Warning: This is slightly M rated, but it is not very graphic at all.

The Return of the Native

Spring 1920

Elsie settled herself into the seat beside her husband, guiding Hughie carefully down with her. Lady Edith Crawley was soon to be married—she never quite thought she would live to see the day. "They're running a bit behind, aren't they?" she whispered to Charlie, watching the groom as he nervously tugged at his collar up front.

Charlie was distracted, cautiously looking at the people around them. He had a look of worry on his face. Dr. Clarkson gave the Carson family a respectful nod while walking the aisle to his seat up front. Elsie kindly smiled in return. "I'm sure they're well on their way—Elsie, do you think we ought to be sitting up so close," he said back to her, his eyes still wandering. "I see a perfectly good spot over in the back..."

"I don't see why you feel the need to complain," she said. "These seats are far better than the ones we had when Lady Mary married..."

"This is not Lady Mary's wedding. It is Lady Edith's," he said firmly. He cleared his throat, his eyes glancing briefly at Hughie. "I don't want to cause a disturbance, Elsie, that's all."

"We're not going to cause a disturbance, Charlie," she said. Her hand found his thigh a she gave it a gentle pat.

Their quiet moment quickly became interrupted by a couple of older women, who Elsie recognized as friends of the Dowager Countess, passed them by.

"I can't believe she's marrying the old cripple," one of them spoke in a loud whisper.

Elsie studied them carefully. With their canes and wobbling down the aisle, she wondered just how different they were from Sir Anthony. She agreed, of course; Lady Edith was far too young to be with such a man like Sir Anthony. But it was not her business, nor was it theirs, to judge.

Her eyes then found Hughie, who sat quietly beside her with his grey cap sitting on his lap. She found his hand and squeezed it gently. He responded by moving his head in her direction.

"Are you doing all right?" she whispered to him.

"I'm fine," he said simply.

As Hughie's head turned back forward, Mrs. Hughes felt a shadow loom over them. She looked up to see Lady Grantham smiling down at her.

"Hello, Mrs. Hughes," she greeted. Her eyes then went to Charlie. "Carson."

"Milady," said Elsie with a nod, her hand letting go of Hughie. "Is there something you need?"

"Oh, no," she said. "I just wanted to stop by and say hello before I get too busy to do so later." Her eyes went to Hughie and her smile broadened. "I'm happy Hughie could be here celebrating with us," she said. "He's grown so much since I last saw him."

Elsie smiled as Lady Mary and Sybil both passed them with quick glances directed at Hughie.

"Yes... he has," agreed Charlie. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

And Elsie suddenly recalled the last time the Crawleys, and most of the people in the village, had seen Hughie—during church; Hughie's kicking and screaming forced her and Charlie out of the chapel. And he was sent to Lloyd Andrews a week or so after that.

"If there's anything you need, anything at all, Mrs. Hughes," said Lady Grantham, "please don't be afraid to tell me."

Hughie's head jerked up towards Lady Grantham with his cloudy eyes open and alert, and fully aware of her presence. Her smile faltered a little as she gazed into his lifeless eyes, and she looked back at Mrs. Hughes. "I... really should be finding my seat now," she told her politely before hurrying away.

"Hughie," Charlie practically hissed at him, and Hughie's head turned towards him. "Remember to keep your eyes shut."

Elsie rolled her eyes. "He can keep his eyes open if he wants, Charlie."

The journey back to Downton was long and quite tiring. Lord Grantham ordered Carson to stay at the church and help sort out the guests, while he and Lady Grantham rushed to Lady Edith's side. And despite Carson's objection, Elsie, with Hughie at her heals, stayed behind to help him manage the fiasco. Within the hour, the matter was finally settled and they were headed back to the house.

"So, Lady Edith isn't getting married?" said Hughie. He walked in between his parents—and Carson was impressed with how well he was doing walking the path alone without the guiding hand of one of his parents.

Carson nodded. "That is correct."

"I don't understand it," he said. "Why would you promise to marry someone, just to leave them last minute? It doesn't seem fair."

"Sometimes life isn't quite fair, Hughie," said Carson

"I of all people should know that, right, dad?" said Hughie. And Elsie made sure to give Carson a frightful glare.

"That poor girl," Elsie said softly with a shake of her head.

