"Remember that the Mirror shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass. Some never come to be, unless those that behold the visions turn aside from their path to prevent them."
It began with a property deed and a proposal.
He had approached her earlier that day and asked if she would be available to talk later about a matter of some importance. She was shocked when he grazed her arm during the first chimes of Lady Mary Crawley's melody, Silent Night, one of his favorite carols. He pulled her through the crowd and opened the green baize door. Elsie, in haste, grabbed two dainty glasses of punch and walked through the doorway following him down the dim-lit stairs of Downton Abbey. Downstairs it was dark, but the brightest light shined from Charles Carson's pantry, its warmth encouraging the couple to enter. First the housekeeper, then the butler who pushed against the heavy wooden door to shut the two inside.
There was no need for privacy. They were far from the Christmas celebration, there was no one below deck beside them. How odd it was for this man to speak to her so clandestinely, the atmosphere was tense with unease and speculation. She could tell his intentions were for them to be uninterrupted and the firm click of the lock confirmed her assumption. He turned and gave her a weak smile. With a shallow breath, she offers him a glass. Mr. Carson grunts out an acknowledgment and takes it from her, the tips of his fingers barely grazing her own. They simultaneously take sips of their punch and eye one another, a silent form of communication they've used for decades.
"Well..." Elsie speaks first, breaking the eerie silence that hangs around them.
"Yes." Charles straightens his back and clears his throat. "I've brought you here to tell you something. Something of great importance."
Elsie looks upon him with confusion, her brow furrows deeply. He seems so nervous (an emotion he rarely exhibits). Her head tilts as she spots his shaking hands and shuffling feet.
"Yes, as you mentioned earlier. Mr. Carson, whatever is it?"
"I've made a rather... Rather a bold choice." His movements ease and he seems a bit melancholy. "I am retiring, Mrs. Hughes."
She feels faint, at a loss of breath. A sharp pain squeezes at her beating heart, a pain akin to how she felt when she learned of her mother's passing. Her mind is spinning and she feels herself tighten the hold of the crystal in her hands. Retire.
"Congratulations, Mr. Carson" her voice misses a beat and for a moment she sounds broken "What wonderful news."
Elsie Hughes had come to the decision many months ago, after their time in Brighton, that Charles Carson would die in the halls of Downton Abbey. She would eventually find him collapsed on the stairway or cold to the touch at his desk, she was certain of it. They had once tightly held hands and flirted under the balmy sun by the sea. Her skirts had been held high and their feet were amongst the fishes, tiny little things trailing along with one another. Together they had stood, sinking in the sand, and watching the empty horizon. She had felt his thumb stroking her own and her heart had raced, a pink flush spread across her body as she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She had wanted that contact for so long, had craved it for many years. She had wanted an acknowledgment of something more than just colleagues, more than the friendship which had bonded them for so long. She had known this man, had known him for many years, and yet as he tells her of his retirement, she feels as if they are perfect strangers. But, in her ruminations of that moment along the shoreline – they were one. Connected by the steadying force of their clutching hands. A moment that had sealed itself in her mind for eternity, taunting her with the hope for a future between them.
"I quite like it here."
Elsie had barely heard him amongst the sounds of the waves hitting the shore and the gulls squawking above their heads. She tilted her head high, letting the rays of light wash across her pale freckled skin. She did not speak, had squeezed his hand to let him know that she had heard him. They stood for what felt like ages, letting the water flick the bottom of their calves. Elsie's chuckle had broken the silence then, she shifted her body closer to his. They had no longer been at arms width but pressed against one another from shoulder to palm, side by side they had stared forward at nothing but sea and sky.
She smiled.
"What's that grin for?"
Elsie Hughes had felt utterly helpless to this man, who had possessed a piece of her soul for longer than she had even remembered. His weight had shifted against her, and he fidgeted against their clasped hands, he had tried to keep their distance. But she wouldn't let him go. Not now, now that he was just as close as she had hoped he'd be. The housekeeper's eyes had shined, and her smile was wide and brimming with something he did not understand. She was happy.
