In Response to the Guest Reviewers:
To the guest who's intrigued and hopes there's more, I definitely have more for you!
To RM, I'm so glad to hear you loved it and I definitely will be sure to keep it coming! Whoop whoop indeed :)
To Guest J, you're quite welcome! It's lovely to hear you like the plot and are curiously waiting for more!
Author's Note: Here's Part Two of that little day, as promised! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Remember, still don't own Downton and definitely am not claiming to aim for realism here.
_._
Sixteen Hours Into That Same Next Day
After several hours of managing incessant bickering, flour-spillage, crying kitchen maids as well as unnecessary smugness from both Thomas and O'Brien, Elsie Hughes had been able to obtain some semblance of peace. It wasn't much peace in the grand scheme of her life as housekeeper, but it was something.
It was also, of course, that same moment that she garnered some quiet for herself that the woman remembered her mission to retrieve the wine ledger. Which meant that, instead of clutching that peace for a few more minutes, she concluded she needed to get another move on before disaster struck again.
Standing in front of the entrance to the butler's pantry, distractedly biting her lip and feeling unusually inept at her job, Elsie continued to debate the matter. She knew she'd only have a couple of seconds to decide which course of action to take –– that is, she'd only have a couple of seconds if she didn't want to draw attention to herself.
"I take it illness can't convince our butler to rest, eh?" Refusing to jump at the sound of Beryl Patmore sneaking up on her, the woman having left her alone hours ago, the housekeeper curtly turned around to face the unamused cook, "What does he want this time? The wine ledger? Or did he want to take a crack at polishing the silver? Because, as you know, the silver's in––"
"If you must know, Mrs. Patmore," She didn't know why she was sharing such information with the woman; they were hardly friends. Perhaps it was because she was severely sleep-deprived, having collected maybe three hours of genuine rest in the last two days. Or, maybe, it was due to the fact that Charles Carson remembered Beryl Patmore and that counted for something in her foolish mind. Either way, she found herself sharing this scrap of information as though it were the storage cupboard key, "It's the ledger."
Mind, if it were the equivalent of handing over the key to the storage cupboard, she wouldn't have said anything about the ledger for centuries.
"Well, that'll distract him from the silver at least." The redhead retorted, "And I suppose you know where it all is, then, his ledger?"
Oh, she was beginning to lose her patience.
"Why else would I be fetching it, Mrs. Patmore?" Putting a hand on the pantry's door, she gave a pointed look to the cook to send the woman on her way. Once Elsie realized she needed no legitimate excuse to escape any of this conversation, not really having the capacity for idle chit-chat after remembering everything she needed to do, the housekeeper was ready to be left well alone.
"It is interesting, though," And what is interesting now, Mrs. Patmore? "He's not supposed to be working at all and you're still content to fetch him his precious wine journal. But when I need that key to keep this house alive, when I am the only reason any food here is made practically to perfection, I don't get––"
"Mrs. Patmore," So much for not causing a scene. Gripping the door knob with the other hand, growing desperate for a chance to maneuver herself out of this irritating scene, "I'll kindly remind you that we've already talked about this before. Today, in fact, as you no doubt remember."
"Oh, sure, but––" No, Mrs. Patmore, there'll be no more fighting about that wretched key today. Not if I can help it.
Tersely opening the door, "Now, if you'll excuse me."
Without another word, the housekeeper entered the pantry –– intentionally ignoring the disbelieving proclamations of the cook. It didn't matter if Beryl Patmore remained stuck to her spot outside, it didn't matter if the woman protested to his Lordship and demanded the housekeeper be sacked. Elsie was unwilling to remain in that unnecessary situation any longer, having no need to be badgered anymore today.
Shutting the door behind her, relief slamming up against her the second she was alone, it was with a sense of renewed exhaustion that Elsie realized she was. Stiffening a little at the sight before her, heaving out another sigh of confusion at the mess of emotions she'd been overtaken with these last few days, the woman closed her eyes and leaned against the frame of the door.