"I wish we had a Braille writer," commented Hughie. "The guys would be interested in hearing about this."

"You will not spread such tasteless gossip about this incident or any incident, for that matter, regarding the Crawley family to your friends," said Carson sternly.

"Yes... because I don't have a Braille writer to do so."

Elsie let out a slight laugh.

Carson coughed. "I'm surprised your friends know Braille," he commented , and Elsie gave him another disapproving look.

"Why?" asked Hughie

"They all see perfectly fine, if I recall correctly. They have no use for it."

"Except for communicating with Hughie," said Elsie sharply.

"Mr. Davies included it in his lesson plan a couple years back," explained Hughie. "The assignment was everyone had to learn the alphabet in Braille and then write a letter to me. I was to write a letter back to the whole class."

"That does sound quite... fun," said Carson after a short moment of silence.

"I can teach you how to read it, you know," said Hughie, "if you want."

"Yes, well... we'll see," he said with a cough. Elsie raised her brow at him.

"Herby wrote saying some of the older boys snuck a dog in their bedroom," he said. "They managed to keep it hidden for a few days—but then he started chewing up one of the beds. Mrs. Shelton found out and she took him away."

"That sounds quite thrilling," said Elsie with a gentle smile. "There never seems to be a dull moment at Lloyd Andrews."

"Now, is Herby the boy with the stutter?" asked Carson.

"No, that's Kenneth," corrected Elsie. "Herby's the tall boy."

"Oh, yes, him," said Carson. "Why do you suspect a boy like him is at Lloyd Andrews? He seemed normal enough when we met him—and he seemed well behaved, so I find it unlikely he's one of those rebellious boys at the school."

Elsie, who knew full well why such a flamboyant boy like Herby was sent away to a school like Lloyd Andrews, merely shook her head. "Oh, who knows—I'm starting to wonder why any of them are at that school."

"Their mothers aren't sick, that's why," Hughie said.

Carson and Elsie both stopped while Hughie continued along the trail.

"I certainly didn't tell him," said Carson defensively, his eyes wide in shock, when Elsie turned to him.

She nudged him and they both continued forward. "Well, we won't be able to deal with it now," she said with a hard sigh. "What awaits for us at Downton, I can only imagine."

"This all we're getting? Just these picketty bits?" said Alfred, looking down at the food in disgust.

"Hardly," said Barrow. "These are canapés, Alfred. For your first course, some truffled egg on toast, perhaps? Some oysters a la Russe?"

"Then what?"

"There's some lobster rissoles in Mousseline sauce," said Mrs. Patmore, "or Calvados-glazed duckling, or do you fancy a little asparagus salad with Champagne-saffron vinaigrette?"

"When I think how you've gone to such pains..." started Mrs. Hughes.

"Never mind me," said Mrs. Patmore. "What about the pain of that poor girl upstairs?"

"Jilted at the altar," said Miss O'Brien. "I don't think I could stand the shame."

"Then it's lucky no one's ever asked you, isn't it?" said Barrow.

"How do you know that?" Hughie asked him softly. He sat in between Mrs. Hughes and Barrow, and Barrow seemed the only one to hear him speak up. Nevertheless, he did what he had been doing for the last month or so and ignored the young boy.

"Poor thing," said Anna. "How will she find the strength to hold up her head?"

"I swear I'd have to run away and hide in a place where no one knew me," said Daisy.

"I thought... no one really liked the man she was marrying," whispered Hughie, turning to his mother. "I don't understand why everyone is so upset by it all. Isn't it a good thing that she didn't marry him?"

Her mother smiled gently. "Maybe in the long run," she said, "but for right now she's just a poor girl with a broken heart."

The servants were not used to eating the glorious food that now sat on their plates. Even Elsie herself could hardly stand to look at, much less eat, the lobster claw on her plate. But she put on a brave face for Mrs. Patmore, who sat across from her, and she began eating the food politely.

She looked at her husband. Was he excited that the members of the downstairs would have one night of eating like Lords and Ladies or was he like everyone else and simply putting on a show? She could not read his face at the moment.

Feeling her stare, he looked up. His eyes rolled and he gestured towards Hughie's napkin, which was again tossed carelessly onto the table. Gently, she grabbed the napkin and she placed it back onto Hughie's lap. There would certainly be another lecture about manners later that night during bedtime.

