In Response to Guest Reviewers:
To the guest who thought the last one was a nice chapter and liked how the unique circumstances truly don't get in the way, thank you! I am right there with you :)
Author's Note: Thank you so much for your patience and continued support with this little story!
_._
Eight Minutes Before The Return
For a few brief moments, Elsie Hughes could have said that she was ignorant to the trials before her today. She could have remained groggily ensconced in her covers, allowing herself to be oblivious to the early hour and the fact that she'd been foolish enough to tell him everything last night. She'd risked their friendship on a whim, on something that unlikely to happen. Although her friend had partially recovered from his fall, he had not shown any signs of a full recovery. Worst still, contrary to how he acted last night, she was convinced that –– whether he remembered or not –– he'd be severely disappointed in her behaviour, rightfully so.
So much for ignorance. Even if she wanted to pretend all was well with the world, the woman was far too practical to engage in such conduct. Hence, her immediately dragging herself out of bed the moment she realized what today held in store, forcing herself to face it as gracefully as she could.
And now?
Now, she was walking toward Mr. Carson with more than a hint of trepidation. Trepidation for what, she no longer knew by this point. It could've been for the man's recovery, for their friendship, for her position at Downton –– for, yes, it had occurred to her that the butler was well within his right to ask her to leave after her conduct of the last week.
Whatever the case, she was determined to get this over with. Eyeing her companion as she opened the door separating them, the housekeeper steeled herself for whatever would occur next.
The man had his back to her, looking to be examining the surrounding hall. He seemed oblivious to her approach, possibly stuck in another recollection. But, seeing as how he could've already made his way downstairs, noticing that he looked to be waiting for her at the spot they planned to meet before going downstairs, she couldn't help but feel a trace of hope wrap itself around her. Whatever else may or may not have happened to Mr. Carson since she last saw him, he was where they'd agreed to meet.
Which meant he possibly still trusted her.
At least in this regard, if nothing else.
"Mr. Carson," She began to call out, her calm tone giving none of her nerves away. It was very probable that he was only humouring her, having decided to stick to their original plan so as to not offend her. She could hardly begin to imagine what, if anything, he was now recalling –– what he was now motivated by. Nevertheless, until the butler outright rejected her offer to face the downstairs together, Elsie had to assume their original plan was still on, "Would you care to walk down together?"
Charles Carson was already smoothly turning around at the sound of her voice, excitement growing within him the moment he heard that door open. He knew it wouldn't bode well for them if he carried about with a sappy grin upon his face or if he spun around in joy at the sight of her approaching. That sort of a face, that sort of reaction, would undoubtedly give everything away in seconds. But, upon awakening and finding the world much the same –– including his feelings toward the woman now approaching –– Charles could only confirm that all of those feelings for her were never going to change.
"I'd like that very much, Mrs. Hughes." Very much indeed.
Elsie gave a faint smile at this, an unexpected happiness threading itself across her thoughts. So, whatever he remembered or would be remembering throughout the day, he still wanted them to remain friends –– to face it together just as they promised.
Well, she could most certainly do just that.
Though, firstly, there was a tease begging to be uttered: "Mr. Carson, did you really intend on catching up on some reading today?"
Charles tilted his head in confusion before realizing she was speaking about the book he had clutched in one of his hands. It was their copy of Jane Eyre. He'd snatched it on a whim –– wanting a treasure from this last week by his side as a sort of anchor. It felt foolish, in retrospect, but if he'd felt that coming downstairs with this book would make it possible to handle any shocking recollection from the past.
"Not during the day, Mrs. Hughes. But, I may find some time for it tonight, if possible." If that is still all right with you, is unspoken. They don't need the shameless eavesdroppers on the floor to catch wind of this budding tradition.
"Oh, really now? Even though you're just returning to work?"
The man smiled at this, suspecting that she was surprised he was still committed to reading the novel in light of his return. She could, of course, be stunned by the fact that he wasn't intending on spending every waking moment dedicated to his return. But, whatever she thought, he meant what he said before and he meant what he was saying now, "I have to confess, Mrs. Hughes: I'm fascinated by the story. And, having read it before, I want to see if I can jog my memory by continuing it again."