Things had been so close to being not okay.
Things had been so terribly, terribly close to being anything but okay.
And, yes, they were indeed okay. And, yes, she was slowly becoming a broken record for some time now, overwhelmed by what the world had brought her.
That didn't mean the world would be slowing down anytime soon. Nor did that mean she could linger in this state of worn existence for much longer.
Still, before she could do anything else, Elsie Hughes needed at least one moment to breathe.
Having not been here since before the fall, having had no interest in taking one foot inside this room ever since she ventured down into that cellar, the woman needed a moment to collect herself. The sight of everything in the room being untouched, having been left alone for as long as the downstairs could manage it, was enough to remind her just how close they'd been to another life. A life where her friend could have been lost to them, where she'd be forced to set aside fifteen years of love and friendship as though it were nothing.
She couldn't be lost to those thoughts, not again. They could snatch away her resolve to remain centered in about six hours or so, after she finally retired for the night. They could steal the little sleep she could afford after she got an answer about the only thing she cared about: if this ledger really could help Charles regain any bit of his memory.
Right now, she needed to take another step forward, a step in the direction where they continued to try their luck within this unknown. As dramatic as it seemed –– because, frankly, she felt as though she were living in a novel these days –– this was the only line of thinking that kept her going.
Though, I don't suppose actually fetching the blasted thing would help, now would it?
Thinly smiling at her sardonicism, Elsie refrained from shuddering at the sight of the ledger waiting for her in the center of his table. It looked as though the item really had been the cause of his fall –– seeing as how it'd been left sat on his desk for two days.
Meticulously closed, the journal calmly awaited her, looking to be ready to be taken up all those flights of stairs. Softly sighing to herself at the thought that this might be it, this might be enough to change something, the housekeeper carefully lifted the book up and looked it over for any hints of what might've happened. If she'd had the time, she might've leafed through the pages, scouring the records for any proper indications of what might've piqued Mr. Carson's interest.
She didn't have the time.
She could only hope that, in the process of ferrying that ledger to its rightful owner, she wouldn't be interrupted yet again. Hopefully, if the woman maintained a terse step and a self-important attitude throughout the house, nobody would dare to distract her from her mission.
After all, an occasionally wise man once informed her that it didn't always what was being carried about or managed. Typically, what mattered more was the manner of presentation.
Or, as he would've put it, the style.
Sixteen-and-a-Half Hours Into That Same Next Day
Elsie had managed to bring the records all the way up into his room, barely remembering to politely knock in case there any other unexpected guests in the room. But now, five minutes after making her way up and handing the book over, she found herself somewhat impatiently waiting for an answer –– her curiosity fervently frothing into a tense suspense.
"Well?" Is it or isn't it helping?
Are we getting anywhere or has this been an exercise in futility?
The woman did recognize that she wasn't being fair to her friend when it came to prodding him for an answer so quickly. She did understand that they'd possibly get further if she maintained a little more patience. However, on the way up, it became apparent that there'd be more of a mess downstairs for her to clean up –– both of the physical and metaphorical variety. So, she knew she only had another few minutes at best, something that was pushing her to obtain some sort of answer.
"I'm sorry, Elsie," Refusing to mentally curse at his words, figuring that Charles meant nothing was coming forth at the sight of this ledger, she was surprised to hear, "I just can't tell."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't––" Looking to be incredibly frustrated with himself, "I can't tell. I need more time."
"Of course," Standing in the doorway, wanting something more to do but being equally unsure as to where her place laid in this situation. "I'll come back later."
And, Elsie's mind began to tiredly think of something to say, blanking when it came to offering a sentiment of some kind. Something that frustrated her immensely, seeing as how the woman prided herself on being able to offer hopeful sentiments and words of wisdom, no matter the situation.
"'And', Elsie?"
She really was losing her touch if she hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud.
"And," The woman repeated, speaking the first words that came to mind, "And whether or not this works, we'll keep at it, Charles. We've no need to give up, not anytime soon."