"May I have more oysters, please," said Hughie, lifting his plate.

"Careful now," said Charlie in a quick panic as his own hand reached for the plate.

"Are you sure," said Elsie. "You don't have to eat anything you don't want..."

"No, I like it," he said.

"Well, I'm glad someone's happy with it," said Mrs. Patmore gently. "I just make the food—it were never expected of me to eat it too."

"I don't imagine the poor will have much appetite for it either," commented Anna.

"The Dowager Countess offered to take it... That is, if the poor didn't want it," said Charlie. He held Hughie's plate in one hand and he was dishing up oysters in the other.

"Of course she did," muttered Elsie.

"You seem to have an appetite for this sort of food, Hughie," said Anna. "Do they feed you lobsters and oysters at Lloyd Andrews?"

"No," he said with a gentle smile springing to his face.

There was a long awkward pause before Elsie noticed Mrs. Patmore nudge Miss O'Brien under the table. And Miss O'Brien, less than enthused about it all, said to Hughie: "What do you miss most about the school?"

Again, another awkward pause plagued the room. "I miss my friends, mostly," said Hughie after a moment. "And... the stories my friend Herby always told us."

"What kind of stories did he like to tell?" asked Anna

He shrugged. "Simple stories."

After another awkward pause, Miss O'Brien nudged her nephew. Mrs. Patmore did mention everyone was trying to make more of an effort to interact with Hughie; she was surprisingly pleased to see it. "Er, let's hear one," said Alfred.

Hughie shook his head. "No, I'm not good at telling them—I'd just mess it up."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," said Charlie gently, encouraging him to continue.

"I won't," Hughie said, "but if you're all insisting...

"A thousand or so years ago, the first monster was born—I can't tell you what he looked like, because that's all meaningless to me. But his skin was... as rough as the back of a snake, and his teeth were as sharp as knives. And when he cried—because he was only a baby, so he cried a lot—it sounded like... like the screams of sinful men burning... burning underground. He was the first monster—and no one really knew anything about being a monster back then, so the whole village was terrified of the wrath he might bring upon their village—"

The room went silent. Elsie looked over at Daisy, whose face went pure white. The others beside her looked about the same.

"Well, what they do with it? The monster?" asked Mrs. Patmore.

"His mother weeped when seeing him for the first time, so his father wrapped him up in a sheet and they left him outside for the faeries to take him."

"So, the faeries got him, then?"

"No," said Hughie, "the wolves did... because faeries don't exist and the monster was never really a monster."

Daisy stood abruptly, letting out a slight squeal along the way, and she quickly ran to the kitchen. "Daisy," Mrs. Patmore called after her as she fled. Everyone else remained frozen in their seats. Elsie shared a worried glance with Charlie before he quietly placed the plate full of oysters in front of his son.

"That were rude of you, Daisy," Mrs. Patmore scolded later that night. "Getting up and leaving like that... I know you don't like horror stories, but you could have at least had the decency to excuse yourself from the table..."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Patmore," she said in a shaky voice. "But... it wasn't the horror story that made me leave—I'm afraid I've done something bad. I'm afraid I've done something really bad. And I don't know what to do about it."

"What is it that you've done?"

"If there's anything you need from me, tell me now before we head up for the cottage tonight," said Mrs. Hughes, entering the kitchen.

Mrs. Patmore gulped and turned to face Mrs. Hughes. "You're sleeping at the cottage tonight?" she questioned.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "With everything going on, I think it best."

"Daisy here would like to apologize for how she behaved during dinner," said Mrs. Patmore. "Right, Daisy?"

Daisy gulped. "Yes... I'm ever so remorseful for what I've done, Mrs. Hughes. I swear to you I didn't mean it."

Mrs. Hughes gave Daisy a gentle smile. "It's quite all right, Daisy," she said to the young girl. "Hughie can be a bit... unpredictable at times. I'm sorry he made you feel uncomfortable with that little story of his."

All Daisy could do was bite her lip and nod as Mrs. Hughes said her last farewells and exited the kitchen.

"The truth is... your mother may be very ill—she didn't want to tell you because... well, we don't know anything yet."

