Hello dear readers!

I hope you enjoy this chapter 4.

I thank Pixie for always being there.

Thank you to those who left a review on chapter 3, your reviews are always a wonderful highlight in my day.

Disappointing you

1902

The giggles of the young laundresses were unbearable that morning.

Mrs. Hughes was making her morning rounds, the family had returned from the London season the previous afternoon, and Elsie had seen to it that the house was thoroughly cleaned in their absence, much to the dismay of the young servants who had hoped to take it easy. She had given them a few extra half-days and several evenings when she felt they had worked hard enough. For her part, she had put her papers in order, had made a list of suppliers, had taken an inventory of all the house's belongings on both the employers' and servants' sides. New mattresses had been ordered for the servants' floor, and Her Ladyship had also asked her to make sure that their employees' rooms were properly heated during the winter. And she was able to take some time for herself. During the season she liked the silence of the house, she enjoyed having time to walk in the large park and sometimes, when it was very hot, she would swim in the lake.

She was always informed of the family's return by Mr. Carson, with whom she regularly exchanged letters. She had to admit that as the years went by she missed him more and more when he went to London for several months. Receiving his letters was a small joy for her. He was always very professional, even if he sometimes indulged in a bit of gossip that made her smile, and she would send him news from the village and from home with touches of humour that she knew would either shock him or make him laugh. He always signed his letters the same way, 'Your friend, Charles Carson' and she indulged in a little more frivolity and signed 'Awaiting your return, your friend, Elsie Hughes'.

That year the family had been in London for almost five months. Elsie had really enjoyed being on her own, at first, but after a couple of months, Mr. Carson's absence was felt. Of course there was Mrs. Patmore, the cook, but they weren't particularly close and spent more time arguing over the key to the storeroom than having friendly discussions. So when she got the telegram from the butler that everyone would be back the next day and that he would be arriving a day earlier, she had to restrain herself from jumping for joy.

Five months! My God, she had found the time long without him. She blamed it on the fact that he was her only friend and the only person with whom she could drop her austere housekeeper's mask, she always ignored her heart beating faster when he was close to her, her stomach tightening when she knew she would have time to spend with him over a glass of wine after the last service. For her it was all just a simple joy to be with her colleague, her friend, her confidant.

But he had finally returned, she had greeted him with a smile of genuine joy and that evening, despite the fatigue of the long season, he had taken the time to invite her into his office and they had resumed their ritual over a glass of Sherry.

Elsie was really happy to be back to her routine with Charles at her side to manage everything. They complemented each other quite well, and after almost seven years working by his side, five of them as his housekeeper, she knew perfectly well how he functioned and she managed to make him take certain decisions that he refused to make in the first place, directing him with a gentle hand without him noticing.

oOo

The young washerwomen continued to giggle and whisper to each other in that silly way that Elsie couldn't stand. She stopped in front of them with her sternest look and said in a cold voice:

"Well, I didn't know it was a day off today."

The girls jumped at hearing their leader and lowered their heads but still found it hard to hold back their giggles.

"What's so funny, Marianne? "

"Oh nothing at all Mrs. Hughes. "

"And what is so funny about nothing? You're wasting time laughing, you've got a lot of work to do today to get all the washing done, so stop laughing and get on with it! "

"Didn't Mr. Carson tell you?" Dared to ask the young girl who was standing next to Marianne. She was then elbowed by her colleague and given a murderous look.

"And what does Mr. Carson have to say to me that makes you laugh so hard, Helen? "

"He has a girlfriend in London! There are traces of make-up on the shirt he washed and lipstick on his collar. Do you think he's engaged, is he leaving Downton Abbey to get married? "

Elsie felt her legs give way under her, she had to fight to keep her face impassive, she wanted this conversation to end quickly, she felt a cold anger at this young Helen and she needed to get it out.

"Shut up you impertinent little girl! Who do you think you are to spread such disgusting gossip? "

"Forgive me, Mrs. Hughes, but I'm not making it up. Look for yourself," and she handed her a white shirt, pointing to the collar where there were indeed powder stains and lipstick. Elsie took the garment and held it up to her for a better look. She then looked up at the girl who dared to look at her insolently as if savouring her victory.