He nodded to himself, taking the time to look up from the ledger and straight into her eyes.
"Do you mean that, Elsie?"
Pausing a moment, letting the stillness of the moment bring her some form of calm, she knew in her gut what her answer was:
"I do."
Seventeen Hours Into That Same Day
"Anna? Is everything all right?"
Elsie had once again been caught off-guard whilst handling the next round of rotas, a task that felt monumentally disconcerting in light of the blonde's sudden appearance. Praying that they were not in some sort of strange loop of time –– something out of an H.G. Wells novel, no doubt –– the housekeeper settled for letting the younger woman come in and inform her of whatever was the matter.
But, apparently, there was nothing to be concerned about.
"Everything's all right, Mrs. Hughes. I was just wondering," Stepping into the room, gently closing the door behind her, Anna looked right at the housekeeper as she spoke her piece, "I was just wondering if Mr. Carson had recovered at all."
Inwardly sighing for what felt like the umpteenth time that day, fully aware that if anyone had discovered how easy it'd be to eavesdrop on her sitting room this entire secret could be discovered. That, much as she would like to elaborate for Anna, being able to guess how concerned the woman really was, this was not the place to do so, "I'm afraid he hasn't fully recovered, no."
"But, he's showing signs of recovery?"
If by signs you mean moments where he looks as though he's nowhere on earth, too caught up in some sort of memory to know what reality is, then yes.
"Anna," Somehow, the housekeeper didn't think sharing her candid opinion on the matter would be the best course of action, "Even if Mr. Carson didn't show signs of recovery, do you think that'd stop the man from returning to work?"
Elsie smiled faintly as her subordinate snorted at this, the Scot relieved that her word-choice wasn't being questioned. Heaven only knew what her response would be if Anna had paid careful attention to what was being said.
"I suppose not." The younger servant eventually conceded, "Well, thank you for letting me know, Mrs. Hughes. Please tell Mr. Carson we all wish him a speedy recovery."
"I certainly will."
If only wishing ever guaranteed anything.
Eighteen Hours Into That Same Day
Elsie had crept up the stairs only when she'd confirmed that the on-going preparations for the dinner service would sufficiently distract everyone, not needing any sort of suspicion to arise with her repeated visits to the butler. After she was assured of complete discretion, the woman set about furtively knocking on the door before opening it. Quickly stepping into the room, she took her now customary spot of standing between the bed and the armchair –– not sure how much longer she could remain here before some sort of disaster struck the downstairs again.
By this point, she didn't need to ask about whether or not he remembered anything. The fact that Charles continued to fervently peruse the papers in the fading sunlight –– no longer fixated on the writing itself, but the journal as a whole –– told her what his response would be.
"Nothing."
It was a desperately weary confession, one that held much more pain than she was used to hearing from the man. And in the shame that filled the spaces of it, she quietly continued to listen to his explanation, "I understand everything that's written here, I recognize it all to be my handwriting, and still there is nothing familiar about it. No memories, no sparks, no hats, nothing."
Her heart fell a little further at that, so bewildered and worn down and unsure of itself. The world felt a little colder at his statement, a little more hopeless.
Still, something triggered her curiosity:
"Hats, Charles?"
He stilled at the question, avoiding her gaze by keeping his eyes glued to those records.
"It's nothing, Elsie. Just a foolish figment of imagination unworthy of mention." She frowned, knowing what that self-berating tone of his meant: the man was in a mood to punish himself for something out of his control and nothing would change that. "Right. I need to keep looking this over. I need to go through every page and see if there's something of value."
"How can I help?" Surely there had to be some way she could be of assistance, something she could do in order to assist in this matter. Even if it meant going down into that cellar again, seeing if there looked to be anything out of order, she was up for the job.
"You can help by getting some rest –– I've a feeling you've not slept in days." Elsie glared at Charles, not in the mood to rest anytime soon. "But, since I also know that asking you to do that would be a mistake on my part, my only request is that you continue to help ensure tonight's dinner service is as smooth as it can be."
