As the days passed, a rhythm descended on the Carson household. A later than usual start, an innocent kiss and cuddle before Elsie rose and prepared herself for the day ahead. She opted for her usual black dresses of course. They hid the dirt and grime well and were eminently practical for the jobs at hand, but the corset was gone, for the time being at least. With no one to see her other than Mrs Patmore and the kitchen maid it was the perfect opportunity to try out the new corselet she'd purchased. She could see the difference in herself when she snuck a look in the full length mirror in her Ladyship's bedroom. It still held her tight although her bosom was certainly freer. And most remarkably of all she could actually bend at the waist! Charles hadn't seemed to notice, or if he had she'd not had to deal with his comments on it just yet. There'd not been any further talk from him of certain other matters either and for that she was grateful. Their evening routine had altered as well. She was able to back from the Abbey earlier and the shorter day meant she had more energy and as a result the cottage was cleaner, the cupboards better organised, and her husband more content.
If only it could stay this way, she thought as she rested at the top of the main staircase, taking the second step down and stretching out her legs. She'd sat like this at the top of the stairs as a child, her mother calling at her to get on, her sister smiling sweetly at her from the bottom. A different time, she brooded. It had been simpler, even if the rose tinted glasses of childhood were torn aside, but it hadn't been better. She was as happy now as anytime she could recall. Marriage suited her, she'd concluded. Charles was forthright, stubborn with airs and graces that never ceased to surprise, and was downright grumpy at times, that was for sure But he'd been all that before and she'd still fallen in love with him. She only wished she could see her friend as content but it seemed that it was not to be.
"I wish you'd tell me, Mrs Patmore," she'd pleaded that morning. "All this hand wringing and teary eyes, it's no good for you."
"I don't think I can bring myself to use the words, Mrs Hughes," Beryl replied, shuddering at the thought.
It was a conversation that had taken place each day since the great sobbing revelation, each following a familiar pattern but Elsie had decided to persevere as long as was needed.
"Surely you can. It's only me. We've spoken about these things before," she'd argued. "It can't be any worse than me sending you off to discuss marital relations with my betrothed, or discovering Anna and Mr Bates, well you know, in the coal shed."
That had brought a smirk to Beryl's lip, "Well, they deserved to be discussed the way they were behaving. I never thought I'd see those two in quite that position! Quite a lapse in character if ever I saw one!"
They'd indulged in reminiscing about the various encounters they'd broken up over the years, two old maids who'd seen more than they'd cared to and far more than they'd ever experienced for themselves.
"You see, you can talk to me," Elsie had said at last, taking her friend's hand. "Please let me share your burden."
But Beryl was having none of it and eventually, like every other day, Elsie had surrendered. And now as she sat and considered what other tactics could be employed to tempt out the story, her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone from the hall below.
"Well, that's a surprise if ever there was one," Elsie pronounced as she entered the kitchen, the kitchen maid bent double over the deep sink scrubbing like mad at an iron roasting tray.
Beryl looked up from the sheets of paper spread about her at the small table against the wall. She'd been trying to get a head start on the following week's menu but her focus was lacking and she'd only managed about a day's worth.
"That was Mr Barrow on the telephone," Elsie explained. "It seems the family are to stay another week. Lady Rosamund is treating them all to a fortnight at the coast. A family friend of Mr Painswick has a place near Brighton apparently."
Beryl flung her pen down, "No point worrying about these then," sighing in a way that might have been annoyance if she'd made any further progress than she had.
"And what's more," Elsie continued, "We've been told to take a week for ourselves. Her Ladyship's orders. The rest of the staff will be staying in London and given the same."
"How will they manage?" Beryl asked worriedly.
"Mr Barrow didn't go into details. No doubt there is a plan of some kind in place," Elsie shrugged. "And I for one won't say no to a few days away from this place." She looked over at the figure at the sink, "This goes for you as well, Maisie," she said, receiving a flash of gratitude in return.
"Ah well, I suppose I'll go and help my niece for a few days with the bed and breakfast. She deserves a hand after all the hours she puts in," Beryl mused. "And no doubt Mr Carson will be pleased to have you to himself," she offered.
"A week off?" Charles said, flabbergasted. "Just like that? For no particular reason?" He paused, "I don't know what to say."
Elsie had returned to the cottage to find him merrily painting the hen house roof. He'd opted for a dark green which, she thought, would blend in a little with the rest of the garden and, thanks to the efforts of Mr Mason, the whole thing had every chance of looking quite smart.
"What is there to say, Charlie, other than let's enjoy it. God knows we all work hard enough," she retorted.
