Chapter 4

Music from the living room floated into the kitchen and the performer's voice rose above the recording of the track. The after dinner entertainment was a variety performance by volunteers. The spectators, his friends probably, cheered him on as he sang and the performer's giggles mingled with his singing. The song ended with the singer emphasising the last lyric going almost an octave higher than before, way out of pitch compared to the original song. A loud round of applause boomed and Isobel took charge of the microphone again asking who else wanted to perform. "Any act of your wish. Singing, dancing, magic tricks or miming even," she suggested.

Elsie shuddered as she leant against the kitchen table, staring out at the kitchen window. Outside, a pitch black darkness had spread its velvet folds across the sky. The fluorescent light bulb in the kitchen glared at the darkness outside, pushing it to the boundaries of the window. Defending the house, defending the happiness and cheer that blossomed a few feet away. Elsie wasn't very fond of amateur performances. She usually watched them of course, most of them thought they were excellent at what they were doing but in fact were only moderate. But they were taking a risk, making an effort and Elsie appreciated it. But tonight, she was too drained. Instead she seeked the isolation of the kitchen. Even Beryl, Daisy and Alfred stood in a corner of the living room watching, smiling and clapping. They had insisted that Elsie join them, but she had managed to persuade them to leave her be.

She had played her part, albeit with some resistance (after all she wasn't Elsie Hughes if she didn't put up a fight) and she certainly deserved some solace. Sybil relieved her from after dinner drinks, volunteering to cover for her. Elsie thanked Sybil and was truly grateful for the sweet, young girl. For Sybil, it was home ground, familiar territory, people she knew. Elsie barely knew anyone present. So while Sybil and the other waiters laughed and joked, made small talk, Elsie acted strictly in a professional manner. A polite smile and professional words which were familiar to her with her line of work was the card she played, and it was exhausting.

She sipped the glass of whiskey she had poured for herself. Strangely, relishing the cold, fiery liquid that trickled down her throat with a mild burn. She was a paradox when it came to liquor. For while she was a red wine kind of person she was also a whiskey kind of person. While she could appreciate the rich undertones of a good glass of red wine she also relished the fiery taste of whiskey, and watching the amber coloured liquid swirl around the glass.

A deep voiced throat clearing somewhere behind her made turn around with a start, causing half of her drink to land on the floor. She looked down at the drink spilled on the floor and muttered a curse before looking up to see who had interrupted her reverie.

Standing near the opposite end of the kitchen table was Mr Carson looking sheepishly at her.

"I'm so sorry. It's the second time I caused you to spill your drink," he apologised with a pleading smile.

It was rather funny, that kind of smile upon his face, considering his tall, broad stature and usually severe expressioned face, that Elsie forgot her initial anger and laughed.

"Last time you nearly got the drinks spilled but you didn't actually manage to get them spilled. But this time you did! You never do things by halves, do you Mr Carson?" she joked raising an eye brow at him.

Charles chuckled at her look combined with her lilting voice, "I suppose I don't."

Placing the glass on the table, Elsie looked around for cloth to mop the spilt drink up. "Ha!" she exclaimed when she found one.

"Uh let me help you with it," Charles offered taking a step forward but Elsie raised a hand to stop him.

"I've got this," she smiled and bent on her knees letting out a soft groan when her knees creaked. Realising that it wouldn't do, she knelt on the floor and began to wipe carefully at the spill.

Charles watched quite helplessly as she mopped up the spilled drink. He watched how her dark hair fell in front of her pale face. Her long neck bent forward as she focussed on her task. Her sharp suit and how she carried it with grace. And for the first time that evening, he thought she looked beautiful.

"So Mr Carson," she began, looking up at him from where she knelt on the floor, "what brings you here? Escaping the after dinner entertainment are you?"

"Yes. I despise those, truth be told," he replied shrugging his shoulders and Elsie laughed. "What about you?" he asked, curious to know what she was doing alone in the kitchen.

"Quite the same as what you were hoping to do. And also because I don't know anyone there and I feel so out of place," she smiled. "And I'm terribly tired as well. There, it's done." She rose from the floor, holding on briefly to the leg of the table for support. She left the cloth on the kitchen table and stepped in front of the sink to wash her hands.

"You're a friend of Isobel's?" Charles asked, sipping on his glass of brandy.

"Well, I wouldn't say so," Elsie replied drying her hands on a dish cloth nearby. "My friend Beryl did the catering. And I just stepped in this morning to help her move her stuff 'cause both the delivery guys on her team was unavailable. But Isobel was one waiter short and Beryl kindly volunteered me."

"I sense that a lot of sarcasm went into that 'kindly'," Charles chuckled, his eyes meeting hers. He observed the mischievous spark dancing in them.

"You sense right," Elsie deadpanned.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners? I didn't even make a proper introduction. I'm Charles Carson," he held his hand in front of him.