"I like it here, too."
"That's good, Mrs. Hughes. Very good."
They spoke no further after that and had returned to shore toward the apprehensive gaze of Mrs. Patmore. They had watched the others, sitting next to one another on the blanket they'd laid. He had bought her lemonade and escorted her back to the station where they sat together once more on their journey back to the London house. They had been electric, surging with the unknown mystery of their understanding. Her heart had been so full and beat softly in time with the ticking wheels of the train on its track. He was here, they were together, and the only way to continue with their newfound dalliance was to move forward.
It had been over a year since the beach. Over a year, and not once have they talked about that day. About what they did.
And yet, he stands before her now with shaky hands and speaks of retirement. Mrs. Hughes does not understand. They were supposed to grow old with one another within these brick walls. They were supposed to live out their lives in service as he has always wanted. Like he has told her so many times before. Her eyes are brimmed with unshed tears as she wills herself to speak again.
"When will you leave?"
"Well… that's the thing." Mr. Carson moves around her and stands behind his desk as he searches through a stack of papers. "I have a proposition for you." He looks a bit silly with his cup in one hand and his other scattering receipts along with other house business across the wooden surface. His fingers stumble upon a solid black folder, he turns it so that it faces her, and she is able to open it properly. Elsie's mind is going a mile a minute, she does not want to get her hopes up, but she believes that he will ask her to go with him. She feels another sharp ache because she knows that she cannot. Her hand gently trails along the top of the folder, grasps the corner, and opens to see the first document.
"I've purchased a house. It is substantial; five bedrooms on the second floor, along with two washrooms. There is a good-sized kitchen, a laundry room, and plenty of gardening space. I think it is perfect for what I've got in mind." He seems proud.
He's watching her sift through the photographs, blueprints, and documentation of his purchase. She fumbles upon the deed and pauses at his signature at the bottom. It's his own house and he has signed his name neatly along the line as proof.
"And your proposition?"
"I would like to run it as a bed and breakfast." She looks sharply at his face. So, he's not retiring, he's shifting his workload towards a more manageable affair. "And I was wondering…" There's a long pause between them as they gaze upon one another. She's searching for clarity in everything that has transpired this evening, everything that has transpired since the seaside. What does he want from her? Mr. Carson sighs deeply and finally rests his punch on the desk. She follows suit and they continue to glance at one another.
"I was wondering if perhaps…" He fumbles for the right words.
"Perhaps?" She coaxes.
"If you perhaps, you would be at all happy to come along with me?" She notices his blush and starts to feel giddy about his request. "To run the business, of course."
His response puts her back in the realm of reality. Of course. He's in need of someone to help with the cleaning, cooking, and washing – to help with the woman's work. They would reside within this large house and scurry around one another as they have always done, as colleagues. She has to think about it. But first, she must speak of her sister and the life that she has hidden from him all these years.
"I've not been truthful with you, Mr. Carson."
"Oh? I've never caught you in a lie."
"Yes, but there are things I don't say. I've failed to inform you of my financial situation."
"But there is no need, Mrs. Hughes. The house has already been purchased. Besides a few minor repairs, which I'll see to with the contractors I've hired, there is really no need for your pecuniary input." Charles straightens his vest and puffs his chest out. He's defiant in his decision, he won't let her waste her money on his little dream. He just wishes that she will follow him in stride as they have always done as butler and housekeeper.
"I think you should sit down, Mr. Carson. It's more complicated than you might realize." She pulls a chair to the desk while he sits opposite of her, the mahogany being their only barrier. Elsie bites her lip and looks at him with a sadness he's not seen on her face since the unexpected death of young Mr. Crawley. She sighs and looks for the right words to bring forth the truth about her next of kin.
"I've never spoken of my sister, Becky." She hesitates to gaze at his bewildered expression.