His lips pursed in judgement, paint brush hovering in mid air he stared at her, the dilemma silently playing out in his mind, his disapproval at such a frivolous gesture. She could see him fighting to accept a decision made by his Lordship, or more likely her Ladyship, and the struggle to reconcile it with what he thought to be the proper. Eventually she could see his resolve to respect the wishes of his former employer had won out and he turned to dip the brush into the tin and resumed work.
He'd chosen some old clothes for the task, she noticed. The shirt a little too big on his slimmed down frame, green paint on his forearms where he'd rolled up the sleeves and it had splashed in his skin. It was calming, the sight of him kneeling and slightly huddled over the structure, the smooth strokes back and forth across the wooden planks memorising her as much as it absorbed him. It reminded her of standing in the doorway of his pantry as he totted up the wine ledger, his brow creased, his concentration never wavering. Except now he looked content. He came to the last tiny section and completing it he put aside his brush in a jam jar of water. He subconsciously lifted his hand to his face to satisfy an itch and she couldn't help but giggle at what he left behind.
"You're going to need a wash, my dear," her eyes indicating where a smear of green was now plastered across his cheek.
Grimacing as he looked down at his hands and nodded his agreement and began to move back towards the house.
"Careful you don't get any on the walls on your way up," she warned as he passed. But the seriousness of her words were rendered meaningless as she shrieked as he feigned a hug, his eyes full of glee as she ducked out of the way and he chased her indoors.
From her position on the bed, she could just about see his knee, all bent up as he laid down low in the bath. With both doors open, the angle across the landing meant that was all she could see, but she could hear his pleasant hum as he washed and then relaxed in the warm water. She'd only followed him up to change her clothes but then the sight of comfy pillows and the soft eiderdown had made the idea of resting extremely tempting, and one she couldn't resist. She'd reached for her book but had made no serious attempt to open it. Her eyelids were heavy and the sweet notes on her husband's lips were all too soothing.
"Elsie?" he called out, her eyes suddenly wide awake. "Could I bother you for a moment?"
She huffed herself upright and entered the bathroom.
"Have I got all of the paint off the back of this arm?" he asked, twisting it round for her to see.
She cast her eye over it and nodded, "You seem to have done. Shall I check the other one now I'm here?" she asked, not a little aggrieved she'd been forced to move for this.
He held out his arm and as she confirmed it was indeed clean, used it to grab her hand as she turned to leave, a trail of bubbles floating down onto her skirt. "Will you stay?" he asked.
Elsie smiled thinly. It was sweet really, that he often wanted to talk with her while he bathed. Sometimes she wondered at this normalcy between them, the barriers they adhered to in public and shunned in private. She supposed it was how it was between a man and wife but what did she know? As she lowered the lid of the toilet to create a seat for herself she wondered about the things she'd seen at the Abbey which served as her only real reference point. She'd certainly never seen any of the ladies of the house in the position she now found herself but then they weren't the Crawley's and the Crawley's most certainly were not them.
"I was thinking," he started, his tone serious as he lay back and closed his eyes, "About this week off..."
"Oh, Charlie," she exhaled louder than she'd meant to. "I know you disapprove but -"
"You don't want what I'm about to say," he interrupted sharply, his eyes open again and staring directly at her.
She went quiet. It was hard not to when he looked at her so intensely. It sent a shiver through her that was both so incredibly alarming and exciting that she never knew quite which way to go.
"I was thinking," he said, taking up again, "That we should make the most of it. Perhaps take a little trip. After all, we've not left Downton, together at least, since our honeymoon."
She sat there in complete surprise as he continued, sitting up now as he prepared to exit the bath. "I wondered about Whitby. It's not too arduous to reach by train and they'd be enough to keep us occupied."
He pulled on the plug chain, a loud sucking noise followed by the gushing of water down the pipe as it began to empty. He stood and carefully stepped over the side of the bath, an expectant expression matching his outstretched hand as he silently requested a towel. Elsie reached for one and opened it as she passed it, stepping towards him as she did so that it ended up pressed between them as he continued to dip on the mat. She had no words, just a little dampness in her eyes.
"Elsie?" he said, concerned. "We don't have to..."
"No, no," she said sharply, cutting him off, and then more softly, "No, I think it's a lovely idea."
And then she kissed him. She didn't worry about the dampness on her cheeks as the water ran from his hair and was utterly unconcerned about how wet her clothes were getting as he brought his arms tight around her. And thoughts of how ridiculous they looked, one fully dressed, the other in their birthday suit were far from her mind. She just kissed him.
