Her Little Secret, His Little Dream

by R. Clearwater

"Mrs. Hughes," The head housemaid didn't quite stutter, but she definitely looked shaken from whatever it was that had happened. Clearly, there was a crisis of some kind, that much was obvious. However, until Elsie learned otherwise there was no use in acting as though the sky had fallen–– "It's Mr. Carson." (Series 1 Divergent; Amnesia! AU)

6. The Conversation

In Response to Guest Reviews: To the guest who said they want to keep reading, I am honored! Thank you so much for your review!

Author's Note: Okay, so I know I'm really early, but this chapter came to me faster than I anticipated (and then proceeded to beg to be posted sooner rather than later). Not the happiest of chapters, but there will be hope.

Also, if there's a certain familiarity, a certain parallelism to a specific CS, I'm sure that's only a coincidence!

And, finally, for those who are curious as to why Jane Eyre suddenly made an appearance, you should definitely check out GeordieLass' Here and Now. Definitely a sweet Chelsie treat.

Disclaimer: Even though I'm aiming for Fellows-level melodrama today, I can confirm that I am not him and therefore do not own the rights to Downton Abbey.

_._

Six Hours Before The Return

This was their last evening, the last opportunity they had to stall before Mr. Carson had to be brought back to the downstairs world. Already, Barrow and O'Brien were beginning to grow suspicious of the butler's lack of recovery, prompting Elsie to fair warn her friend that this was it, they were officially out of time for any more last-minute miracles.

Still, even though she had come to terms with that, it hadn't meant she was, by any means, ready to come to terms with two other prominent facts about the situation:

Firstly, although the butler was indeed beginning to prove his competence once again, he was unable to recall little more than faint ideas of the past. There had been proper rivulets of memory that had begun to ease back into his mind, like the previous evening with Jane Eyre, for instance. However, there was no concrete return, none of that true confidence that came with remembering everything before the fall.

Which meant that her friend would be forced to take his chances with his instincts. That his return wasn't guaranteed to be the smoothest nor the easiest.

Of course, it was only once she understood that first fact could she come to terms with the second:

More than three days after recognizing the conversation she needed to have with him, Elsie managed to remain inordinately unprepared when it came to addressing the truth. She hadn't a clue as to how to break the news to him, how to set up the conversation so that reality could be easily reached as painlessly as possible. And, if he miraculously remembered everything upon coming back tomorrow without her having said a word tonight... well, she didn't know what she would do.

"Penny for your thoughts, love?"

Tiredly sat in the armchair, thankful Charles had never questioned her about why she hadn't joined him back on the bed, especially considering their kiss from only a few days ago, Elsie shook her head. They'd just finished another few pages of Jane Eyre, easing into that fashion of silence where troubled thoughts continually took to the surface.

Then, recognizing her cowardice about everything, she bit her lip and tried her best to come up with something.

"Do you ever think of what might've happened if we'd gone another way?" It was a half-hearted reference to an old conversation, one that had haunted her thoughts for a day now.

In light of his feelings for her –– for, while it was true these feelings of romance may honestly be meant for someone else, it was clear his intimate trust was directed solely toward her –– Elsie had thought back to their old conversations. She wondered if that same trust of his had been there all along, if all the feelings that'd emerged over these last few days had actually been present throughout the last decade.

There was one conversation in particular that, now that the woman thought of it, had been rather one-sided and begged for reflection. A conversation that she couldn't help but question after all this time, wondering if she'd somehow misread the whole thing.

For when she'd asked Charles about if he'd ever considered another way of life, he had never answered her. He hadn't told her if he ever imagined having a wife and child, if he had wanted to work in a shop or factory once upon a time. The man had only calmly deflected the questions, asking her instead. Had only watched as she answered her own questions, letting her own insecurities slip into the open. And while that may have been due to his position as butler, she'd recently begun to reconsider that moment from another perspective.

She'd started to wonder if he'd been withholding from her because it was she who had asked.

Which was partially why Elsie had brought the subject back up again. Not only because she wanted to see if the words would trigger anything, but also because –– as cowardly as it felt to beat around the bush like this –– she figured that starting in familiar territory might help her warm up to the more unknown topic: his inevitable reaction to the truth.

"What do you mean, 'gone another way'?" Charles' tone told her they were on the brink of discovering something. What exactly that brink was was something else altogether. "Do you mean if I'd worked in a shop or factory?"