"Oh Helen, how could you be so stupid! This is not Mr. Carson's shirt, it's Mr. James Crawley's shirt you silly girl! Now get out of here, you are dismissed on the spot for daring to spread filthy gossip that could be very damaging to the butler of this house, shame on you Helen. Now get out of my sight!"

she was beside herself, the poor girl had burst into tears, trying as she might to apologise, but Elsie would not hear of it. She dismissed the two washerwomen on the pretext that Helen would need Marianne's help to pack and when she was alone she collapsed.

Of course it was Charles' shirt. She had hardly brought it near her when she recognised the smell of his cologne and that smell of his own. That smell she had smelled the few times they had been close enough for it to hit her and her heart had registered it perfectly well without her realising. Yes, it was Charles' shirt with traces of a lipstick that a woman had left on it.

Elsie's heart ached, she felt betrayed and she had no right to do so. She wanted to go and find him, throw his shirt over his face and call him to account. She wanted to know this woman who had had Charles in her arms, and certainly in her bed. She wanted to know what she looked like, what she smelled like, the colour of her hair, the sound of her laughter... She was so angry and she was in so much pain. She needed a few minutes to calm her tears, to dry them, and to put into words what she was feeling.

She was jealous, if she was jealous it was only because she was in love. This revelation hit her hard. How could she have been so ignorant of her own feelings, how could she have hidden her love for him from herself for so long? Because she finally understood that Mr. Carson had become more than a friend a long time ago, she hadn't realised it because her feelings had developed gradually, but still, she must have loved him for a long time. That she really loved him, passionately. That what she thought was a mere fantasy, a mere physical need, was something much stronger. She was in love with Charles Carson.

She took a deep breath, patted her cheeks hoping to give herself a little boost, she felt as if her heart was a gaping wound. She had only just realised that she was in love with the butler and he was already breaking her heart. She obviously had no right to call him to account, to confront him, so she was going to bury this love, to do what she had done before, and she was sure that her feelings would eventually fade away.

oOo

She was avoiding him and he didn't understand why. He'd been happy to come back to Downton Abbey, as much as he loved the London season, he enjoyed coming back to what he really considered home, and she'd waited for him outside the servants' door with such a lovely smile that he'd felt his stomach clench and his heart race. Yes, he'd really been happy to be back at Downton with her, he'd found it hard to admit to himself, but he'd missed her. He thought it was normal to miss her so much, she was his only friend and although he got on well with Mrs. Bute, the relationship he had with Elsie was different. With her he could drop his butler mask. He'd had a good time in London, he'd visited a number of museums, met a few colleagues, and two days before going home he'd found it wiser to go to an establishment where he'd paid to spend an hour with a woman. He had tried to persuade himself that he had not chosen her because she had blue eyes and was about the same height as Elsie, but simply because she was plain and not very talkative. He'd called himself a hypocrite when he'd finished, left a more than generous tip, and in shame had gone to his room in the London mansion, hating himself. But he knew that he would see her again, and that his desire for her would catch up with him. He didn't want to ruin everything just for a horny male's lust. So if he had given in to his baser instincts, it was simply to relieve himself a little.

She had seemed really happy to see him come back, they had even spent the evening of his return together drinking sherry and telling each other everything they had not said in their letters. Then the next day she had avoided him, barely speaking to him, refusing to join him at the end of the evening as usual, claiming to have a headache.

And it had been three days since she had spoken to him only when necessary, he had caught her once or twice while she was staring at him and there was nothing benevolent about her gaze on him. She must be angry with him about something but he didn't understand, and although it made him rather sad, he had decided that she would come to him when she felt like it and he hoped it would happen soon, he didn't like this change of attitude, he liked things to remain as they were, that is, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson colleagues, friends and confidants.

oOo

"Mrs. Patmore, have you seen Mrs. Hughes? "

"No, Mr. Carson, sorry. The last time I saw her was a few hours ago, she said she needed to stretch her legs after spending all afternoon on the household accounts. So she's still not back yet? "

"No, she hasn't returned. Did she tell you where she was going? Did she want to go into town or just for a walk in the park here? "

"Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes and I are not what you'd call great confidants. The only person she spends time with outside her working hours is you. If she hasn't told you, she hasn't told anyone else. Are you on the outs? "

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. "

He cut the conversation short, he didn't want to admit to the cook that yes, apparently Mrs. Hughes had decided they were on the outs. And even though she had mellowed a little with him since her return from London two months before, she had put distance between them, he didn't quite understand why and he was hurt.