"When will you know?"

"She'll have the results tomorrow," he said. "Who—who told you?"

"You did," said Hughie. "Just now."

"Not... any of the servants?"

"No, they all think I'm the sickly one," he said. "You treat mam like a ticking bomb about to explode, that's how I caught on."

Carson lifted his brows. "A boy your age should know nothing about the horrors of ticking bombs."

"We all lived through the war," he reminded. "Just because I couldn't see it, doesn't mean it didn't affect me."

Carson said nothing. He only lifted the sheet up to Hughie's chest and tucked him in quietly.

"So, what happens if she is dying?" continued Hughie, and Carson twitched.

"If I am dying, then you'll eventually have to bury me, I suppose," said Elsie's voice behind them. Carson turned to see her standing by the door. "Unless they come up with something new beforehand..."

Carson coughed uncomfortably.

"No. What happens to me?" he said.

"Well," she said softly, "we'll figure that all out when we get there."

Carson stood, and he hesitated for a moment before his rough hand gently cupped Hughie's face, his thumb brushing against the boy's cheek

"Goodnight, dad," Hughie said.

Carson had the sudden urge to kiss the boy's forehead, which had loose strands of hair residing on it. Instead, he just brushed the hairs back into place and allowed for his hand to fall back to his side. "Goodnight, Hughie," said Carson.

Quietly, he made his way to his wife. She told Hughie one final time that they loved him so very much and then she shut the door and together they stood alone in the hallway.

Carson embraced his wife. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and she snuggled in close to him.

He hated to pull away and ruin the moment, but he was eager to continue their conversation from earlier. His hand slid down her arm and their fingers intertwined.

"What's... the plan for tomorrow?" he asked her nervously.

She glanced at the closed door, and then guided him to their room, away from their son's ears.

"I'll go see Dr. Clarkson in the morning," she said.

"Are you sure you want to do it alone," he asked. "I can speak with Lady—"

"No. I am perfectly capable..."

"I know you're perfectly capable of doing anything, my love, but if you need me there..."

She squeezed his hand. "No. You do your duties... and I'll do mine."

The next morning, Carson could hardly contain his nerves. He didn't touch his breakfast. And when he passed a couple of giggling maids on his way back to his pantry, he did not give them the proper scolding they deserved. The worst part was watching Elsie as she buttoned her coat and put on her hat, prepping herself to leave for the doctors. And when she turned to him, he kissed her lips gently, not caring who might come in and see.

That was half an hour ago, and now he sat at his desk with his work spread out in front of him, but his mind only on her. He was nervously tapping on his desk when a knock on his door brought his attention back.

He stood as Mrs. Patmore entered with a cup of water in her hands. She waved for him to sit again, and he did do so reluctantly.

"I was just bringing Hughie some water," she said, looking around the room. "Only—he doesn't seem to be here either."

"He's in the servant's hall, as he always is at this hour," Carson explained to her. His focus then went to the papers before him—mostly bills and other tedious tasks he did not want to think about at the moment.

"I can assure you, Mr. Carson, he is not. I thought you might have brought him in here with you..."

He stood again, his heart sinking to his stomach. Hughie disappearing was the last thing Elsie needed. "I certainly have not," he said. "I thought you were keeping a close eye on him."

"He... must have slipped passed me when Daisy and I were prepping for lunch."

"Oh good heavens," muttered Carson as he rushed out of the room.

He entered the servant's hall where Alfred, Anna and Barrow all lounged. Upon seeing Carson, they stood abruptly. Carson waved them down.

"Have you seen Hughie?" he asked, attempting to hide the panic in his voice.

"No, Mr. Carson," said Alfred with the shake of his head.

"Is he missing?" asked Anna, a look of worry springing to her face.

"My hope is he hasn't gone far," said Carson.

He made to leave, to start his search, when Barrow said, hiding behind a newspaper: "And he hasn't. He went upstairs just a few minutes ago."

"And you allowed him?" said Carson, horrified.

"With all do respect, Mr. Carson, he's the son of the butler—not the son of his lordship's valet."

Carson had no time to scold him, so he simply waved Barrow off and then he sprinted towards the stairs with Anna following close behind.