"That's part of it, yes." Recognizing the familiarity of this, Elsie briefly wondered if she should carry on with the old script. A glance at Jane Eyre, a glimpse that reminded her of how persistent and brave Jane grew to be over time, provided her with a different, scarier answer. "But that's not all of it."

"It isn't?"

"No." Refusing to frown or bit her lip any longer, not interested in letting regret dictate any more of her actions, "Charles, I have a confession to make."

Well, he certainly didn't like the sound of her statement, not if his face was anything to go by. And she didn't like the taste of it, those dreaded words that were certainly spelling out an end for all of this. But if they were to make a clean break out of it, if they were to have a chance of surviving as friends, they needed to talk.

"What is it, Elsie?"

The woman mirthlessly smiled, feeling a strange sense of regret grow within her. Friends and colleagues didn't resort to Christian names, certainly not in their case where roles like butler and housekeeper demanded an ever-present formality. And, though it had been initially disconcerting to hear her name spoken like that she had become accustomed to it –– finding now that she'd miss the sound.

She'd miss a lot of things from the last few days.

But she needed to keep going.

"Before I say anything else, I need to ask you something." Looking away from the novel, making sure to squarely meet his concerned gaze, the woman at last asked the one thing that'd been bothering her for days now, "What else do you remember about our–– our being together?"

Elsie couldn't call it a marriage, couldn't dare to refer to any of it in those terms. Didn't want to feel as though she'd outright lied to the man.

Though, honestly, what else could she consider this last week?

"You mean, besides the terms of endearments?"

"Yes." Surely our being together so often this last week, our kiss, our looking at Jane Eyre, our discussions and provocations –– surely, some part of that revealed at least a hint of the truth to you?

"Honestly?" Elsie steeled herself for anything, watching as the man's demeanour began to contort into something a lot less neutral, "Nothing's come to mind."

Within seconds, his own truth began to hastily careen forward, "No memories of our joining together prior to this week, no wedding ceremony, no honeymoon, no secret walks to the village, no nights spent together, no kisses of any kind––"

My, my. Those were not thoughts befitting of only companionship. But, thoughts of companionship and marriage were highly inappropriate to contemplate, especially after everything.

Calmly regaining her senses, Elsie watched him take a shuddering breath, the man apologetically continuing to confess once some semblance of his own control was reaffirmed, "Please forgive me, Elsie, because I remember absolutely nothing beyond mere impressions. And I am so frustrated with myself for it because––"

His words collapsed into tension, silence constricting any voice he had.

Well, the woman had suspected that it'd only be impressions and no real scenes –– which at least showed that he inherently recognized the truth on some level of thought. Still, her heart continued to crumble a little further with each confession. She couldn't imagine the guilt Charles must've experienced over this, the disappointment in himself for something that was not his fault in the slightest.

No, it was not his fault.

She was the one who followed doctor's orders, who remained fixated on trying to get his memories back any way she could. The one who initially kept pushing for a resolution so that things could go back to the way things were. And then she became the one who continued to push all of this because it looked to be the only way she could partake in the company of her friend –– this looked to be the only answer for keeping him in her life.

How could I have possibly been so selfish––

"Why do you ask?"

Closing her eyes at this question, loathing that this was what she needed to do, "Because there's a reason you don't remember anything else about us."

Charles Carson never stopped staring at the woman after his rambling, least of all when she spoke like that. Sitting in the dark atmosphere that had taken over his room, so unsure of what she meant and definitely not liking the sound of it, the man continued to watch with an uneasy curiosity. He saw the tension that gripped her body, that bothered look of hers taking clear hold of her face again, and knew that there was an answer here to so many questions.

And as much as he'd like to take her in his arms and reassure her everything would be perfectly fine, whatever she needed to say –– an action he'd been wanting to do for quite some time now –– Charles knew this was something she had to do.

"Your not remembering anything would be because," For someone he knew could be terribly straightforward, she was taking her time, inadvertently demonstrating how much this pained her. "Because there really hadn't been an us, not in the sense you've thought."

Charles should have been shocked. He should have demanded an explanation for such nonsense. He should have protested her words right then and there, arguing that nothing could be further from the truth.

He only continued to let her speak, letting the true picture begin to form.

