?"
Elsie gave a breathy chuckle, more of a fond huff than anything, unable to immediately answer the question. He sent her a knowing look, calmly holding out a hand and beckoning her to sit beside him on the bed. She unquestioningly took it, forgetting her initial concerns in lieu of having a more tangible confirmation he was really all right.
Thankfully, he recognized that she didn't want to talk about herself this time.
And, so, he took them down a different train of thought.
"Dr. Clarkson told me about the fall and the loss of memories." With those words, the conversation stepped onto a darker path, an unknown path. One that wasn't easy to bear even when he tried to reassure her, "But, I am all right. It is okay."
Elsie nodded, needing a moment to push back all of the fears that'd come to the surface. Heavens, at this rate, there'd be no pretending, not with the worries and realizations she'd felt. Of course, she'd been concerned if anyone she'd cared about had fallen like that –– Becky, for instance, would've had her lose all of her composure in a heartbeat.
"I know that now that I've seen you. But," But she hadn't at first. And the image of her friend collapsed in the cellar burned far more deeply than any proclamation that he was in fact okay. And it was that image that led her to those painful thoughts. The ones that'd been stalking her mind for the last twelve hours, the ones that had kept her from any decent sort of sleep: "But suppose you weren't all right? Suppose you never get your memories back? Suppose the last ten years are permanently lost to you, Charles?"
"Elsie, love," Her heart stilled at the term, only starting to beat again after his other hand reached out to cup her cheek and bring her gaze up from the floor. "We still have each other. Any fear that I may have goes away the moment I remember you. So, even if it never comes back, I'm still willing to keep going."
A strangely pleasant wave of bewilderment washed over her the more he spoke, something the woman never thought possible. And though her head craved to look away from those piercing eyes, to avoid witnessing his blindingly obvious love and affection, she stayed exactly where she was.
Though, if he kept looking at her like that, she'd have to change the subject.
"Charles," Blushing at the sound of his Christian name once again on her lips, feeling foolish for all these feelings currently distracting her, Elsie pressed on, "What exactly do you remember?"
"About the fall or the memories?"
Pleased that he wasn't questioning the shift in conversation, "Either. Both. Whichever comes to mind."
"All I remember from the fall," She curiously leaned forward, hoping to catch some sort of hint of what caused everything. Was it a loose step? Did he feel as though he'd been pushed? "Was seeing my beautiful wife by my side as I came to."
Oh.
"She, being much smarter than I could ever hope to be, had the wisdom to address me much like she would've fifteen years ago. It all made sense when I realized there was someone else in the room. But, even still, with soft fingers resting on my neck and a kind hand taking hold of mine, I knew there was nothing to fear."
Elsie nodded for what felt like the twelfth time that hour, so unsure of what to say but once again so very touched by his words. Whatever else, knowing that her presence gave him a peace of mind, knowing that she probably meant as much to him as he did to her, that made a difference.
"Now, when it comes to before the fall," The man paused, appearing to be caught in the midst of a sweet recollection. She quietly watched, rather intrigued to find out what had first come to mind. Would it be some sort of romantic gesture? A fervent moment shared behind a closed door?
"Darling. Love." The man eventually spoke those two words, causing Elsie to blink in confusion. Then, upon realizing that she hadn't a clue as to what he was referring to, "I remember you calling me both darling and love, depending on the occasion. And Charles, of course."
My, my. Those were terms she'd not given to anyone, not even Joe Burns. The farmer had never struck her as the darling type, the loving kind who'd look at her in this sort of gentle fashion, the tender sort who'd want to hold hands for the sake of it, someone who'd deeply touch her with words alone––
Elsie May Hughes, for once in your life, kindly focus!
Luckily, the butler was distracted enough with his own musings she didn't need to school her features or reassure him of anything. In fact, he was already beginning to add more to his previous statement, starting to paint more of this picture only he could see.
"When you were being serious or getting cross, you'd go straight back to 'Mr. Carson'." He chuckled, recalling something else, a cheeky tease of a memory from the sounds of that laugh, "When you were angry, there'd be no name of any kind. Only a look."
Elsie chuckled to herself, knowing which look he spoke of. She was well aware of that particular glare. It was a facial expression she'd been practicing long before she'd started as head housemaid at Downton, a gaze that'd been brought out by long days in endless rain where the entire land seemed against her. And though it was a look that might've been born out of unpleasant circumstances, it comforted Elsie to hear it referenced. The reference brought her back to an even keel, reminded her that not everything had to change just because things –– or, rather, just because the butler –– had fallen over.
"And when you were pleased, when you were happy, you'd call me 'Charlie'."
Elsie froze at this softly spoken admission, her nearly relaxed manner beginning to slip into something a little tenser. There was a striking vulnerability she'd never heard in his voice, an apparent intimacy she'd never witnessed before. A simple, stark trust stood within those words, one that was already pushing their relationship in directions she couldn't possibly imagine.
Charlie. Even in her mind, there was a clear tenderness to the sound. One that spoke of a connection, a love, that was far too intimate for mere friends. There was an implication of openness in that name, of that vulnerability she'd never witnessed before today.
And–– and it petrified her to recognize it.
Because he couldn't possibly mean any of it. This all had to be some sort of misunderstanding. The trauma must've distorted his reality, must've confused his feelings on the matter and fabricated this reality by mistake. She was flattered by everything, honestly. Flattered and confused and frankly still relieved that their last moment together hadn't been in that wretched cellar, and––
"Elsie, love?" He always did have a knack for shaking her out of her thoughts, whether he meant to or not. "What do you remember?"