"Of course." Knowing that this was his way of asking to be left alone, that this was the best time to make her departure, she began to take her leave. But, not before promising him one thing, "I will be back later tonight, Charles."
"Of that, Elsie, I'm sure." She watched as he managed a small smile, noticing discouragement continuing to taint whatever happiness had once been in his eyes these last few days. With that understanding came another, one that no longer surprised her:
The woman was beginning to realize that she'd do almost anything to bring that happiness.
Twenty-Three Hours Into That Same Next Day
Only once everyone else had retired to bed did Charles Carson hear the familiar footsteps of his wife stealthily approach his door. The wine ledger sat indifferently in his lap, disenchantment having long since stopped him in his tracks even though the pages remained incessantly open. Flipping through it for the last several hours yielded nothing of worth, only numbers dictating Downton's stock. Numbers he may have once prided himself on understanding, numbers that might've brought him great pride before, but numbers that now seemed irrelevant in the grand scheme of life.
"I'm sorry, Elsie," Charles dejectedly muttered again, looking as far away from the door as possible, not wanting to see her look as disappointed as he felt. "I'm so sorry I couldn't remember anything."
"It's quite all right, Charles," The warmth in her words, the optimism that peeked through the rays of exhaustion, had him softly smile to himself –– his eyes still fixed as far from her as possible even as she pushed aside his curtains. She seemed intent on letting a little more light into the room before approaching her customary spot in the room. Either way, he didn't want any more light shedding itself on the matter: he couldn't face reality yet, didn't want to acknowledge that all of this was far more than he'd ever imagined. "Shall I have a look at it, then?"
The man barely had time to respond to her inquiry, the weight of the ledger being lifted from his lap as she took over the search. Taking a seat in the armchair beside his bed, he could hear the sound of her breath catch itself as the comfort of the chair momentarily overtook her. But that comfort hardly deterred her from cracking the journal open and skimming the pages for the dates in question.
Well, she was content to answer her own question, wasn't she?
Strangely enough, he hardly minded.
"There's enough moonlight we don't need the lamp. And while I may not know what exactly happened, I know how to spot a discrepancy or two. Of course, you could have been just trying to decide a selection back then, but why would you have done that when..."
It was at this point that Charles, who had been poised to speak on the futility of the subject, took a mental step back and–– and realized what the woman was wearing.
It was a conservative outfit, the nightgown ensuring as much decorum as such attire could. Yet it was far more intimate than anything he could recall seeing her in before. Mind, he couldn't actually remember much from their time together. Snippets of conversation, blurred moments that stretched into that wretched abyss, nothing concrete. Worst still, he couldn't even recall their wedding, let alone ever getting any rings, although he was sure everything –– however it turned out –– had been a wonderful affair.
In any case, if he couldn't recall any of that, it only meant that he treasured seeing her like this. Getting a glimpse of her her as his wife, not the infamous housekeeper of Downton. And because he treasured seeing her like this, he was as enamoured with making sure she took care of herself.
Which meant he had to at least try to get her to go to sleep instead of staying up all night with him.
So, after a minute, the man decided to speak up:
"Elsie,"
"Relax, love," Giving a small smile at the unusual word-choice, he could now see how immersed she was in the ledger. "I'll only be a minute."
Watching her sit, the moonlight sketching out some of the finer details normally hidden in the light of day, he couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man on earth. There was still a horrid cloud surrounding him, a familiar abyss of emptiness that lurked just out of sight. But, she was here and determined to stay behind his side, and––
And already fighting back her third yawn.
"Elsie, darling," The woman wouldn't move from her spot, sheer stubbornness supporting her alone, no doubt. So, he knew he had to change tactics, "Maybe this time I'll remember something. Why don't we look it over together?"
"Hmm?" Oh, the woman was clearly knackered. Charles knew he couldn't say as such, not if he wanted to remain a happily married man. But he didn't want her to overwork herself to the point of collapse.