Their arrival upstairs was met with silence. Lord and Lady Grantham had gone out for a walk around the estate; Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley were still in bed; and so was Edith, from what Anna had informed him earlier that morning.

Quietly, they began checking the rooms. His eyes briefly found the staircase leading up to the bedrooms and the thought of Hughie barging in on Lady Mary or Edith horrified Carson to no end. His stomach churned as he opened the door to the library.

There Hughie sat in between Mr. Branson and Lady Sybil on one of the red sofas. Carson caught Lady Sybil in a fit of giggles when he entered, and both she and Branson looked up when he made his presence known with the clearing of his throat.

"I am terribly sorry, milady," said Carson in a panic.

"It's really quite fine, Carson," said Lady Sybil.

"Hughie here was just sharing a few of his stories with us," said Branson with a gentle smile.

"I'm... sure he was," said Carson, wondering if the stories he was sharing were anything like the one he had shared the night before. "But that is still no excuse, sir..."

"He was trying to find his way to the bathroom and he ended up in the library instead," explained Branson. "I hope you don't mind, but I allowed for him to use the one up here."

"That is very kind of you, Mr. Branson," said Carson with a slight bow of his head. He cleared his throat again and he made his way towards Hughie, grabbing him by the hand and guiding him up. "I shouldn't let him disturb you any longer."

"Where have you two been?" asked Elsie curiously as she watched Carson and Hughie descend the steps, Carson with a firm grip on Hughie's forearm. She still had her hat and coat on, and Carson was nearly too busy with Hughie to notice the slight sparkle in her eyes.

"I haven't been anywhere," said Carson angrily, "but Hughie here..."

"I didn't mean to go upstairs," said Hughie. "I was only trying to find the washroom. Truly."

Elsie replaced Carson's grip on Hughie with a much more gentler one as they quietly walked to his pantry. There was no point in causing a scene.

When he made sure his doors were shut securely, Carson burst. "I have had it with your behavior... Your rude manners. That story—and now this!"

Hughie's face went red. "I didn't mean to do it," he said. "I'm trying to be better. I really am. I can't seem to get it right, that's all."

Carson opened his mouth to speak but his wife raised her hand to silence him. "Hughie, before I say what I need to say," she said gently, "I want you to know that in my eyes you are perfect. To me and to God, you are the most beautiful thing in this world. And I'm sorry if I, or anyone else for that matter,"—she glanced quickly at Carson—"have made you feel or think otherwise."

Hughie's eyes opened, the haziness pulling Carson into a slight trance. He sighed deeply. "So... you are dying."

It felt as if all the life Carson had in his body left him as he turned to his wife.

"I will die... eventually," she said, "but hopefully not for a very, very long time."

"It's not cancer, then," said her husband.

"No, it's not cancer," she confirmed with the shake of her head.

He kissed her cheek softly and he pulled her into a tight embrace as relief filled him. "Oh, my darling Elsie."

"We'll be back in time for dinner," explained Charlie. "Be sure to keep a careful eye on Hughie this time."

"Don't worry," said Mrs. Patmore with a gentle sigh. "I won't be making that mistake again any time soon."

They turned to Daisy, who stood cowardly in the corner.

"I wish you would tell me what's troubling you, Daisy," said Elsie. "You've been like this all day."

"Never mind her," said Mrs. Patmore quickly, bringing the attention back onto her. "It was nice of her ladyship to give you a bit of time off. Which pub did you say you'll be eating at?"

"White Hart," Charlie said confidently—just as Elsie told her, "Red Lion."

They both looked at each other for a quick moment. Elsie felt her face flush. "Er, well, we'll figure it out on the way," Charlie told her.

Mrs. Patmore blinked. "Oh... All right," she said with a nod. "Off with you two, then. And no sense in worrying about Hughie or anything else here... I've got everything under control."

"I don't know what to do, Mrs. Patmore," said Daisy as she prepared the sauce for that night's dinner, "If he tells Mr. Carson what I said, I'll surely be fired."

"I won't let that happen," said Mrs. Patmore. She looked up from her own dish she was preparing just as Alfred entered the kitchen. "Alfred, will you please fetch Hughie for me," she ordered. Alfred nodded and he quickly went to the servant's hall. "We're going to get this whole thing sorted out while Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes are away."

