Elsie had never had much time for those who didn't take their responsibilities seriously. Women weren't afforded much choice as to what that might entail, the bearing and raising of children being what it was, and therefore it seemed fairly black and white to her that those of the opposite sex should be equally burdened with whatever duties befell to them. There were shades of grey, of course there were, and she'd always considered herself fortunate to have been surrounded by men whose attitude, for the most part, matched her own. Her father had been a solid provider, a victim only of the location of his birth and into what society. But he could hardly do anything about that, and not that being a farmer in a tiny hamlet in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands was anything to be ashamed of. She supposed he could always have abandoned Becky when it became clear that she had, well, additional requirements, but he never had. And it was only both their parents passing that had led Elsie to make the difficult decisions she had no choice in making. She'd had to work for the both of them and that was simply the truth of it. Then there was his Lordship obviously, and the employers that had gone before. All upstanding men that treated their staff with respect and did their best by them, for the most part at least. No one was perfect after all. And finally there was Charles, dearest Charlie, who had always looked out for her even before their friendship had developed into something more. No, Elsie had little patience for anything less than a sober, reasoned approach to living which, Mr Daniels being of that ilk, was one of the main the only reasons she'd agreed in the first place.

The clouds were darkening as she approached the village, their dark grey threatening to spill over at any moment and she eyed them ominously. If only she'd not been delayed in her departure by Charles by what she fancied was a made up crisis then she'd perhaps have had time to double back for an umbrella, or better still have been ten minutes ahead and at the Moseley's cottage by now. Still, if she hurried, she thought to herself, she'd probably make it. Just.

The main street that ran the length of the Downton was quiet, the usual bustle of afternoon shoppers and mothers pushing prams as they took a meandering stroll to the school gates seemingly absent, the prospect of a drenching keeping everyone inside. Elsie nodded hello to those she passed, keen to be polite but not to be later than she latest was. As Mrs Hughes she was well known local figure but as Mrs Carson she could easily be forced to stop half a dozen times and quizzed on any number of matters that her husband concerned himself in. As the current secretary of the Parish Council the prospect of three new cottages designated to be constructed at the farthest end of the village was proving far more controversial than had been first imagined. Why that could be Elsie didn't know, giving the matter some thought as she kept her head down as best she could. After all, no one had shown the slightest bit of interest in the scrap of land they were to be built on. It had little value as far as she knew and it was well-known that the modest homes that were planned were much needed. Still, she can concluded, that was people for you; consistently contradictory if nothing else.

She took the next left down a tiny close of properties and reaching the first one reached over the gate to lift the latch and pushing it open negotiated herself and the heavy bag she was carrying around it, being careful not to snag her skirt on the rose thorns. The first rain drops began to fall as she reached the relative shelter of the doorstep just as Mr Moseley opened the door and ushered her inside, the heavens opening behind her. Exchanging a few pleasantries she followed him into the kitchen and as he went to put the kettle on for tea she made herself comfortable at the table.

She'd been here before, of course, although not since Mr Moseley Senior had passed away. She could see Phyllis' touch on the place, as modest as it was. She was sure the dresser used to hold a different tea set for one, and the rug under her feet was different too. But the pictures on the walls hadn't changed, and the curtains at the window were just as they always had been, a pale green with a white pattern that was either a daisy or marigold depending on how you looked at it. Mrs Moseley Senior had loved her garden as much as her husband and Elsie knew there were similar motifs to be found in nearly every room. She'd always been rather jealous of the cushions in the front room, if they were still there. She remembered bumping into Mrs Moseley the day she'd chosen the fabric and how she'd complemented her choice. Back then, there had been no prospect of Elsie ever being in a position to choose soft furnishing of her own. The closest she'd to decorating was to diligently listen and note down the selections of her Ladyship and ensure they were ordered and delivered exactly as requested. But that was all changed now and the thought of it brought a smile to her lips.

"You alright, Mrs Hughes?" Joseph asked, appearing at her elbow with a tray.

"Oh yes," she nodded, "Just a memory."

They sat quietly as Joseph poured the tea and then passed her a cup, a quiet thank you as she took one of the biscuits offered from the plate in front of her.

"I was thinking of your mother," Elsie explained, "How she loved her flowers."

"Aye, she did that," Joseph agreed, "And Dad. They had that in common. You know..." he paused for a moment, struggling a thought, "I think that he might have gotten his passion from her. I used to think it was the other way around but I was sorting out some of his things earlier and found a letter from when they were courting. It seems she was telling him all about a visit she'd made to the botanic gardens in York," his initial animation tailed off as he paused for a moment.

"She mentions wanting to take Dad there one day," he added, giving a sad sort of shrug, "But I'm not sure they ever did."

She let him be as she took another bite, being sure not to give away her surprise that the grief that Phyllis had spoken of to her was indeed very much in evidence. She imagined why it was proving so persistent and it gave her visit its dual purpose.

"They were lucky to share such an interest," Elsie commented, "It makes marriage so much easier to have something like that to delight in together."

Joseph looked up. "You're right of course, Mrs Hughes," he said with a slight renewal of his enthusiasm. "Thank goodness Phyllis and I love the pictures so much."

They shared a brief smile before Elsie felt it was time to get down to business, the bag she'd brought with her suddenly lifted up onto the table and its contents emptied into a neat pile.