He returned to his office and thought for a few moments. He was worried about her, dinner was about to be served, it was already late, it was dark... Where the hell was she?

As soon as the family had left the table, he went through the kitchen to ask Mrs Patmore to serve the servants' meal without him, that he had an urgent errand, that it couldn't wait. She did not ask him any questions, but simply told him that there would be sandwiches waiting for him when he returned.

Equipped with a lantern, he walked through the grounds of Downton Abbey, not sure which way he should look for her. He had passed the stables, she was not there. He walked round the lake, no sign of Mrs. Hughes.

He entered the orchard and at last he could breathe a sigh of relief, there sitting on a bench under an apple tree he could see her silhouette. He put his lantern up to her face and, with his arm outstretched, walked towards her. He felt like chastising her for abandoning her post and not warning him that she was coming out.

He cleared his throat to signal his presence, and when she did not respond he felt compelled to speak.

"Mrs. Hughes, you'll catch your death if you stay out here, here take my jacket."

He took off his jacket and tried to put it on the housekeeper's shoulders, but she refused it with a wave of her hand and in a tired voice said:

"No thank you Mr. Carson, I'm not cold."

She heard him sigh, she knew he was upset by her change of attitude, and Mr. Carson hated change of any kind. She also knew that he must have been racking his brains a bit trying to figure it out and not succeeding. After all, even she didn't understand herself well, she just knew that she had needed to put some distance between them to protect herself, that she had needed some time alone to think about it all, about her feelings that were far too cumbersome for the position she held at the time, about the anger and disappointment she had felt against him, and that she still felt despite herself. And finally, her thoughts had inevitably led her to the mother or wife she would never become, and that had broken her heart a little more. She knew she had no right to him, and to ask him about that part of his life would be very unwelcome by the Right Honourable Charles Carson. At this thought she couldn't stop the bitter little laugh from coming out. Honorable? He was obviously not that honorable. She had concluded that he was not engaged in any romance and that like most single men, he must have used the services of a prostitute and her very smooth image of him had cracked a little. She sniffed, laughing at herself.

Mr. Carson did not dare to speak to her for the moment, he could sense that she was not well, so he waited patiently, his lantern still at arm's length, watching her. He heard her laugh, it was a laugh that almost sounded like an angry gasp, but when he saw her stoop slightly, grab a bottle she had hidden under the bench and drink directly from the neck, he was unable to hold back any longer to speak to her:

"Mrs. Hughes, what's the matter? What's the matter?" He would have liked to ask her why she had been avoiding him since his return from London, but he thought he would broach that subject later.

Elsie put the bottle back under the bench, sniffed inelegantly, wiped her mouth before answering him in a slightly pasty voice:

"It's my birthday today, Mr. Carson. Oh don't worry, I'm not telling you this to make you feel guilty... I've never liked celebrating my birthday anyway," she had said when she saw that he wanted to talk.

"I'm forty..." she sighed, she felt so tired from all the emotions that had been running through her over the last few months.

"Have you ever thought about a 'what if', Mr. Carson? "

"I don't quite understand your question..." She shook her head and sighed again, picked up the bottle and took a few more sips.

"No, you don't understand..."

Charles could see her wobbling a little on her bench. In almost seven years of working alongside her, he'd never seen her drunk, never so bad. There had been the episode of her mother's death of course, but that was something else again.

"At the moment, the 'what if' is haunting me, Mr. Carson... What if you hadn't been a butler? What if I had chosen a different path from service? What if I had chosen to start a family?"

She paused for a long time. He didn't dare interrupt her, he could understand these questions, he too had asked them a long time ago. But now he didn't need to, his work and the family he served were everything to him, he didn't see the need to plunge into this sort of melancholy and thank God it was he who had found the housekeeper in an advanced state of inebriation and not a servant.

She was muttering things he could not understand. He moved a little closer to her, it was time she went to bed. He took the bottle from her hands:

"That's enough of that, Mrs. Hughes, you've had enough to drink for the next ten years." she laughed in his face and he did not appreciate the mockery. He glared at her to let her know that she should be careful what she said next.