"I was under the impression that you had no family of which to speak of."
"Perhaps, because that's what I wanted you to think." Elsie Hughes bows her head in shame as she tells him about her sweet sister who was born just not right in the head. She speaks of how she has saved every cent she could spare for the superior care of her sister at a facility in Lytham St. Annes. She tells him about her sister's condition, sparing him the great details, and the place where she lives. Tells him that Becky has the mind of a small child but, the body of an aging woman. She speaks very highly of her sister because of how deeply she loves her only sibling. Elsie desperately does not want him to think poorly of her family. She tries to convey in so many words that she does not feel burdened with the responsibility of Becky's care, she would do anything for her next of kin. When she finishes and dares to lift her eyes to his face, he looks pale and defeated.
"I hope you understand. It is not that I don't wish to accompany you… It is that I cannot." Elsie whispers softly. "I'm a pauper."
Mr. Carson's brows are furrowed, and his ring finger taps lightly against his knee while he tries to process this new information. Charles does not pity her, far from it. He is proud of her, proud of the life she's made for herself. Of the countless hours she has spent working for not her future but her sister's. He applauds her because her strength is immeasurable, more-so than he ever thought possible. It has somehow brought meaning to every task, every garden party, every dinner - payday now seems like a blessed relief.
He clears his throat, "The revenue from the cottage would certainly pay for your sister's care."
Elsie is shocked. He has managed to completely ignore the secret of her sister's condition and return their conversation back to the reason for them being there.
She's left with a choice.
To go with him. Or to stay at the Abbey without him.
"If you're sure?" she ponders.
"Yes. We'll have three bedrooms to let out. That is, if we charge enough for nightly stays, we'll more than manage the payments for your sister."
Three bedrooms? She glances at the sketching of the house's layout fooling herself into thinking he's mistaken, that there were only four rooms upstairs. She's dismayed as she sees the two small boxes marking rooms on the eastern side of the house, one in the middle by the stairway next to a washroom, and two much larger rooms on the western side. The second washroom was connected to the largest room (a luxury). She had wondered if they were to share that room with their own bath but, now wondered which little graphite box was to be her room and which was to be his.
"But, Mr. Carson, this is your home!" She exclaims. "This is the accumulation of the years of service you've provided for this family. All of your hard work. You've paid for it with your savings. And since I have not helped you to purchase this property, it seems wholly inappropriate for any of the revenue to go towards my financial affairs. It does not seem fair! Your charity is admirable, I assure you, but it is not needed."
"I wouldn't mind." He scoffs. Tries to make light of her obvious disproval. "I've made other investments over the years and have a sizable portion stowed away. The truth is, I wish to retire but I'm not quite ready to give up my purpose in life. You are to be my partner in business. You shall reap the benefits we sow; your work will not go unnoticed." Charles shifts in his chair and gives her a promising lift of his lips, a wee smile to reassure her.
"You do surprise me, Mr. Carson."
"Do I? In what way?"
"Investments? This house is large enough as it is, nearly as big as Mrs. Craw-, that is, Lady Merton's old estate. I can see here on the deed that it has cost you a small fortune. Surely, you have not been so profitable in these so-called investments that you have stashed enough away for the expense of this house and have left enough for you to live comfortably." She is astonished if only Elsie Hughes was as financially astute as Mr. Carson. Perhaps her life would have turned out much differently.
"I'd be happy to show you the figures." He goes to pull something from the top desk drawer, but she stops him with a palm in the air and shakes her head no. She's trying to summon the answer to his question. His proposition. Her mind is urging her to accept him but, surely, they are missing something. It can't be so easy as investments. Mr. Carson watches as a flurry of emotions crosses the housekeeper's face. He waits patiently for her to speak.
"I don't need to see the figures but…" Her brow creases and she stares at him in awe. "Are we to be married?"
