Chapter 3

"What are you up to?" Beryl asked looking up from her chopping board at Elsie who was leaning on to Isobel's kitchen counter and scrolling through her smartphone.

"Nothing in particular," Elsie mumbled, her eyes fixed on her phone and her bottom lip between her teeth. "Just checking what's happening in the world and what's happening in my life."

"What's going on in the world?" Beryl questioned rather absent-mindedly, gesturing to Daisy to empty the contents on the chopping board into a bowl.

"Same old crap about Brexit and the Tories messing it all up," Elsie replied and continued to nibble her lip. Looking up from her phone for a moment, she fixed her gaze at an unfixed point in the distance to make a mental note and started typing on her screen, her fingernails making a clicking noise on the plastic screen.

Beryl laughed at that, "You sounded like my Albert there." She nodded towards Elsie's phone and inquired, "So… what's going on in your life that you seem to glean out of that contraption?"

"Just sent a message to Anna saying that my chances of turning up at work tomorrow are low and looked into the work that I have to go ahead with in the coming days without the relaxation I had planned for tonight," Elsie finished and looked up from her phone to scowl at Beryl.

"Here we go again!" Beryl sighed. "What's it with you and that bloody face mask and the blasted 'random genre' movie marathon?" she mocked placing her knife quite hard on the kitchen table as if to emphasize her point.

"What?" Elsie shrugged frowning at Beryl. "I just wanted to have some nice and quality time for myself. Forget work and everything else."

"Nice and quality time? With crappy films and a bloody face mask?" Beryl argued almost grabbing the bowl of washed carrots from a quite surprised Daisy.

"They are masterpieces I can tell you! I have taste!" Elsie protested, one hand coming to rest on her hip while the other clenched her smartphone. "Besides with the face mask… I like a bit of pampering myself every now and then, is that so wrong?"

"Why on earth did you come here early than Isobel asked you to? Marching up here stirring a storm around the rest of us?" Beryl grumbled chopping the poor carrots with an added vigour.

"Because I am punctual! I didn't know that it was a crime," Elsie scowled at Beryl and huffed when her friend did not look up to witness it.

"Not unless you turn into a damn thundering storm, your royal highness," Beryl burst out, looking up from her work to glare at Elsie.

Daisy cut Elsie's response short voicing a worry of her own, "Alfred's still not here. He said he'll be at Downton by this time. I wonder whether something has happened."

Beryl's frustration at Elsie came to be directed at Daisy with her untimely interruption on the ongoing battle, "He's a grown man Daisy! I think he knows well enough how to get on to and off a train or a bus by himself! Now listen to me! If you so much as mention his name in the next half an hour I'll knock you down and serve your brain as fritters!"

Daisy scowled at Beryl and went about to proceed with her tasks, with the inclusion of lots of additional clattering, more than the task would have ordinarily contained.

Turning to Elsie who remained glaring at her, Beryl started, "As for you…"

But she was cut short by a cheerful voice at the kitchen door saying "Hi!"

All three women in the kitchen looked towards the kitchen doorway to see a young girl with dark hair, pale blue eyes and rosy, full cheeks beaming at them dressed in a similar outfit to Elsie's "uniform" for the day, except that the thin bow tie hung completely unravelled and dangling from around her collar.

"Hi," Elsie returned in an ambivalent tone, straightening her posture and coming away from where she was leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Oh I'm sorry I forgot to introduce myself," the young girl laughed lightly at her own error and continued, "I'm Sybil Crawley." She introduced herself and hastily took her right hand out of her trouser pocket. Her smile wide and very bright.

Elsie stepped closer to the girl and extended her hand with an equally bright, "I'm Elsie Hughes. Nice to meet you my dear." Noting the young girl's outfit she added, "Looks like we'll be on the same team."

"Yeah looks like it," Sybil shook Elsie's hand and when they parted it returned naturally back into her trouser pocket, "I just came in to meet everyone and say hello."

"Oh hello then sweetheart," Beryl chimed in, a little good humour creeping back into her thunderous mood.

Sybil smiled and looked back at Elsie, "I don't suppose we've met anywhere before?"

Elsie returned the young girl's smile, "I believe we haven't. You're from Lord Grantham's family, if I am not mistaken?"

"Yeah I am," Sybil blushed a bit and nodded. "I'm his youngest daughter."

"Haven't you… I don't know… got a fancy title my dear?" Beryl asked humorously and Elsie frowned at her. "What?" Beryl shrugged and looked sharply at Elsie, "I mean… I don't mean to be rude or anything, not in the least, just curious."

Sybil laughed, her head thrown slightly backwards, "Oh no I'm not offended at all… Mrs?" she paused and questioned having being unable to make the introductions complete earlier.

"Er… Mrs Mason. You can call me Beryl, love."

"Nice to meet you Mrs Mason… er… Beryl… I will remember that I promise," Sybil smiled and nodded, "and yeah technically it's supposed to be Lady Sybil Crawley. But I don't really care about that."