"You're disappointed in me, aren't you, Mr. Carson? As you say, you don't understand, you wouldn't understand even if you wanted to try... "

"That's right, yes. Now, I'll help you home, and you can go to bed. If you remember this night tomorrow, you'll be ashamed of it," he tried to take her hands to help her up, but she shoved him away and in the process slumped to the floor, her bottom against the ground.

"But I've had enough to drink so I don't remember too much, that's all... I want to tell you things, Mr. Carson. "

"Well, you can tell me those things on the way, let me help you up. "

"No, I don't want to go home now, I have to tell you things before I drink enough to forget all this, Mr. Carson. "

She was really starting to get on his nerves. But he couldn't leave her there when she was completely drunk. He turned off the lantern before putting it on the bench and huffed in exasperation and with an effort he managed to calm his voice:

"All right, Mrs. Hughes, I'm listening. But perhaps it might be more pleasant to walk a little while you talk to me? Will you let me help you? "

She took some time to think about it and decided that it might indeed be a good idea.

"All right, Mr. Carson"

She held out her hands which he took vigorously in his and in a rush he lifted her as if she weighed nothing.

As she looked ready to collapse on the floor again, he put his arm under her shoulder and supported her as she started to walk. He waited for her to speak, he couldn't wait to get her into his little living room and make her drink some coffee before sending her to bed.

"I'm thinking of my empty belly, Mr. Carson. Of the empty womb that will never give birth. Of my chest that will never feed a child."

He knew, he understood because he too, years ago, an eternity now, had caressed that dream with his fingertips with Alice Neal. He too had cried, heartbroken over the children he would not have, over the home he would not build. But he was older now, and he had seen three wonderful girls born whom he loved to entertain, it was his duty to look after the Granthams, he trusted them, just as he knew they trusted him and could entrust their lives to him without hesitation, he was responsible for them in a way. He had made a family for himself, posing as the patriarch downstairs, and he foolishly thought that Mrs. Hughes was the matriarch and that should be enough for her.

He dragged her along with him, they walked side by side, he helped her stand, she clung to him with all her might. He thought that a little walk would do her good, might sober her up a bit before she went back to the house. He could hear her sniffling and sobbing against him now. He reached into his pocket with the hand that was not supporting her, and handed her a handkerchief. She gave a little laugh:

"Always such a gentleman, Mr. Carson. Thank you, I have mine. " She dipped her free hand into her blouse and pulled out a handkerchief. "By the way, it's yours. I can give it back to you if you like? "

"Don't be silly Mrs. Hughes, I'm not a gentleman," she dabbed her eyes and blew her nose before putting the handkerchief away.

They walked like this, in silence, glued to each other for almost a quarter of an hour. When he felt her a little more stable on her legs, he headed for home.

On the way back, she became fully aware of Charles' hand on her hip, of the strength of his arm helping her not to fall, of his smell, oh my God his smell. That mixture of his cologne, shaving cream, pomade and something purely masculine, just him.

When they arrived at the front door, Mr. Carson was relieved to find that there was no one outside. He would have been petrified to find Miss O'Brien smoking before going upstairs to bed while he held the drunken housekeeper against him.

He let go of her anyway before going in and checked that the pantry was deserted. Only Mrs. Patmore was still busy in the kitchen before going to bed.

"Mrs. Hughes, will you do me a favour? We'll go inside, I'll take you to your study, I must ask you to be as quiet as possible. Mrs. Patmore is still in the kitchen and I don't want her to see you like this. "

She put her index finger in front of her mouth and stared into his glassy eyes and whispered :

"Shh, I'll be as quiet as I can. "

He tiptoed her in, fortunately his office was just beyond the door, he just had to open it, push Elsie in and say:

"Mrs. Hughes, please sit down while I get you some coffee and something to eat."

He closed the door behind him, and went into the kitchen to ask Mrs. Patmore for the sandwiches she had promised him and a strong dose of coffee.

"Oh sure, Mr. Carson, here you are, the sandwiches are here, and the coffee will be ready in a moment. Did you find what you were looking for?" she lowered her voice "Is she all right? "

Of course the cook wasn't fooled.