"Oh, well…" He's put off by the question, did not expect her to be so forthright with it. Charles had assumed that she understood that being married was a part of the arrangement. It would be a sin to live under the same roof without having a ring on their fingers, without being bound by the law and God. "Well, yes. We'll be married but we needn't do anything extravagant. I thought we would have a visit to the registrar's office, get a license and have a vicar perform the ceremony."
Elsie, nearing tears, knows it has all been a farce. There is no love between them. There never was. She feels as if she were dreaming, disconnected from her body. This moment felt unreal, far from the fantasies she had conjured in her head. A part of her feels as though she ought to turn him down, not accept his terms and let him live his life in retirement alone. But she knows she can't, she would follow him anywhere if she could.
And because of his charity and generosity, she can.
"And the witnesses?" She speaks tersely, "For our marriage?"
"Lady Mary, of course." Mr. Carson hangs on to her every word and is quick to respond. She has not said no. And now she's speaking of their wedding, all promising points of conversation. But she has also not said yes. "I would want you to be able to pick the other witness, or more than one if it is what you wish."
"I suppose… Mrs. Patmore." Mrs. Hughes muttered dejectedly. "You're right though, there is no need for a big ta-da, not at our age anyways. Best to leave those follies for the young." She doesn't meet his eye, but her cheeks are flush, and she is biting her lower lip.
Charles Carson is encouraged by the sight of her, he finds he very beautiful and always has. She had made an extra effort for the Christmas Party and in the soft light of his pantry the hollows of her cheeks are more prominent, and her hair has shifted to a darker hue than usual. He can't help but notice the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathes deeply and there is no doubt in his mind that she will make a very fine wife regardless of if they are to have a lavish wedding or not.
As long as they were together, that was all that had mattered to him.
"We would just have to settle a date, then. The cottage is ready, as I said there are a few minor repairs but, we can move in whenever we please." Charles sighs heavily, he feels his insides tremble as he fights his urge to fall to pieces in anticipation of her response.
"May." Her breath hitches and she presses her palm to her chest against her pounding heart. "That will be enough time to train our replacements. By May." She watches his eyes flit around the room, from the mantle to the window to her face, as he does the arithmetic in his mind. He nods his head slowly; he understands that this is her answer.
Her yes to his half-hearted proposal.
"We best be heading back upstairs." Elsie abruptly stands up, cutting off this never-ending awkwardness. She quickly picks up their cups, the sensation of the glass against her hands brings her back to the start of their conversation. How elated she had felt when he touched her arm and ushered her downstairs. Now … Now she felt shaken. Somehow her body seemed to keep her upright. The glass remained within her grasp and not shattered on the floor. This time when he opens the door for her, her mind is foggy. What will her future hold with this independent reserved butler?
His towering staunch form heads towards to stairway as she heads towards to kitchen, before they part, he says, "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hughes."
Her half-hearted chuckle sparks joy inside him, "Aye, Merry Christmas. Indeed."
They leave one another and she heads into the kitchen to empty their unfinished drinks in the sink while he trudges up the stairs. She keeps thinking about how his proposal was meant to be entirely different. Surely, he meant to express his affection towards her. This was not what she had imagined in the recesses of her mind for the past few decades. A lump emerges in her throat and she fights the urge to let a sob escape. She won't fall apart, not now. But it somehow stings more when she tries to inhibit her tears. She inhales deeply, clutches the side of the basin, and pins her eyes on the faucet to help her regain control of her wild emotions. Her jaw clenched, her toes curl and her calves and upper thighs became heavy like a rock. Her back forces itself in alignment. Her head remains low, watching the copper pipe and the collected droplet of water that she desperately wants to fall.
All the while her mind races thoughts of Charles Carson and their retirement.
I wanted to rewrite this story. For years it's been in the back of my mind. I'm tweaking all of the chapters currently and I will be regularly updating those are posted. If you've reviewed/favorited this story for a while now, thanks for hanging in there. I have much more free time in my life now and I'm reaching back into my creative mind. Peace & Love, Lunar