"I think I might remember something this time around," He dutifully repeated, "Shall we look over it together?"
"Oh," Now it was his turn to move before she could say another word, adjusting himself so that she didn't have to move from the chair to share the records. With just enough space to balance the ledger between the two of them, he could help her share the burden of looking this over, "Oh, I suppose that makes sense."
Charles knew there wasn't much of a chance of his remembering anything tonight –– not after everything they'd gone through today.
But the goal of this was less about recalling anything and more about taking care of his wife.
Said wife was already starting to droop a little in posture, her momentum fading further now that she wasn't looking over the book alone. After a moment, Charles tested his luck by slipping the records a little out of her grasp. When she looked to be hardly cognizant of the action, that only confirmed how alert she truly was –– telling him that he'd incur no wrath nor protest if he tried to set the journal down on the floor in-between the bed and the nightstand.
Normally, he'd never dream of handling any of Downton's records in such a fashion. But, after the lack of resolution the ledger provided, Charles felt unusually satisfied with this course of action. He had to truly be losing his mind if this nearly rebellious act seemed acceptable, but the action really didn't bother him half as much as it might've.
"I don't think there's a discrepancy, Charlie. Not within these last few months, at least." Elsie sleepily murmured, the sound bringing a blissful sense of drowsiness to the man. He knew that he was just as worn out as his wife, that someone could knock them both down with only a feather if they really wanted to.
But that chair probably wouldn't be terribly conducive for sleep –– not that he remembered the finer details, of course.
"Can you make it to your room all right?" Because, unless she was unable to move, he had the funniest feeling she'd think it terribly indecent to remain here for the evening while he was recovering.
Elsie nodded, starting to stand up before something knocked her off-balance, sending her right back into the armchair. Quietly muttering something that sounded like quite the curse –– he should've been scandalized by the sound, but found it to be more endearing than anything else –– he watched her try to push herself off, but to no avail.
"I am terribly sorry about this, Charles," And she really did sound quite apologetic. Which made no sense, seeing as how he was the one who'd lost his memory and had been causing her recent lack of rest. "But I do believe you're stuck with me for the night."
Softly smiling, the world starting to feel a lot lighter, "Haven't you realized, Elsie, that the whole point of marriage is to be stuck together for many nights to come?"
Even in the dim lighting of the night, he could see her blush –– the sight just as pretty as ever before.
"Mr. Carson," He quietly snorted at the name, amused to say the least that she was resorting to a formality now of all times. "Ye–– you may have a point there."
I do believe that is the point.
Still, judging from the fact that her lilt was starting to slide into a brogue and he had the urge to guffaw at it –– a most undignified reaction for him to have –– Charles could only assume that they were both in desperate need of sleep.
"So, what do you suggest, Mrs. Carson? I don't think I can let you stay there, not if I can help it. Which means I either have to take your spot, carry you back to your room," A thought he didn't particularly mind, if he were being honest, "Or, we can enjoy a privilege of married life."
And share this lovely bed that's much closer than your room and much more comfortable than that chair.
He could hear her rolling her eyes in protest of all three options as she struggled to remain upright. And, giving her a moment to think it through, he curiously watched as his wife continued to stare down the space in front of her –– the woman now perched on the edge of the bed.
"Don't tell me you mean to fling yourself back into your room?" I don't recall that being an option, Elsie.
"No." The man wasn't convinced by her answer, seeing as how she looked poise to do just that. Yet, even if she managed to make it to her feet –– something that seemed less and less likely, judging from the subtle tremors of exhaustion overtaking her body –– she probably wouldn't be able to make it all the way.
It was very easy for him to imagine witnessing her collapsed halfway to her room, having overworked herself all because of him. And as her husband he would do his very best to make sure that none of that ever happened.
"Elsie, don't push yourself to do something you can't." Readjusting himself, ready to help her but beginning to accept the fact that she might honestly fall asleep right then and there. And he'd have to accept that. "I promise you, there's no need for that."