"Elsie Hughes. Nice to meet you," she shook his hand. She smiled at him and for a second she wondered if his eyes were a deep brown or a black. Deep brown, she presumed. She thought his name suited him well. It sounded quite solid, strong and graceful. Much like him.

"Likewise," he returned. He wondered if 'Elsie' was short for something else. 'Elisabeth' or 'Elspeth' even. A sensible, quite old fashioned name, he thought. Nevertheless, a lovely name.

"So what do you do Mr Carson?" she asked him. One hand on her hip and one hand on the kitchen counter.

"Oh Charles please," he said and couldn't help but notice how well her posture suited her sassy talk and self. She was beautiful, not afraid to speak her mind, completely herself and quite different from the other women he had met. And that Scottish lilt… "I am the manager of Downton Abbey," he answered her question, rather embarrassed that his position might sound too grand to her, but still proud of it all the same.

"Oh, quite fancy if I may say so," she raised her eyebrows in surprise. "And very grand," she added.

"It is," he smiled. "But it's not like I have my feet up all day."

"I believe not, given the sheer size of that house!" she laughed and he joined in.

"What about you Miss Hughes or is it Mrs?" Charles asked, feeling as if his heart almost skipped a beat during the half second she took to give her answer.

"It's Miss, though I look ancient," she laughed bitterly. "Though I go by Mrs in retail shops. It's easier to get the sales assistants to do what you want when you pretend to be a strict, old Mrs. Works much better than Miss." He laughed at that, amused by her wit and failed to notice the mildly self-deprecating tone her voice took.

"If I may say so, you don't… look ancient," Charles replied, his voice low. He wanted to say beautiful for she was more than 'pretty.' But compliments were hard for him, he wanted to dare himself, but changed his mind quickly. She might feel uncomfortable with a stranger saying such things, he thought.

Elsie smiled and looked down at her feet. Looking back up, her eyes fixed on the other end of the kitchen she said, "Most of my employees think I'm a horrid, difficult spinster." She laughed bitterly again, much bitterly than before.

"Then they've never heard about me," Charles chuckled. His words lightened the mood and Elsie laughed cheerfully. Charles found her smile beautiful and adorable. It lit up her entire face. Shaking himself from his thoughts he asked, "You work Elsie?"

"Yeah I do. I'm an events planner," she answered. "And to approximately quote my best friend 'her royal highness is very good at it but too damn shy to admit it.' There, self-advertising, done and dusted." She deadpanned and Charles chuckled.

"That's wonderful. It's quite challenging isn't it?" he asked, nervously turning his glass of brandy around on the palm of his other hand.

"It is, even at the best of times," she said as she turned her back to the kitchen counter and leaned against it facing him. Charles took a few steps towards his left to face her at a better angle. "So what does the manager of Downton Abbey do?" she asked looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"It's mainly coordinating the daily running of the place. Arranging the special occasions. Managing the place when it comes weddings and the sort, now that it serves as a venue for that as well. And some other duties added into the picture as well," he replied. "It might sound a bit complicated."

"It already does," she took a few steps forward and leant towards the kitchen table to retrieve the remainder of her drink. "But isn't it like… I don't know… an agent who does those stuff in a big house such as that?"

His eyes followed her movements as she retrieved her drink. He couldn't take his eyes off her as her action moved her closer to him for a moment. The way her fingers wrapped around the glistening glass, her fluid movements and glossy, auburn hair. It's only after she was settled back again at the kitchen counter, glass in hand, and looking at him with an expectant expression that he realised he had been too lost in his thoughts and had forgotten to answer her question. He cleared his throat to hide his awkwardness. "No, the agent manages the estate. I manage the house."

"So you're like a Butler, had it been the last century?" she inquired and placed the glass against her lips to take a sip of her drink. The amber liquid slipping between her lips from the tilted glass.

"Quite," Charles answered, his gaze following every tiny movement of hers. There was something about her that he couldn't quite place. But something that drew him to her. "But I suppose my post has more duties than that of a Butler."

"Hmmm," she hummed as she swallowed, her eyes crinkling by an infinitesimal fraction as the liquor made its way down her throat. She noticed how his eyes followed her. She also noticed his deep voice, the kind depths of his eyes despite his tall, broad and imposing stature. There was something about him that made her heart flutter. She couldn't quite place it, but there was something about him. There was certainly something about him.

Both their gazes rested upon each other. His brown eyes venturing into the depths of her blue ones, searching or observing, taking in. An almost magnetic force held their eyes together, blurring and muffling the world around them. For a couple of seconds till…

"Oh there you are!" Isobel's voice sounded from the doorway and both Elsie and Charles looked at the doorway with start, startled expression upon both their faces. "There you both are!" Isobel stepped into the kitchen. "Fleeing the entertainment I assume?"

"I… erm…" Charles stuttered, feeling guilty that he had let Isobel down and also embarrassed not knowing whether the older woman had noticed the moment that had passed between him and Elsie.

"I'll forgive you just this once," Isobel smiled and crossed her hands in front of her. "It's almost over anyway."