"I would very much if I had one of those," Beryl replied trying to hide her mirth and maintaining a straight face, "Lady Beryl Patmore Mason, fancy that?" Beryl straightened her shoulders and raised her head high to play the part.

"Oh if you did we would never have heard the end of it, Your Ladyship," Elsie countered with a smirk and Beryl let out an annoyed grunt. Turning her attention back to Sybil, Elsie began, "Never mind her. What do you do my dear? You work? Or…" Elsie paused feeling that mentioning what a 'Lady' would usually do, such as paying calls and the rest of it, as to being what Sybil does might sound a bit offensive given the young girl's clear declaration that she wasn't fond of the old and traditional ways.

"Yeah I do. I trained as a nurse. I suppose I was inspired by Isobel. Now I'm learning to work as a journalist. They seem quite unconnected, I know, but I like both of them. It's got so much meaning, those jobs. Besides, I don't think that just because I was born into an aristocratic family my life would have to consist of only pleasantries and social functions. I've always wanted to do some real work," Sybil paused for a moment and continued in a soft voice, "I don't know if you find that crazy."

"Not in the least," Elsie replied in admiration of the young girl's views, "I think it's wonderful and of course it's good to have more than one string to your bow."

"Thanks," Sybil smiled. "What do you do Elsie?"

"I'm an events planner," Elsie replied, shyly tilting her head a bit.

"Wow that is so awesome! I suppose you must be very good at it!" Sybil exclaimed and Beryl chuckled at Sybil's words.

"She is. Very good at it as I keep on saying to other people because her royal highness over there," Beryl pointed the end of her knife at Elsie, "is too damn shy to admit it."

"Beryl!" Elsie scowled causing both Sybil and Daisy, who was following the conversation happening around her, to chuckle.

"And what about you Beryl?" Sybil asked turning to Beryl.

"I run a catering service with my daughter Daisy over there," Beryl replied with a proud smile gesturing towards Daisy, who smiled politely at Sybil. "And since no one is there to admit it for me, I might as well say it myself, I am very good at it too!"

Elsie shook her head and laughed, "She is a brilliant! So is Daisy. Just don't tell her that her crumble is too soggy."

"I'll have you know, Elsie Hughes, my crumble is excellent," Beryl countered, raising her chin at Elsie.

"I'm so sorry my dear," Elsie said to Sybil, "we are boring you out with our old lady arguments."

"Oh no, not at all. I think I find them very entertaining," Sybil admitted laughing.

"You better hope you'll never see them do real arguing," Daisy added, turning to Sybil, "all hell breaks loose." Her words causing Beryl and Elsie to burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles and Sybil to laugh, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't be nervous. You're ready aren't you?" Beryl asked while Alfred, who had returned to Downton from London mere minutes ago, helped Elsie to balance the tray of drinks.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Elsie replied wearing a determined expression, and taking a deep breath as the silver tray transferred from Alfred's hands to hers.

"Good luck then," Beryl encouraged her friend and called out once Elsie's back was turned to her, "and don't forget to smile. They're not paying good money to have thundering waiters."

"Leave her be Mom," Daisy shook her head, looking up from bowl of eggs she was beating.

"Oh be off with you," Beryl huffed and turning to Alfred who was grinning, she burst out, "and you better get started on the soufflés before I grow old and die! And here I was thinking that them Monsieurs at the Ritz might have knocked some sense into that head of yours."

Charles was late. Or at least he thought he was. The invitation said 7 pm and it was already 6.55. He was a couple of streets away from Isobel's and his taxi was stuck in an endless traffic. Glaring lights and endless honking was almost driving him mad. He glanced at his watch for probably the twenty fifth time within that five minutes. He had carefully planned the time he would set off, having taken into consideration the usual traffic in that area at that time, and set the time and booked a taxi hoping to arrive at Isobel's sharp at 7 pm. But this amount of traffic was something he never expected. At this rate it was highly unlikely that he would be there at least by 7.15pm.

He fiddled with his tie and turned it to and fro, from where it rested upon his shirt a few times, around the collar. He couldn't resist glancing at his watch another time. This seriously was not going to work and Charles hated to be late. Punctuality was one of his greatest virtues, whether it came with his profession or whether it was inbuilt in his system, he couldn't tell, but he simply could not tolerate tardiness.

"How much longer do you think it would take?" he asked, leaning towards the driving seat at bit from where he sat at the back.

"I'd say more than a good half an hour sir," the taxi driver answered looking at Charles over his shoulder.

"Good God!" Charles muttered to himself. Streets these days were so unpredictable. And certainly severely lacking in order and organisation.

"I'll stop here, thank you, if that's alright. I'm afraid I'm running dreadfully late. How much is it for here?" Charles asked, already reaching for his wallet. What a start to the evening, he thought.

