Hello dear readers,
I know that most of you are waiting for the sequel to "coming to you" and I promise you that it is coming.
In the meantime I'm offering you the very last chapter of "a missed opportunity to say things", a bitter sweet chapter and I hope you'll like it as much as I liked writing it.
I send all my thanks to my dear Pixie and to you dear readers for your reviews and your encouraging messages that make my days more beautiful.
What could have been
Almost alone in the house, Charles was making a round of the floors. The year 1920 had been particularly intense and nothing had been spared them. The immense pain of losing Lady Sybil had been such that even the butler's professionalism had suffered. He remembered the next day, the grief still present in him, and until her funeral, he felt as if the earth was opening up beneath his feet. Seeing Lord and Lady Grantham stagger under the weight of their tears, which they did not allow themselves to shed in public, had made him feel so helpless. Elsie had been by his side the whole time, stroking his arm twice when she felt him tremble with emotion. Once in the church during the last hymn, and the second time in the cemetery as the coffin disappeared.
Her presence, her reassuring hand on his arm, had steadied him, and he knew that nothing and no one could have done so well. On the way home she had handed him a handkerchief, and at first he hadn't understood why, but eventually he had realised that he was crying and that his tears were rolling down his cheeks. She simply put the handkerchief in his hand and said:
"It's yours, I've had it for far too long. Forgive me, I should have given it back to you much sooner. "
Then she had left him to his grief and tears, but she had stayed by his side, in case he needed her. And Charles had wiped away his tears, and wiped his nose in his handkerchief, which now bore the smell of Elsie.
Elsie.
Just a few weeks before this tragedy, on 16 May 1920 to be exact, his heart had finally opened up. He had stopped lying to himself or making excuses. He had been so afraid for her.
Those two months of waiting for the results of an examination that would decide whether Elsie would die or not were torture for him. He watched her for the slightest sign of weakness, dying to take her job away from her, screaming at her to go lie down during the day.
And then the 16th of May. He had waited in his pantry for Mrs. Patmore and Elsie to return, tried to keep himself busy as best he could, counting and recounting the silverware, again and again. He had stayed in his pantry because it was near the front door and he was sure he wouldn't miss them.
They had returned at precisely 3.34pm, Elsie had gone straight to her office and Charles had gone to question Beryl.
It wasn't cancerous, just benign. He could have kissed the cook, he could have gone back to dancing and juggling. But he had restrained himself, he had simply let the air into his lungs, feeling as if he were learning to breathe again, at last. Then he had returned to his pantry to continue counting and polishing the silverware.
A song had come back to him, a distant memory from his years on the stage when he and Grigg had that silly number where his sidekick played a washerwoman with a full beard and Charles was her suitor. He would sing "Dashing away..." to seduce her.
This song came back to him and he sang, he was happy and relieved. Elsie would live.
He had taken a bath before going to bed, still singing about how a beautiful woman had stolen his heart. Paddling in the water, eyes closed, he thought of Elsie, his heart had raced so hard and his stomach had started to flutter. For the first time in decades he was opening his soul to something other than his job as a butler. He'd long since buried any idea of romance or whatever it was called now. But when he finally put words to what he felt for Elsie, he felt an extra weight lifted from his body. He loved her. As simple as that, he was in love with Elsie and he'd loved her for... He didn't know and he didn't care. It had taken the fear of her dying for him to realize it, to verbalize it, to feel it deep inside. He loved her. He loved her so much.
Admitting it to himself was like turning on a light inside him. He understood why he had been so afraid to see her leave with Joe, why he could be so disturbed by her closeness, why she affected him so much, why she was so important to him. The fact that she was first and foremost his best friend only increased the feeling of love.
While all the servants were at the fair, he had stayed at Downton Abbey. This gave him time to think, he wandered the halls of the house and thought, tirelessly. He was in love with Elsie Hughes and it was wonderful and frightening and he didn't know what to do with it all. He didn't know if it was mutual, he didn't know if she could ever love him as he loved her. And the thought of her refusing him made him suffer.
He needed time, he would take the time he needed to think and see what to do in due course.
He was forced back to the present when he heard crying coming from the nursery.
oOo
Elsie had returned from the fair tired. She was reassured that Thomas was all right, but now she was anxious to rest, and to see Charles. Just talk to him, or just see him for a few seconds. She had missed him at the fair and watching that Jos Tufton behave like the last of the pigs had made her realise how much she loved the butler's refined manners. Charles would never behave like that. He wasn't without his faults, far from it, but he was still the perfect gentleman. She thought back to the young woman who had looked frightened when this Tufton had appeared to chew or lick her mouth. How could anyone do that sort of thing? Especially with someone like Mr Tufton, she thought. She wondered if Charles could do the same. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.