"What do you mean—I can't talk to him," said Daisy with a shake of her head. "He'll never want to speak to me again. Not the way I've treated him."

She retracted slowly as Alfred reentered the kitchen alone.

"Er, where is he exactly?" he asked dumbly.

Mrs. Patmore felt her heart sink. "In the servant's hall, isn't he?"

He shook his head. "I've looked," he said. "He isn't there."

"I blink and he vanishes... is that what happens now?"

"Are you sure you can't stay for just one more night?" asked Cora sweetly.

"No, we really should be getting back," said Branson—and Robert thought good riddance. Not for Sybil, of course. But he was growing tired of all the scandal surrounding Downton lately. With Bates and Branson, and Hughie, and now Edith, he was beginning to see his downfall.

"Are you staying for dinner, mama?" asked Cora, turning to Robert's mother.

"I haven't got the right clothes," answered his mother.

"Nor do I," said cousin Isobel, "but I'm staying."

"Yes, well, some of us like to stick with tradition."

At that jab, cousin Isobel turned Mathew, who simply gave her an apologetic smile.

"Oh please do stay, granny," said Sybil. "This might be the last time we're all together before the baby's born."

Robert noticed Edith, who sat away from the others, make a face—and all he wanted to do was hide her from all the troubles in the world.

"Stay, mama, I insist," Robert told her.

"Very well," she said, "if we must break tradition."

"I think Downton has already broken tradition," said cousin Isobel. "Your granddaughter's married to your former chauffeur and your butler and housekeeper are married and have a son together—whether you like it or not, you are partaking in the changing of times, cousin Violet."

"Yes, well, might I remind you Carson and Mrs. Hughes are not under my jurisdiction." She eyed her son.

He looked around as he sipped his tea. "Where is Carson? Why didn't he bring up the tea like normal?"

Cora blinked. "I gave him and Mrs. Hughes the afternoon off," she said. Robert rolled his eyes. "They've recently had some good news—and I thought they deserved some time together to celebrate."

"And has Hughie gone with them?" asked Mary.

"Oh, he's a darling little boy," said Sybil. Branson smiled.

"I don't believe so," said Cora.

"He's a very interesting boy," said cousin Isobel. "Dr. Clarkson told me he was also dumb, but he seems perfectly capable of holding on a conversation now."

"You spoke with him?" asked Mathew.

"For a short while, yes," she said. "At the hospital. He was there getting a physical, I believe."

"I suppose I'll have to get used to saying the boy's name if he is going to be staying for a while," said Robert's mother with a slight chuckle. "In my head I always call him that little blind boy."

"And one day, when I'm older... maybe you'll call me that little blind man."

She stood abruptly, as fast as her old bones would allow her. "I do beg your pardon..." she said with a flush.

"I know I'm not supposed to be up here, but I can't seem to find my way back down."

Robert cleared his throat as he straightened himself—though, while doing so, he wondered why he was making such an effort; the boy was blind, after all. "I... apologize for my mother's unkind words," he started.

"Unfiltered but not unkind... sir. People have said much worse to my face," he said. "Can you please help me find my way downstairs—before my dad finds out I've been up here again?"

"Yes, yes of course," said Robert. He gestured towards Branson, who nodded. They all watched as Branson gently guided him out of the library and into the hall.

"Did he say again?" asked Mary, a look of shock on her face. And Robert noticed Sybil smile to herself.

"I... I must admit, I quite like him as he is now," said Robert's mother with a smile. "He's funny."

"I'll have to have a word with Carson," said Robert.

"Oh don't you dare get that sweet boy in trouble," said Cora.

"I won't mention this incident, but I would like to know what they plan on doing with him," he said. Cora gave him a disapproving look, but he ignored it. "He can't stay here, Cora. Not forever."

Elsie thought back to their first night together. She had been so scared of what he might think, what he might do—other than the occasional risqué novel passed from young maid to young maid in her youth, she really had know knowledge of what it meant to be a true married woman.

Charlie had been so gentle that first night—and most nights after that. But it wasn't until they returned from their honeymoon and they fell into a routine—with the stress of their duties always leaving shadows under their eyes and pains in their backs and necks and feet—that she truly understood what it meant to be a woman in those novels. Their days consisted of following orders and giving orders and making sure everything and everyone was obeying the rules, while their nights were filled with passion and love and sex, and a great release of all the burdens looming over them.