"Now, I've not lied to you and I've no meaning of ever doing so," Elsie hesitated, feeling her own personal torment begin to seep into this confession, "But there are things I've avoided saying."

Wanting to ask, knowing he was seconds away from knowing the truth and that it'd be something entirely different than anything he'd faced in the last seven days, the man continued to listen.

"When you had fallen, I was petrified by the thought of losing you. Maybe that's why I'd started to take part in this folly, why it had only taken some persuasion from Doctor Clarkson to carry on in this charade –– I honestly couldn't tell you."

Doctor Clarkson? What the man had to do with this, Charles hadn't the faintest idea.

"But, whatever drove me to this, there's no excuse for how I've acted. There's no legitimate explanation for why I've done what I've done, why I've felt ––" Why you felt what, precisely? "But, none of that matters now. What matters now is telling you the truth."

Charles nodded again, these little slips of hers –– her stumbling words, her pitch wavering, everything –– only solidifying his own resolution to hear out everything.

"After the incident, I'd informed Doctor Clarkson of that moment in the cellar, of how you thought I was your–– your," Pausing, having not spoken this word in front of him before, "Your wife. And when the doctor had heard this, he had informed me that it would be best to accept this role. That to do otherwise might cause irreparable damage to your health –– quite possibly making it impossible for you to recover.

"At first I thought the idea too far-fetched, too distasteful to partake in. I didn't want to lead you on like that, I didn't want to witness you recover only to watch you discover you'd been lied to." Charles didn't see it like that, not one bit. However, before he could protest any of her words, "But then I realized that I cared about you far too much to do anything else. That, any chance to help you regain your life, even if it cost us our friendship, was worth it."

Well, it all explained so much of the last few days.

And, contrary to what she seemed to be thinking, he felt no anger toward her.

Only more shame.

Charles couldn't remember anything, her words brought no clear confirmation to his mind. And, still, deep in his gut, he knew that she was right. Which meant that it was his incapability, his lack of memory, that had caused her this nightmare of a week.

"I'm sorry that I've brought this upon you," Elsie carried on, beginning to withdraw as her tone became more resigned, "But, I couldn't bear you discovering this on your own."

And Charles appreciated that she had told him, especially now that he was only a few hours away from returning.

"I know it must be distasteful to hear this now, that you must be embarrassed, angry even, to have––"

He couldn't let her continue, "Please, Els–– Mrs. Hughes," Not knowing where they stood on that front, not liking how she winced at the sound of her name, the man proceeded to explain, "I'm not embarrassed."

And, watching her questioningly stare at him, "I'm not embarrassed or angry. I am ashamed." Seeing those questions only increase in her eyes, "That I brought this upon you, that I couldn't reach the truth on my own." Staring at the floor, being unable to meet her dumbstruck gaze at this point, "If my mind hadn't managed to concoct this bullying scheme––"

"You cannot be held responsible for this, Mr. Car–– Charles." Elsie Hughes knew this would most likely be one of the last times she'd ever get a chance to speak to him like this. That this was important enough she'd set aside decorum, even if he already knew reality and she no longer had the right to. "You are not to be blamed for something we hardly understand. And even if we did understand it, you are still not to be blamed."

Hesitant to continue voicing her thoughts, she realized now said thoughts would never leave her alone if she didn't say them here and now. That if she walked away with these final concerns unvoiced, she would live to regret it for the rest of her days. And so, with more hesitation than the woman thought possible, she briefly looked away from him before turning back and continuing to unravel everything.

"To be honest, as foolish as it may be for me to say, I did enjoy this little secret, this little dream. I can't blame you for how you felt –– I can't even imagine what this has been for you. But if I were to continue stringing you along," She held up a hand at his protest, "It would only become a lie. And, as I said before, I've no intention of ever doing that to you."

Well then. She'd said her piece and he'd undoubtedly need some time to think it through.

Which meant now was as good a time as any to make her departure.

It was with a detached air that the housekeeper collected Jane Eyre, determinedly pushing herself out of the armchair and onto her feet. Mr. Carson had every right to be upset with her in her eyes, every right to be vexed by her behaviour within the situation. That the butler said nothing, silently watching her as she began to walk away, made perfect sense –– without even looking at him, she knew he'd undoubtedly want nothing to do with her now.