Because he had started to remember some of those old nights spent pouring over this particular story. He was beginning to recall how he had repeatedly examined Brontë's words for any explanation as to why the housekeeper might have carried such an interest in it.
And Charles needed Elsie to know that.
"I see," She remarked, the tone neutral enough to keep any reaction well out of sight, "Well, let's not delay your return any further, not if we want that reading to go ahead."
"Indeed." He easily agreed, pleased that she hadn't dismissed his interest in continuing to read it. A dismissal would've subtly implied the woman had no desire in continuing their little ritual, something he didn't care to consider even if he would respect it. But that she even went so far as to suggest that the reading would go ahead, that did wonders.
Turning to follow the beckoning woman as she began to guide him back down stairs he'd been craving to traverse for some time now, Charles forced himself to remember to breathe as he began to head back downstairs. Now was, after all, the moment they'd been preparing for over these last few days.
Right.
It was time to give it all a go, just the two of them.
Two Minutes Before The Return
"Please, allow me."
Grasping the metal handle with a sense of delight, Charles' hand instinctively recognizing the touch of that metal, it was with great anticipation that the butler reverently opened the door leading to the downstairs–– his eyes trailing over every inch of glass and wood that would soon reveal his old home. Pausing at the sight that awaited them, knowing that a great change would come upon them once they took to those final steps, the man stopped once more –– wanting to take a moment to revel in finally being back.
"We could always say you had a relapse," But fear was nowhere near him, not now.
And, with the beautiful sight before him, he needed little reassurance.
"There's no need for that." Though, briefly eyeing his companion, Charles wondered if a relapse meant they'd be able to share even more time together, just her and him far away from anyone and anything.
But he couldn't afford such thoughts, not in this particular instance.
"Shall we, then?"
The housekeeper nodded, ever the professional, beginning to make her way down the final flight. He himself wanted more a few more seconds to enjoy this –– his returning at last, getting the continual pleasure of having Elsie by his side, all of it –– before finally beginning to take those last few steps that would bring him back home.
Unfortunately, his homecoming was not entirely smooth.
They were halfway down the steps when a sense of something halted Charles' in his tracks. A sense of something he hadn't been expecting so soon, a collision with recollections that only slammed a sense of confusion within him. Conversations that had once been held in this very space –– petty arguments, reverent elaborations, sharp warnings, knowing teases, tetchy bickerings, terse instructions –– all floated out of sight, ruthlessly echoing about him. Flickers of old interactions bolted past him, various occasions sprinting by at this particular juncture. Ghosts of footmen whisking away the delicacies prepared for dinners, kitchen maids scurrying past to avoid the wrath of Mrs. Patmore, more and more personal encounters sprang to life with each step.
In short, Charles needed a moment to come to terms with the disconcerting familiarity of everything.
"Mr. Carson?" Without thinking, Elsie reached out a hand for him to hold onto –– completely forgetting that anyone could see them at this point. Her friend took it unquestioningly, shaking the urge to shudder at the unexpected onslaught. It was indistinguishable what was piercing his mind, "Is everything all right?"
The butler looked to be only capable of breathing, staring down something indiscernible, oblivious to the passage of time. She herself only realized they were holding hands when footsteps crept into the space above them, the grumbling protests of Sarah O'Brien from a flight above slapping them back into reality as the lady's maid began to draw closer and closer.
"Everything's all right, Mrs. Hughes." Mr. Carson quietly reassured her, gently letting go of her hand before the Irish woman could spot them. After watching him internally panic, the housekeeper didn't really care what the other woman could've seen, this little scene disconcerting enough to shake off any thoughts of impropriety. Long before this scare, the fact that they had to traverse stairs came to mind for the woman –– causing her to maintain hyper-vigilance throughout the journey.
Simply put, even though these weren't the stairs that led to the cellar, even though these were not the steps that caused her friend's collapsed, they were still stairs.
And stairs of any kind were something Elsie Hughes did not care for as of late.
"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes," O'Brien barged past them, looking to be oblivious to the subtleties of their interaction. Perhaps the servant was only acting indifferently. Perhaps the woman was truly so caught up in whatever was in her mind she genuinely paid them no mind. Either way, Elsie considered them lucky that there were no questions asked and that no one else was around.