"She... um... Mrs. Hughes has been out for a long time, she hasn't eaten, she needs a hot drink and some sandwiches which I'll take to her. She... er... she had some bad news earlier in the day and she needed a moment alone, she didn't see the time. "

"Oh, poor thing... Well, here you go, look the coffee's done. I'll put it on a tray and it's ready. "

"Thank you Mrs. Patmore, you can go to bed now, it's going to be a big day tomorrow. Good night." He did not wait for a reply from the cook and went straight to the housekeeper's study.

"Why, Mrs. Hughes, don't you ever stop? " When he returned to his office he found Elsie slumped in her chair, drinking sherry. After setting the tray down, he had walked over to her, glowering, snatched the glass from her hand and pushed the decanter away from her. He was now very angry with her and yes, he could tell, disappointed.

"I didn't drink enough to not remember all this tomorrow. "

"Well, if you remember anything, it'll teach you a lesson! Why, Mrs. Hughes? You may not be a mother, but you look after everyone here, it's not one child you've got but a good ten, fifteen if you count His Lordship, Her Ladyship and the young Ladies. We chose this path, you chose this path, and you were right, you are an excellent housekeeper, you are a credit to the house. Do not regret it, Mrs. Hughes. "

She did not answer him, she had closed her eyes and for a moment he thought she had fallen asleep, he was about to go out when she spoke again:

"You didn't answer my question. Do you ever think about what your life would have been like if you had chosen another path? to start a family?"

He set about pouring her coffee, brought her the cup and a plate with a sandwich.

"Eat and drink, Mrs. Hughes. It will do you good. To answer your question, I thought about it when I was much younger, I even left service for a while. And I came back, because in the end, I think that's all I'm good for. "

"Yes, you're perfect, Mr. Carson," he couldn't tell if she was being ironic or sincere, so he chose not to care as long as she ate her sandwich and drank some coffee.

She ate with some appetite, she felt it was good for her, and the coffee kept her awake. They were silent for a while, Charles had sat down in the second chair, he wouldn't leave her until she had finished the sandwiches and had another cup of coffee. He could have used a little pick-me-up right about now. The housekeeper's self-pity touched him more than he would have liked and he thought that for a woman, grieving for children must be much harder.

"Do you think that... No, nothing. "

"Do I think what, Mrs. Hughes? "

"I don't think I have the right to ask you that question. "

"Well, ask it anyway, and I'll see whether I answer it or not, and then you can go upstairs to bed."

He spoke to her as if she were a fragile little thing, and that's what she must have looked like, a very drunken fragile little thing.

"Do you think you would have courted me? "

"I'm sorry, what? "

"If you'd met me when you were off duty, do you think you would have liked me? "

God, he certainly wasn't expecting that kind of question. He took time to think, when he was on stage with Charlie Grigg he was just seventeen and she was then barely eleven and there was Alice...

"No, Mrs. Hughes, you were only a child then, and at best I would have done a magic trick to make you laugh. "

"Ah... You are evading my question on purpose I think, Mr. Carson. Under different circumstances, if you weren't a butler, if I wasn't a housekeeper, if I'd stayed on my parents' farm, if you'd come to Argyll and we'd met at a fair... I think I would have courted you, Mr. Carson, and it would have been my lipstick that stained your shirt. But shh, please don't tell anyone. I'm tired, so tired." And she fell asleep.

Charles rushed to catch the empty cup that had almost crashed to the floor, he also took the plate from her and placed them on her small table. He looked at her for a few more seconds. What she had just said might disturb him in the future, so he decided to put her words on her drunkenness and melancholy rather than really questioning what all this might imply between them. He opened the cupboard that contained some of the liveries and a few blankets, took one to cover the drowsy woman. He tucked her in as best he could, and despite her drunkenness, her awkwardness, her tears, her runny nose, the inelegant noises she made while blowing her nose... despite all that, he still found her beautiful and thought that perhaps, perhaps, yes, under different circumstances, he would have wooed her and it would have been an honour for him.

He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand and smiled, whispered a "Happy Birthday Elsie" and left the room to go to sleep.

Mrs. Hughes had woken up with a headache and severe nausea, she knew she had had far too much to drink, Mr. Carson had come to look for her in the orchard and... nothing. But she still had the happy feeling of a light caress on her cheek and his voice wishing her a happy birthday.

TBC...

So what do you think of drunk Elsie? Her jealousy? Her grief? Her understanding of her feelings for Charles?

See you soon...