And, still, there was one more thing her heart craved to say.

Staring at the door, one hand already grasping the doorknob, Elsie slowly turned back once more, "I understand now if you want nothing to do with me. Certainly, there's no need for more nightly readings." The book burned in her hand at this, feeling as though it'd all been an unnecessary mistake on her behalf to indulge in it. "But, I stand by what I said before. I would like to keep facing the future together. The only difference now is that I understand I've no right to ask for it, not with the way you must feel about everything."

Without another word, she determinedly began to turn back toward opening the door, ready to accept all consequences for her actions. Maybe they'd be able to salvage their friendship, it was more likely that she shouldn't have been so quick to initially assume that it would all work out. But, either way, she'd said her piece and that was all she could do.

"I really wish you wouldn't presume to know my feelings about this."

It was not spoken with an accusatory, embarrassed air. Anger did not latch onto any of his words with this statement.

Far from it, judging from the quiet resolution in his voice.

She kept a hand on the door, disconcerted and highly disbelieving that those were his words, "Now that I've told you the truth, you are to tell me that all is well between us? That you're not at all upset?"

It was his turn for hesitation, "I admit that I need some time to think it through,"

She turned around, shutting the door gently behind –– ever the conscientious housekeeper, even at this late hour, "There you have it then!"

However, his hesitation did not look to spill over into anything else, "I'm sorry, but I don't agree."

"And why not?" Because, if he truly thought he had no reason to be upset, maybe it was more than his memory that the man had lost!

Yet it looked as though he would persist in his reasoning, "Because I don't see why you have to leave, why you feel you must cut yourself out of everything now."

And why not? She mentally repeated this thought to herself, feeling inexplicably exhausted and unexpectedly defeated by his foolish attitude. Why was the man being this stubborn?

"Don't you?"

Unswerving, though with traces of at least some sort of sheepishness, "Not really, no."

Elsie unashamedly shot him a look of growing bewilderment, her jaw not quite dropping but definitely not fully shut, "You mean, even after a week of my lying––"

"But was it a lie?"

She sharply shook her head once more, a scoff faintly drawing itself through the air at this plainly spoken question, "Mr. Carson, I refused to tell you that we were never officially married. I never informed you that your believed relationship with me was, in fact, a dream."

The man insistently held to a collected tone, "Did I ever ask?"

"Well, no, not exactly. But––"

"Right. So, were your actions throughout this last week driven only by a sense of obligation for your colleague? Was that where you 'lied'?"

"Of course not!"

"Then, once again, I'm sorry, Elsie," Charles was decidedly not sorry, if his matter-of-fact attitude was anything to go by, "But I don't how you lied to me."

Now, I see how you were forced into a very difficult situation not many would've accepted, given the circumstances. I see how this last week had to be hell for you, given the integrity I know you to have. But I really don't see how you lied to me.

He continued to speak, hoping she would at least listen to him if not forgive herself, "And, with that in mind, I really don't see why we can't hold to that promise of continuing to see this through together."

"But," The woman continued to softly protest, momentarily looking away in incredulity before squarely meeting his unflinching gaze, "You now know we are not married. It's all changed now, Charles, –– how can you be so accepting of this having finally heard everything?"

I very much doubt I do know "everything" about this. But, that's not the point here. "Why does it matter, whether we're married or not?" He held up a hand, just as she did minutes ago, praying the woman would continue to hear him out, "According to what you've told me, we've been 'not married' for fifteen years. And yet I know for a fact that we've managed to face so much of those fifteen years together –– that we stuck by one another's side as colleagues, friends even."

Charles didn't need his memories to truly begin to understand the foundation behind their relationship. He didn't need every detail of the last decade in order to begin comprehending why he'd secretly thought them married by this point, why that dream of his had blended so well into reality.

Elsie still had a long way to go before she could be convinced on this front, convinced that he had to be somehow delirious from hearing the confession, "And I suppose when your memories come back tomorrow, you won't suddenly want a new 'together' with someone else?"

Oh, that'd never happen.

But, even so, he knew better than to voice that truth just yet.

Instead, Charles focused on speaking the practical language of the woman before him: "Suppose my memories never come back?"

"Char–– Mr. Carson," To hear her slip like that gave him more hope than he could imagine, considering that she seemed determined to hold herself responsible for everything, stringing herself back to a level of formality that looked to be unbearable, "Do not talk like that!"