"I assume Robert didn't get a go at the microphone," Charles commented and Isobel shook her head.

"No, he didn't or else you would have heard. He was far too drunk to manage it and Cora managed to keep him away from it anyway. We all know drunk or sober Robert most certainly cannot sing but he never gets it," Isobel laughed softly and Charles smiled politely. He liked Robert both as an old friend and an employer but he couldn't deny Isobel's point.

Isobel turned to Elsie and smiled warmly. "Thank you so, so much Elsie. I'm very grateful for your help. Thank you for coming to my rescue."

Elsie returned Isobel's smile "Beryl's the one you've got to thank. She's the one who wouldn't let me get away with it." Elsie knew it was the truth and she couldn't readily accept Isobel's praise when she had resisted the whole idea initially.

"Really Elsie I mean it. You were a great help," Isobel persisted.

Elsie smiled, touched by Isobel's words. "Sorry for deserting you after dinner without serving the drinks."

"Sybil told me she was covering for you. She told how hard you worked and that you deserved a break. In fact she told me you worked the hardest," Isobel placed her hand on Elsie's arm and squeezed gently.

"I was just doing what I can and she's a lovely girl so she's bound to exaggerate," Elsie patted Isobel's hand gently and smiled.

"Nonsense! Anyway Beryl said she's got dinner ready for the waiters but I wondered if you'd like to skip it. You must be dreadfully tired after helping Beryl and going through this extra trouble for me?" Isobel asked as Elsie considered her options.

"I'd like to get back home if you don't mind Isobel. I'd love to stay but…" Elsie stuttered as she tried to decline politely. She didn't want to hurt Isobel by an outright "no" but all Elsie wanted after the long day to get back to the comfort of her flat and relax.

Isobel nodded, "Don't worry I totally understand." When Elsie tried to interrupt with an apology and explanation, Isobel raised her hand to stop Elsie and smiled at her. "And before you tried to apologise and be afraid that you've disappointed me, I'm not in the least offended. You've been a great help and I'm very grateful. And you most certainly deserve a long rest after a day like today."

"Thanks," Elsie smiled gratefully.

"I'll ask Beryl to fix you something to take away with you. You must be starving by now," Isobel smiled and turned to leave to find either Beryl or Daisy when Charles stopped her.

"Isobel," he said and continued after she faced him. "I should get going as well."

"Aren't you staying for another drink? Another cup of coffee perhaps?" Isobel enquired, looking up at Charles.

"I'm afraid I can't. I'm sorry. I've booked the taxi already, much earlier really and it's supposed to arrive shortly."

"Oh very well then," Isobel smiled at him. "Thank you so much for coming."

"My pleasure," he replied and leaned forward to kiss Isobel's cheek.

"I'll go fetch Beryl… or Daisy," Isobel hurriedly left.

"So… Mr Carson," Elsie said, standing straight from where she was leaning against the kitchen counter. "It was very nice to meet you."

"You too," Charles nodded. A pang of sadness or disappointment, he couldn't really name the feeling, perhaps both, struck through his heart. They had only just started the conversation and it was already time to leave. Could he ask if he could see her again? Would it be too forward, too bold? Was this a final goodbye before it was even a proper hello?

"I hope I'll see you around at something or another like this," Elsie said. She noted the shadow that crossed his eyes. Disappointment, she thought. Frankly she felt the same. She would have liked to talk more, get to know more about the tall, deep voiced Manager of Downton Abbey with his somewhat old fashioned politeness which she surprisingly liked. His deep, brown eyes… She shook her head mentally. What could she suggest, really? Time was running out in seconds…

"Yes," he agreed. "Perhaps…" he began but Isobel's arrival cut him short.

"Beryl's on her way," Isobel announced and left.

Charles looked back at Elsie who smiled rather sadly. "Well…"

"It was nice meeting you," Elsie said extending her hand. She didn't know what else to say despite deep in her mind, she desperately wanted to say something better than that.

"Likewise," he agreed and shook her hand firmly, holding on not willing to let go. None of them willing to let their hands go.

Finally, Charles gave in and let her hand go. Elsie felt him loosening his grip on her hand. She swallowed, unsure. Without thinking properly, she allowed her fingers to trail along his hand as he returned his hand to his side. A second later, she regretted it. What must he have thought of her, being so bold, so brazen even? She averted her gaze from his and looked at the floor and then back at him. A small sigh escaped her lips but it didn't reach his ears for Beryl was in the hallway that led to the kitchen calling out loudly to Daisy.

He smiled once more at her, nodded and turned towards the door. She kept on watching his retreating form as he left the kitchen and tried not to wonder if she would ever cross paths with Charles Carson again.

To be continued…

Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews! I'm so glad that you all like this story so far. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for this chapter. Real life intervened and inspiration ran a bit low. I'll try to post the next chapter as soon as possible. I would be very grateful if you could let me know in the reviews your thoughts on this chapter and this story so far. Thanks again! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! See you soon with the next!