He wasn't downstairs, she'd checked the rooms one by one. She had to find him, so she went up the stairs and into the hall, then to the library. She had stood there watching him, just for a few seconds. She loved him, so much.
Seeing him with baby Sybbie in his arms, cradling her calmly, his soft, reassuring eyes exuding security and tenderness, touched her more than she could have said. She mentally shook herself before she made herself notice.
He had been caught off guard, he hadn't expected her to find him in such a vulnerable position. So when she'd told him he was adorable with that baby in his arms he'd been grumpy, protecting himself from her feelings. He was afraid that she would realise too quickly how she made him feel when she was near him, when he saw her eyes fill with tenderness towards Miss Sybie, when she told him that she found him adorable. So he had scolded her and taken the baby back to the nursery and then scolded the nurse for leaving the child unattended.
Elsie let him go, she might have felt hurt by Charles' brusque manner, but no. She would not be impressed by his mood swings again. He had sung for her when she came back from the doctor's more alive than ever.
That May 16th in 1920 had become forever the first day of the rest of her life. Doctor Clarkson had given her extra time to live. By singing "She stole my heart away", Charles had given her hope and made her feel more alive than ever.
Yes, she now had the immense hope that the butler would open his heart to her one day, that he would ask her to marry him, the hope that he would no longer want to die in service at Downton Abbey, but to grow old with her, and to let himself love her, finally.
So she'd gone back to her office and talked to Mrs Patmore about that vile Tufton and they'd laughed, so hard. Elsie was able to be grateful for what she had experienced over a year before, the fear of dying had made her believe in a possible future with Charles, and she had found a great friend in Beryl Patmore.
Things were going wonderfully well.
The next evening Charles had come to her for a drink and she had told him all about her afternoon at the fair. He had listened religiously, laughing or taking offence when James' drunkenness or Jos Tufton's behaviour was mentioned and Mrs. Patmore's relief when she realised that she would not have to refuse the request of that vile pig.
She had finally ventured a "Has Miss Sybbie gone back to the nursery?"
Charles had looked at her suspiciously amused before nodding soberly and then adding:
"Miss Sybbie returned to the nursery quietly and the nanny understood the importance of not leaving a child so young alone."
Elsie nodded in turn, she could imagine the imposing butler giving the nanny a dressing down and she looked sheepish.
A comfortable silence settled between them until :
"Would you have liked to have had children?"
He instantly thought he should have kept his mouth shut, but the question had come out on its own and it was too late to catch it.
Elsie raised her head to look at him with an expression of frank surprise on her face.
"A few years ago you told me that you sometimes regretted not having had a family life. Would you really have liked to be a mother?"
She paused for a moment, she needed to take time to think about the question. She wasn't sure what he wanted from her. Did his question have an undertone?
Finally she made up her mind.
"I had the opportunity, twice. I refused both proposals. "
"Is this about that Burns?"
"Yes, Joe. And David, long before Joe."
Charles' heart missed a beat. How many suitors had she had? He could understand why men liked her, since he liked her so much. But if he was honest with himself, he didn't particularly want to imagine Elsie flirting with a bunch of men who weren't him.
"Did you refuse every time? Did you really not want a family life back then?"
"I don't know. I had to work, my father died when I was only twelve, I had to stop school and work to help my mother on the farm and earn my bread. I soon wanted to leave this harsh life, and my mother encouraged me to have a different life than hers. It was she who found me my first place in the service, I was fourteen, and David proposed marriage shortly before I left."
"And you didn't love him?"
"Not enough to alienate my life for his. David was a hard-working young man, who had his eye on the Hughes farm. He was very kind to me, but he was already twenty years old and he was very clear about his intentions. I would have found myself pregnant at sixteen, by twenty I would have given birth to three children, probably pregnant with the fourth if I had survived the previous pregnancies. I was lucky that my mother pushed me to go, she could have insisted and engaged me without asking me."
Charles didn't particularly like hearing her talk about Elsie's former suitors. He was discovering himself to be jealous, and although this feeling only confirmed his love for the housekeeper, he was no less uncomfortable with the idea that she had had a life before him.