"I have to." Elsie, I have to. "I can't live a life where I'm always wondering about a future that may never come."

"But you've only just found out the truth! How do you know it won't all come back when you fall asleep?" Somehow he doubted that, given everything. "And, even if it didn't, how could you possibly be so sure this is what you want?"

Charles took her questions in with great consideration. For the first one, he had no doubt that a miraculous recovery was unlikely to happen. Given their efforts of the last week, it truly didn't seem very probable. So the idea of his recovering everything once he fell asleep tonight was not a concept he had much faith in.

As for the second question?

As for the second question, his mind sank back into the facts before him. For starters, it'd been second-nature to see a lifetime spent by her side, in any capacity. Not once in all this time had his mind thought of anyone else he'd want instead. There were droplets of recollection that spoke of other people he'd cared for, fading rivulets of other faces he'd once surrounded himself with, of feelings he'd once fervently carried.

However, nothing had felt as clearer than what he felt for her, even now, especially now. He couldn't imagine how Elsie must've felt this last week, what she was taking on for him of all people. And that the woman was terribly upset about the whole thing, that she had felt so much guilt it was apparent for all the world to see, to the point where she'd confessed everything tonight –– an action many others would've desperately avoided at all costs –– told him that she cared a great deal for him.

Which, in turn, only confirmed how certain he felt about the matter.

How, if she were agreeable, he would adore to continue to face the future by her side, together.

"Charles?" Elsie questioned, so unsure of everything she slipped and uttered his Christian name without even realizing it. She remained entrenched in observing the matter, concernedly watching as the man proceeded to deeply think on the matter –– contemplating her questions and giving no definite answer away in his face. There had been no traces of anger or upset, nothing except for a resolution that told her nothing.

"Much like the future," He eventually began, drawing her completely into listening with nary a thought, "I can't guarantee this is how I'll always feel."

Finally, Elsie felt relieved Charles was being objective, that he was taking life into consideration. Clearly this couldn't continue on and he was finally beginning to understand as such. Perhaps now, regardless of his memories, he was once again seeing reason.

"But, I can say that walking away now is one of the last things I want to do. Whatever comes next, walking away is something I refuse to do." The ever remained in his statement unspoken –– the optimistic promise decidedly against what she thought reality had to be.

That unspoken promise rang loudly in her ears, nearly disarming many of the woman's concerns as well as her fervent belief in what everything had to be. But she could only assume that this was what happened when such topics were discussed. She could only reason that sentimentality and idealism dipped into any conversation the later it got, convincing the speakers to trust in the world. And it was only when realism properly awoke in the morning that said speakers realized what a mistake they'd made.

Well, then. Elsie wanted to ask if he'd feel the same about everything, if this would still hold true, even if they never married. Even if they went back to only being colleagues, friends that worked together on matters of the house, would he continue to hold to his promise?

"And I can only suppose nothing I say will change your mind?"

His resounding nod would have been endearing to an infinite degree if she hadn't been so perplexed by everything.

"You'd be quite right to assume so, yes."

Well, that confirmed it: Charles really was quite the daft man. Still, the woman had to attempt one final argument, "Even though I essentially lied to you this entire last week?"

"I wouldn't call it lying so much as being placed in a tenuous position not many could manage."

Elsie shot him another look of disbelief, shaking her head once more and glancing away so as to not blatantly roll her eyes at him. After everything, he looked to be determined to see her in some sort of positive light –– as though she could ever redeem herself for what she had put him through these last few days.

"All right." It was obvious that she'd not been able to convince him of anything, not now. Which meant that, at the very least, she could ensure that they both got a semblance of rest by leaving his room now.

"I'm not sure why I should have this right, why you're not upset," Elsie was seriously considering putting forth a discreet question toward Dr. Clarkson to see if memory loss changed one's personality, if she was being entirely honest. "But I'll take no further advantage of it, not tonight."

Charles wanted to tell her she could take every advantage at any time she pleased. But he wouldn't.

Not yet.

"So," He began to cautiously start once more, "We'll walk down together then, as planned?"

Over the course of the last few days, they had come to an agreement on how to proceed if the man needed to return before he remembered everything. That, when it was time for him to go back to the downstairs, they would meet before-hand and make their way down together. It was all in case seeing those familiar surroundings triggered anything for the man. That way, if he found himself overwhelmed or taken aback, she'd by his side to reassure him that he had nothing to fear.