The woman remained still, fixating on trying to get up from the plushy depths that enveloped her. And while Charles was initially confused about why she didn't feel comfortable about sleeping in the same room, considering their relationship, he tried to set aside his confusion ––wanting to understand. It wasn't as though the house would fall apart if it were to be discovered they had shared a bed, what with their being married––
Oh.
"Elsie, love," Oh, she was far more considerate than he currently wanted to be. Because, even if they were married or not, there were standards to be set as the butler and housekeeper of Downton. Which meant that if she overslept, if someone discovered she was not in her rooms, it would cast a lot of criticism in their direction –– something they didn't need. "You're not going to make any of this worse by staying here tonight."
It really is all right, as tiresomely repetitive the words may have seemed.
With her occupying the armchair, frankly an innocuous spot for the woman to reside, he already felt far more at ease than he had in days. He felt as though he truly wasn't alone, that his incompetency when it came to remembering didn't really matter with her here. Even if someone discovered them together in the morning, even if things had to come to light long before this abyss was ready to let them go, it would be okay.
"How can you know that?"
It was lowly whispered with a vulnerability that had cut through the air more so than any of Mrs. Patmore's knives. She wasn't just talking about the possible impropriety, that much was for certain.
And he was just as certain he never wanted to hear such fear from her ever again.
"I can't pretend to know anything about this, Elsie," Charles wasn't going to lie to her. He couldn't do that to the woman, he respected her far too much. "But I can say that letting fear dictate our lives isn't living. Letting fear take over is giving into the lowest form of existence possible and it is something I refuse to do."
These last few days had changed him more than he could've ever imagined. Whether his memory came back or not, things were inherently different in his life. He could no longer claim to be the same man he was three days ago.
She slowly nodded in the silence, a contemplation of sorts running around her as far as he could tell. Something within his words had managed to strike a chord within the woman, hopefully one that would let her rest even if she didn't move out of that chair.
"If I've learned anything lately," Charles had almost dozed off to sleep when she finally spoke, her sotto voce words stirring him back into consciousness for at least the next few seconds. "It's that we will never know what the future holds in store for us or how much longer we'll even be here."
His heart ached at the honest sentiment, painfully attentive as she continued, knowing that the woman wasn't done speaking.
"But, whatever the future holds for us, however long we're here," Sluggishly, determined to do this one last thing before sleep claimed her for the night, she reached out a hand –– holding it out for him to only if he wanted it, "We'll be here together."
Unhesitatingly, he reached out to take the offered promise –– tenderly grasping a part of the steady existence that was her. Bridging the gap between the armchair and the bed, neither he nor she had the strength to do anything else but keep holding on as sleep began to forcefully persuade them into resting.
And the best part?
The best part about this was not finally regaining a peaceful air as his mind began to drift into slumber. The best part was also not the fact that he could ensure they would both rest for the next few precious hours, something that was vital for any of this to work.
No, none of that amounted to the best part. The best part was, in his opinion, two-fold. Firstly, it was having the freedom to sleepily beam in the darkness, to groggily bask in this splendid blessing and revel in the peace it brought. Secondly, it was knowing that –– even with that abyss tainting the last ten years –– she still trusted him enough, still loved him enough, he knew he'd never have to endure any of this alone.
He could trust in this promise being their reality, whatever else may occur.
And, judging from the sounds of contentment emanating from his wife, the woman's breath having eased into that of true slumber within seconds, she felt the exact same way.
_._
Second Author's Note: I have to say, I think this story's altered my writing much like I've altered it. … No? Doesn't quite have the same ring to it as the original quotation?
Fair enough.
In any case, to those who are a little concerned about the sleep-deprivation declarations: I've found that exhaustion, as disorienting as it can be, can be quite eye-opening when it comes to personal truths. I also thoroughly intend on giving them both a little rest before we take any other serious steps forward.
Either way, as always, I hope you enjoyed this little treat and that you have a lovely day! See you in 3-5 days!