She recalled one night when he released himself inside of her and he whispered in her ear, "This is where I belong." And it was where he belonged. She would like to say it was the night they conceived Hughie, but he was already growing inside of her by then.

His large calloused hands now cupped one of her cheeks, his thumb brushing her lips softly. "My beautiful wife," he said quietly as she kissed his thumb lightly.

"We should start getting ready," she said.

His head lifted slightly to get a clear look at the clock ticking on their bedside table. "We still have an hour."

"Yes," she agreed, snuggling in close to him. "Let's hope we use that hour wisely." Her hand found his chest and he fiddled with her wedding ring as their lips met once, twice and finally a third time before she rested her head on the ridge of his neck.

"It would have been nice to spend the afternoon in York," she said casually. "To really have lunch in a public house... and maybe visit a few shops while we're there." She felt his finger glide gently up and down her arm, and she shivered. "This was nice too," she added softly. He kissed the top of her head. "But you know I hate lying—and I felt so embarrassed when we spoke with Mrs. Patmore."

"We do all that when we visit Hughie," he said.

"Well, now that he's here," she said, and she felt his body stiffen, "we don't get the chance to do it as often."

"Elsie—I know you don't want to hear this... and I hardly like saying it," he said, "but he's going back to Lloyd Andrews."

She pulled away and he sighed. "You're right. I didn't like hearing it."

She stood—her naked body feeling a slight chill in the air—and she made her way to their washroom.

"I'm putting my foot"—she slammed the door shut behind her—"down..."

She heard him groan and the sound of their old creaking bed as he stood. And soon there was knocking.

"Elsie, darling—I don't wish to end this lovely afternoon with a fight," he called to her.

"I don't want a fight either, Charlie," she said honestly. She opened the door and she was met with her equally naked husband on the other end. She felt like crying, but no tears seemed to be coming. "But I need you to know I do not agree with you and I will do everything in my power to keep him with us."

He blinked and bowed his head slightly. "I know."

"Can I ask why you keep coming up here," Tom asked him calmly as they slowly descended the steps. "It can't be to find the bathroom—it's nowhere near the library."

"I'm... trying—" Hughie began, but stopped suddenly.

"Don't be scared I'll tell the others," said Tom. "I'm a good secret keeper. I promise."

"I'm trying to memorize my way around the house," he said, "but it's so big. I got lost again. I went back into the library because I knew where that was already."

"Why are you trying to memorize it? Are you staying at Downton?"

"No," he said. "Wishful thinking, I suppose."

"If Sybil and I weren't leaving tomorrow, I would offer my help..."

"I just want to prove to my parents that I'm capable of... something."

Tom chuckled slightly, looking at the blind boy.

"What?" asked Hughie.

"Nothing," Tom said. "You've really come out of your shell, that's all. I could hardly get a word out of you the first few weeks you were here."

"Oh, thank heavens," said Mrs. Patmore as they reached the final step. "I was wondering where you got off to." She turned to Tom. "I'm sorry, Mr. Branson, for any trouble he may have caused."

"He was no trouble at all," assured Tom with a smile. "I should be getting back." With a final nod to them both, he started up the stairs.

"Are you going to tell my dad?" Hughie asked as Mrs. Patmore guided him into Mr. Carson's pantry and into a chair. Daisy followed behind sheepishly. She stood at the doorway, too scared to enter the room entirely.

"I won't tell him," said Mrs. Patmore, "if you promise not to tell him what Daisy told you."

"What did... Daisy tell me?"

"That..." Mrs. Patmore glanced at Daisy. "That she called you a monster. She's been worrying about it for the last few days."

"Before the wedding," explained Daisy. "I handed you your tea—and it just slipped out. I feel awfully bad about it."

"You didn't call me a monster," said Hughie. "In fact, you said the exact opposite."

"I know but I thought you might have thought I did," she said, fiddling with her hands anxiously.

"Do you think me a monster?"

"No," she said.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Mrs. Patmore let out a sigh. "If that's all settled," she said. "Daisy, you get back to work—and Hughie, I don't want to see you leave that chair until your parents get back. I mean it."