"If you've not come to your senses by the morning," Never. I will never come to those senses –– they're not mine. "Then, yes, we'll go down together."

Charles nodded, inwardly relieved she was continuing to agree to this. Then, daring to push his luck just a bit more, "And then, after we've proven tomorrow's return to be a success, perhaps we could do some light reading?"

He held back a smile at the sound of her snort.

"My, my," Oh, how he missed that little phrase of hers. It'd only been a short while since he'd last heard it, but Charles knew that it meant she was having a bit of fun. That the woman still thought him much too daft to take seriously, but she wasn't about to slam the door on their friendship. "You're much more confident about it all now –– perhaps I should've told you the truth from the start."

Shaking his head at this, knowing she did the right thing, Charles could only softly smile in response –– still waiting for her answer. Perhaps she'd never return his feelings. But, if she were willing and truly wanting to remain friends, he'd be thrilled.

Well? For she still hadn't answered him and it'd been at least half a minute.

But he needn't hold any trepidation or fear about the subject. For it was within a few more seconds of contemplation that prompted her to act. And, watching Elsie walk over to him, Charles' heart soared as she held Jane Eyre out for him to take.

"I'd be delighted," Elsie whispered, the fondness she still held for him as clear as day, "And I mean that."

"Thank you." Joyfully taking both the book and the sentiment, savouring the fact that things just might be turning in the right direction now that the truth had been spoken, now that he was beginning to truly understand everything, Charles couldn't help but confess: "Things have really started to make sense again, Elsie, and I have you to thank for it."

He could finally understand his feelings, for one, as well as her behaviour all of this last week. The concerned air she'd tried to hide away throughout their time together, the looks of loving devotion that snuck into her gaze from time to time. How she'd been inordinately tense that first day, up until that blessed kiss, and why that tension had begun to noticeably sink back into her these last three.

"You do, do you?" Charles wished he could explain it all now. But they both needed time to think and to come to terms with things, that was for sure. If he wanted any chance of his own explanation to be understood, for it to be taken as his truth and nothing else, he needed to give her the space she needed –– the continued reassurance that it didn't matter what relationship they carried, he just wanted to keep facing life together any way he could. "I can't say the same for myself."

"Well, perhaps some sleep will help." The man honestly figured he'd not be getting any sleep anytime soon, but that shouldn't stop her from resting.

"Oh, I doubt that, Ch–– Mr. Carson," Her remaining shock was abundant, enough so that he could spot it a mile away. It wasn't only in her words, but the fact that she hadn't stopped staring at him –– a myriad of emotions swirling openly about her eyes. The housekeeper was normally much more guarded, much harder to read, "But, I think I'll take my leave. That is, unless you've any secrets of your own you wish to share tonight?"

None you don't already know.

"My only wish tonight is for you to get some rest and pleasant dreams."

Elsie nodded at this, knowing that all the sleep in the world wouldn't stop her from questioning why this conversation had ended so amicably. Why it hadn't ended with her rightfully ending any further machinations on her part, putting a stop to these foolish dreams of theirs that couldn't possibly be right.

"Well, then," She thought his wish over carefully, knowing that sleep would not be coming to her anytime soon. But, at least, he'll probably be able to sleep, now that he knows reality. "I'll wish the same to you."

And, turning toward the door for the third time that evening, she quietly began to make her way back to her own room –– still astounded to say the least. But, as had become her mantra of late, it was no matter. For when the morning came to them tomorrow, when realism had finally woken up and disrupted sentimentality's spell as well as idealism's dream, things would be as they were meant to be.

And that was something she had never been so sure of in her life.

_._

Author's Note: So, we certainly have resolution on his front, at least for now, but does hers ever change? And, if it does, how so?

Now, normally, this is the part where I'd say "Toodle-loo! 'Till the next update!" and all that wonderful jazz. And I will get to that. But I've a question I want to ask before I do so:

Since you all have been so wonderfully supportive, something that's inordinately humbling, I was wondering –– is there anything you'd like to see in this story? Because, if you have any requests you'd like to make for this, I'd love to hear them.

In any case, as always, I hope you have a lovely day! 'Till next time!