"Ah," said Joseph, his brow creasing at the sight. "That's rather more than I was expecting," his hand scratching at the back of his head.

"Mr Moseley," Elsie started with a heavy sigh, "If only you knew. This is just the first half of the papers I've managed to put into some kind of order. I'm still ploughing my way through the rest I managed to retrieve from the back office."

Joseph breathed heavily at the thought, his hand scratching at the back of his head as he did so.

"I had no idea it was as bad as this when I asked you to help," he admitted, lifting the first few sheets and peering at them. "I thought he just needed a womanly touch, you know with the children."

"So did I, Mr Moseley, but it's far worse than them missing their mammy," she said, pausing to take a sip of tea. "I think the children are actually faring quite well, given the circumstances. It's Mr Daniels who's not coping. He's barely eating and then this," she gestured to the stack in front of her, "Well, let's just say his own heartache has prevented him from keeping on top of things. And then last week, he finally confessed that he'd not done he shop accounts since she passed and it's that time of year after all, hence my needing your help."

Joseph nodded his understanding. After all, it was his own observations of the two little Daniels girls in his class that had led them here, that had first raised his concerns. They were clean enough and seemed well fed, but other things had alerted him that perhaps the family weren't doing so well. Homework that previously would have been completed on time failed to materialise, and buttons on dresses that had come loose remained so for weeks before being mended, and badly at that. But he hadn't wanted to pry, to assume, to judge. Mr Daniels was a proud man and, apart from his family, the shop he ran in the village was everything to him, its windows always sparkled, the displays full and enticing to even the thriftiest of shoppers. And so when the older girl, just seven years old, had written a story in English, a sad tale of a man with a market stall that was tatty and bare, he'd begun to suspect all might be far worse than he'd imagined. It was then that he'd approached the only person he knew who'd show the kind of no nonsense sympathy that he thought would be needed.

"So," he said with resolve, "I'll just start at the top, I suppose."

"Probably the best approach," she agreed, watching as his attention diverted from her and to the receipts in his hands, so much so that he missed her wry smile and the quiet hope in her eyes.

Elsie had stayed to finish her tea, a few snippets of gossip shared between them before she'd made her excuses and left. She'd achieved what she set out to, so now she just had to wait. The rain had mercifully just been a shower and the odd dodge of a puddle aside, particularly on the uneven surface of the lane where they lived, her walk home was uneventful. Letting herself in, she called out, frowning when she didn't get a response. Whilst it had been her half day and not his, it had become their custom that Charles would slip away early if he could. Her own efforts to persuade her Ladyship that perhaps a buffet supper would be suitable when it was just her and his Lordship had helped make this more likely than not and with Lady Mary and Mr Talbot in London she'd expected him back. But she didn't dwell on it for long, he'd turned up before long, no doubt grumbling about the something or other that had kept him behind.

She took advantage of the peace and made her way out into the garden. The paths between the vegetable beds had all but dried, their little patch of green drained far better it seemed than the road. Pressing a hand to the wooden bench and concluding it was still too damp to risk, she wandered about, letting her hand trail over the increasingly dense foliage that the spring sunshine had urged on, noticing the first sign of a strawberry peeping out from underneath its leaves whilst the carrot bed remain resolutely barren although it wouldn't be long before even they began to show themselves.

She stopped at the greenhouse and, sliding open the door, stood for a moment. It was only a tiny affair really, the space nor their budget didn't allow for anything grand, but it served its purpose well. Elsie would find Charles out here most days, pottering about, even just for half an hour at the start or end of a day. It was what had given her the idea for an anniversary gift which, she thought now, seemed less likely of being well received than ever before. She fancied what it was that had irked him, the timing was too coincidental, and she fancied that no man took kindly to being abandoned for another, or at least not being the centre of their wife's attention. But that had only made her more determined not to cave in to his childishness.

She picked up a trowel that had been left idle on the workbench and tossed it slowly from hand to hand, weighing up what she knew or, more honestly, how she felt. Ignored? No, not that. He always asked after her day. Unappreciated then? Maybe. After all, it wouldn't be the first time.

But before she could consider it further, to test out some further thoughts on the matter, she was startled by the deep rumble of a voice behind her. She turned, her surprise softening to relief as she digested who it was.

"Charlie!" she exclaimed, "You gave me quite a shock. I didn't expect…"

"You didn't expect your husband?" he asked, an odd expression on his face.

She gave a gentle laugh, one that was tinted only very slightly by an unjustified sense of guilt. "Well, of course it was you," she explained, "I was just daydreaming, away with the fairies."

"Garden fairies, I presume," his eyes dipping down to the tool in her hand.

She laughed again and placed it down, brushed her hands on her skirts to clear the dirt.

"No, just your run-of-the-mill house elf type," she jested in reply as she moved towards and past him as he stepped back. "Now come on, let's start the supper and you can tell me what kept you."

I do love a detail so just in case any non-UK based readers are curious this story is set in May which is just after the end of the UK tax year which, for reasons dating back to the introduction of the leap year in 1582, is the 6th April, hence all the delightful paperwork in this chapter a s the other. The things I double check for you guys…

And thank you for the reviews, especially the guests that I can't reply to. They spur me on no end!