Charles rushed past shops and houses along the street, trying hard not to collide onto other pedestrians using the pavement. Beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead were trickling down his cheeks and behind his ear and he was decidedly hot despite the cool air of the evening. He turned to Isobel's street and all but ran down it the first couple of metres but he managed to compose himself and resolved to brisk walking. Reaching into his coat pocket he took out a neatly folded handkerchief and dabbed at the trickles of sweat running down his face.

When reached Isobel's house, he climbed the steps up to the door in long strides. Wiping his face a final time, he stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. He took a deep breath to calm himself, realising that it would take some more time for him to calm down entirely and rid his system of the shock, he knocked sharply on the door. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes past seven. A little better he thought.

The door opened in front of him and Isobel smiled at him. "Good evening Mr Carson," she greeted him formally.

"Good evening to you too Mrs Crawley," he nodded and smiled.

"Oh come on in please," Isobel gestured towards the hallway illuminated in bright lights. The sound of gentle music leaking through the open door and permeating the air around him.

Charles stepped inside and Isobel closed the door behind him. He looked around at the guests gathered. Several familiar faces, but still he most often found social functions to be terribly draining and he presumed that this would be no different. At least he was living through a society dinner for a good cause, he consoled himself, getting ready mentally to face the evening.

"I'm afraid I've got to nip away to the kitchen for a second Charles. Help yourself to anything okay?" Isobel said as she stepped in front of him. "And I saw Robert and Cora that way," she gestured towards the living room whether lots of people were gathered, laughing, smiling, making small talk… things he dreaded considerably, making useless small talk, putting on a fake smile and laughing at jokes which are not funny at all.

"Thank you Isobel," he nodded at her with a smile and watched as she made her way to the kitchen trying to take the longest strides she could in her dress and heels.

He looked back to the living room and spotted Robert in the distance chatting to Richard Clarkson. He made a sharp turn towards the living room but an accented voice to his side exclaimed, "Christ!" and he quickly glanced back over his shoulder.

A dark haired woman dressed in what he figured was a waiter's uniform was trying to balance a decidedly unsteady tray of drinks and also herself both which and whom, he figured, out might have narrowly missed being knocked off by him.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised, "Let me help you." Taking the tray from her hands he balanced it easily in one hand and allowed her time to steady herself. She absent-mindedly wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand with the other resting at her chest. Her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realise…" he began but she shook her head and cut him short.

"Oh no it's my fault," she finally looked up at him and flashed an apologetic smile. "I was quite clumsy."

He noted the floating lilt of her Scottish accent as her voice glided over the syllables and worked a magic upon the vowels.

"Still, I should have watched where I was going," he replied. When she looked straight at him he noticed that her eyes were a bright shade of blue, perhaps the brightest shade of blue he had ever seen. He couldn't help but think how beautiful her smile looked, how it reached from her lips and crept into her eyes. And how her bottom lip between her teeth made her look adorable. Realising that he might have been staring at her, he cleared his throat as a cover up.

"It's alright. As long as we are both still in one piece and not… drenched, as well," she said with a laugh gesturing towards drinks on the tray he was holding. "And I must say you do that remarkably well," she said eyeing the ease with which he was holding it.

He smiled at that, looking down at the tray. It came naturally to him, years of practise included as well. But he didn't quite feel like relating that to her.

"And thank you… I think I can manage now," she said flashing a brighter smile this time. "Mr..." she paused, looking at him expectantly.

"Er… Carson," he replied and berated himself for how awkward it sounded.

"Thank you Mr Carson," she repeated her name and he smiled at the way she pronounced his name, the 'r' in particular, which he thought to be quite endearing, paired with her sparkling blue eyes. He passed the tray into her hands and she balanced it in her hands with some difficulty. "I'm still trying to get the hang of it. Would you like a drink Mr Carson?" she offered, extending the tray slightly towards him.

"Thank you," he said accepting a glass from her tray.

She smiled at him and proceeded towards the other end of the living room while his eyes followed her form. The way she tried her best to balance the tray while walking so gracefully. She was doing it quite well, he noted, would be much better with a little bit more practise. What surprised him was he couldn't remember if he had met her before. No, he hadn't. She didn't even look familiar so she couldn't be from Isobel's circle of friends. And a Scottish accent at that too! To say that Charles was curious was an understatement. He badly wanted, no, he needed, to know who she was, the woman with the bright blue eyes and the endearing Scottish brogue.

It took him a moment to realise that he had been lost in observing her voice and her eyes that he had forgotten to even ask what her name was.

There's more time, he will ask her later, he thought.

After all the evening was still young.

To be continued…

Thank you all so very much for all the reviews on the previous chapters! I am so glad to know that you are enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing this. And also, I would be very grateful if you could let me know your thoughts about this chapter and this story in the reviews. Hope you enjoyed! See you soon with a new chapter! Thanks again!