"And with Joe, it was different. I was already in service and older, I'd moved up a few notches, I could send my pay to my mother to help her and I could save a little to buy what I needed. I think Joe and I were genuinely in love, but I must not have loved him enough to give up my independence. I wouldn't have been unhappy, but I didn't want to go back to a life on the farm and then I interviewed to work here, and I was taken on with good prospects for my mother and me. We continued to date for a few months, but Joe was getting more and more pushy. So as I felt I belonged here, I turned down Joe's request. He told me he was heartbroken, but I think it was mostly his ego that was hurt."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because he got married six months later to Ivy and she gave birth to a preemie weighing 10 pounds...seven months after they were married. If you know what I mean."
He coughed uncomfortably. Yes he could see what Elsie meant, maybe this Joe wasn't such a gentleman after all.
"So to answer your question, I think I would have wanted children, yes, but with the right person. Neither David nor Joe was right for me."
"I understand. I understand. You know, that question you asked me all those years ago got me thinking. I would have had the opportunity to have a family life too. I even bought a ring for her. And then it didn't happen. And I think it's for the best. She wasn't the one. "
"Do you ever think about that? About the children you might have had?"
"I thought about it a lot when I was younger, and then I suppose the birth of Lady Mary filled that void. Now I start thinking about it again from time to time. I would certainly have grandchildren. Grandfather, surrounded by grandchildren..."
"Ruffled hair, dimpled chin, broad shoulders and sparkling eyes."
"A grandson and granddaughter with auburn highlights in their hair, blue eyes and a laugh that sounds like a waterfall."
"Freckles."
"Oh? They wouldn't get that from me then."
"No."
They looked at each other for a long time, they didn't need to tell each other things. They understood very well that this shared dream, these grandchildren would have been loved, so much by their Grandpa Charlie and Grandma Elsie.
Elsie felt the tears welling up, she didn't want Charles to see her cry, not over this beautiful moment when for a moment they could have had a life so different from this life of service. So she whispered goodnight before going up to bed.
Charles had stood for a long time staring into void after Elsie had left. This conversation about what could have been, if they had made a life together, if they had had children and then grandchildren, was gripping his heart and the lump in his throat wouldn't leave him.
He gulped down the rest of his drink, then walked out of Elsie's small living room and into his pantry. There he did something he hadn't done in many years. He opened the cupboard behind him, grabbed a large cardboard box and placed it on his desk.
He rummaged around in it for a few minutes before uttering a victorious "Ah! "
In one hand he had an old drawing book and in the other he had pencils. He sat back in his chair and began to scribble on his paper, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.
Elsie had had a restless night, her dreams had been filled with children's laughter, loving glances between her and Charles, hands brushing against each other, I love you's whispered by the fire, and when she had woken up, alone in her damp attic room, in that little bed, she had sighed heavily.
The previous day's conversation was still going on in her head, and her heart filled with a ball of emptiness, of immeasurable lack of this life she would never have.
Even if Charles did eventually decide to declare himself, it was too late for them to start a family.
As usual, she got up, washed up before putting on her work clothes and went down to her small living room to hang her chatelaine on her hip and make her rounds.
When she arrived at her desk she did not miss the envelope on which Charles had written "Mrs. Hughes".
She opened it and took out a small sheet of drawing paper. She looked at what Charles had drawn for a long time, letting emotion overcome her, mixing tears and laughter.
He had drawn a little boy and a little girl, with curly, tousled hair, dimpled chins, freckles, laughing. He had added red and orange lines to give the children's hair auburn highlights. The children were on the edge of a lake that looked suspiciously like the one on the estate.
In the background were two adults. They were less detailed than the children, but they were clearly a man and a woman. The man was tall, with broad shoulders and thick eyebrows. Elsie laughed at this detail, he had certainly gone over the pencil several times to thicken the eyebrows. He had greying hair and was wearing a light grey suit. The woman was holding the man's arm, her figure was strong, straight, he had put two blue dots on her eyes to make them stand out and he had drawn her smiling. She was wearing a navy blue dress and a green coat.
The two adults were looking at the children playing by the lake.
He had taken the trouble to draw the landscape, the birds, the grass, the reflection of the water.
Elsie didn't know that Charles could draw so well and she was delighted to discover it. Perhaps she would ask him to draw her portrait.
She held the drawing close to her heart and smiled. Then she turned the paper over.
On the back of the drawing was an inscription:
What could have been
C.C.
FIN