"Oh, I don't think––" Dr. Clarkson's suggestion, to avoid any potentially probing questions via deflection, came to mind. But the longer she stared at the man before her, the longer she held Charles' gaze, the more she knew she wouldn't follow that particular suggestion.
Pausing, taking a moment to leave every disconcerting thought and shred of advice well behind, she told the truth:
"I remember our conversations. The late-night ones, when not a soul was around. The laughter, the arguments, the debate over if a housekeeper should always have the storage key," He snorted at this, prompting her to chuckle at the fact that, of course, he remembers the endless battle of the storage key.
It was only when she shifted on the mattress, finally realizing that she was sat right beside with their hands still entangled, that this entire situation caught up with her. That she realized this wasn't just another one of those chats in his pantry or her sitting room, that everything had changed between them.
And yet.
And yet, had it changed?
Had it really changed?
Elsie honestly couldn't tell. And with these sorts of implications, with all of these unanswered questions, she didn't know what was to be expected. She needed time to think it all through, to understand where their boundaries now laid and where she wanted them to lay. Because she didn't dare walk down a path they'd never recover from if–– when he got his life back. When the memories returned.
"Charles," His name felt so foreign on her lips but, strangely enough, so fitting. She couldn't explain it and she didn't really want to. Perhaps she was the one who was dreaming. And, perhaps, that's why it was turning out the way it did. She didn't think herself so foolish as to dream up something as far-fetched as this, but how could she possibly know until she woke up? "I can't stay for much longer."
Although his delight was already crumbling at the reminder, russet orbs dulling in enthusiasm as the words registered, the butler nodded in resigned agreement –– understanding the housekeeper's responsibilities.
"Of course. It's only to be expected in our world." The man paused, finally showing an ounce of hesitation, "If it really is the same world, that is."
Elsie gripped his hand at the unspoken question, knowing that this all had to be shocking for him. Even if he found an anchor within their relationship, even if the unknown had refrained from stealing everything from him, ten years was a long time.
Still, "The world hasn't changed that much in the last ten years, Charles." Only in the last ten hours. "Now, I really must get on."
Starting to let go of his hands and getting ready to rise to her feet, Elsie was perfectly fine with carrying on as normal.
That is, until yet another realization caught up with her.
He had already implied that, in his eyes, they were on rather intimate terms. And, though he hadn't revealed anything terribly improper, that implication undoubtedly meant that they did more than–– than–– than merely hold hands and the likes.
So, did that mean, contrary to what the doctor had told her, she would be expected to perform all the duties of a wife?
And, if that were also true, why did that no longer seem to be as much of an issue?
She had to be either losing her mind or dreaming up a storm, both of which seemed incredibly out of character for the woman. It was true that she was definitely not that farm girl from Argyll, not any longer. But, what kind of a housekeeper was she if foolish thoughts of romance were beginning to creep into her life? If the concept of being a wife was starting to weave itself around her, if the idea of "having it all" was sneaking into her thoughts?
"Is everything really all right, Elsie?"
Unable to decide what the man could possibly expect from her, unwilling to recall any of the instructions Dr. Clarkson might've bestowed upon her, she settled for looking at him and nothing else. Looking at every crevice of love sketched into his demeanour, observing every trace of feeling written across his face, seeing all of his thoughts for what they were:
A lovely dream that, if nothing else, he was clearly devoted to sharing with her in any capacity he could.
Fear dissipated, bringing her back to her spot on the mattress. Concern melted, a calm beginning to take over the beat of her heart. A most peculiar feeling flooded her, one that soothed away all thoughts. It was a sensation that enveloped her with sweet security, blanketing her with a serene trust, giving her the knowledge that she was exactly where she needed to be.
Moving completely instinctively, Elsie slowly brought a hand up to cup his cheek much like he'd done earlier. And, softly watching as the space between them fade away into sweet nothing, the woman calmly closed her eyes and contently brought her lips to his. She felt him gratefully reach out in turn, blissfully guiding her into an embrace.
When they finally parted, nothing had changed. No bombs had gone off, no shooting stars had struck them where they sat. There was no well-meaning advice to cling to, no awkward thoughts or niggling worries to avoid. Just the two of them remaining embraced, content to wade through these waters that felt so different but so very familiar.
"It is all right, Charlie,"
The words were breathless but calm, the sentiment ringing steady and true as she continued to let her heart speak. There'd be time to panic later, time to wonder about what-ifs and whys as well as anything else she wanted. But in this moment, in these precious seconds spent tucked away from the world, time was willing to stand still just for them.
"It really is."
_._
Initial Second Author's Note: Ah, yes, the old "Surely it's his amnesia that's doing the talking and not him?" combined with the even older "Ah, yes. It is a fond love I feel for this person. That's the only reason why I freaked out when I didn't know what my future with them would be like".
Not-So-Initial Second Author's Note: Let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, the ending to this chapter was not going to be anywhere near that romantic. And, truly, I totally get it if you lovely readers say "Whoa –– way too much way too soon! Please, slow down!"
It turned out the way it did because I was thinking of what it'd be to have that sort of experience: you're living in an era where amnesia is hardly understood, you just saw someone you deeply care about brush paths with what is clearly a brutal fate. Naturally, your thoughts are gonna be all over the place and, I'd like to think, instinct will kick in. Instinct that can't quite explain itself just yet, but instinct, nevertheless.
Now, of course, if it is too much too soon I'm perfectly content to scale back. I was initially intending on refraining from romance for at least a few chapters and am more than happy to return to my normal pace. Moreover, if it all helps to understand, memory loss is something I've been greatly impacted by –– so I want to do justice to all the feelings it evokes: the good and the bad, the intense and the calm, so on and so forth.
In any case, I do hope you enjoyed this update and have a nice day!