She glanced back at the man, silently asking her friend if she should really be the one to lead this moment. She supposed it might help him if he took charge of where they walked, wanting to give him the chance to do so if he felt this would make a difference. Mr. Carson only silently encouraged her to carry on, gesturing for her to continue. She did as such, paying close attention to the fact that he nearly stumbled upon finally stepping into the official downstairs territory.
Something was whirling around his mind, that was for sure. Something she'd like to question him about, but had to refrain from mentioning in this public space.
Elsie looked back once more, knowing that this would be one of their last chances to do something before the day had its way with them. But, the man only looked more resolved to face it all and keep going –– prompting her to guide him toward their first destination:
His pantry.
Forty-Five Seconds After The Return
Never before until he stepped into his pantry did Charles Carson ever understand what it felt like to return to something after many years. He had wanted to classify that moment on the stairs as "jarring". But, in light of what he felt upon entering this room, "jarring" felt like a terribly inadequate description.
Charles knew right away what his pantry was supposed to have looked like a decade ago, distorted images of the past rising to meld into what he saw before him. A few objects had been adjusted in the room, some papers long since gone, but everything was as marvelously meticulous as it'd been at the start of his career as butler.
Though, there was something out of place: "I had left the ledger back on the desk, Mr. Carson. It's where it was when I'd found it, and I didn't want to presume to know where it belonged."
He smiled at Elsie's thoughtfulness, knowing that not many in this world carried that level of consideration. Still, hearing her refer to him in that fashion was disheartening. Even though, much like her decision with the ledger, it was logical.
"I also couldn't help but think," She began to add in a distant tone, distracted by the sight of the records, "That it might trigger something if you were to see it where it'd been left behind."
"Well, your reasoning makes perfect sense." Placing Jane Eyre on the desk by the ledger's side, he picked up the journal. Luckily, he didn't have to give any thought as to where the records belonged in the room. Putting away the wine ledger was an old habit long since burned into his muscles; he would've been able to perform the task in his sleep.
"I take it everything's come back, then?"
Charles turned around the second he completed his task, trying to understand what the woman was thinking in this moment. Her voice was still decidedly neutral, the impartial tone making it difficult for him to understand her. Was she relieved they no longer had to spend company in his room, tucked away from the world? Was she hoping for a return for the way things were, before he'd mistaken her as his wife? Was she disappointed in his ineptitude to fully recover?
"Not quite," The man answered honestly, closely eyeing her if only to further ascertain where her mind was. "But there's progress."
She seemed disappointed at this, revealing why in a matter of seconds: "I'm sorry I couldn't be of any real assistance to you, Mr. Carson."
Oh, Elsie.
"Mrs. Hughes," He wouldn't shamelessly beg or petulantly plead for her to forgive herself on this matter, but he wouldn't keep letting her beat herself up for something she couldn't control, "Without you, there wouldn't have been nearly as much progress –– something I for one am grateful for."
She gave a faint nod at this, unconvinced.
He could only sigh at the action, hoping that one day they'd both be able to understand one another –– whether that was when it came to his beliefs or her feelings.
Forty Minutes After The Return
Breakfast was a dizzying affair, the faces before him both familiar and decidedly not. O'Brien, who had scarcely aged over the last ten years, looked indubitably out of place amongst the new faces scattered around her. There was that blonde servant that'd found him with Elsie –– Anna, was it? –– seated nearby an older man Charles had a curiously good feeling about. On the other hand, the younger man –– Tobias? Timothy? Something along those lines, if he remembered what Elsie'd said –– occupying the seat next to O'Brien did not conjure up any sort of a good feeling.
However, the blonde boy seated to his left –– a footman by the name of either Wendell or William –– did bring out another sense of trust. He looked to be far more innocent than the dark-haired man, far more like someone Charles would've liked to have personally mentored. Maybe he did mentor the boy. At the very least, he hoped he helped the boy in some capacity, though he'd have to ask Elsie at some point.
Which, speaking of the housekeeper of Downton, Charles couldn't help but feel innately relieved that her status in the house meant that she was seated right beside him. It really did help to make this ordeal feel a little bit easier to manage, if he were to be honest. He could fake a cordial conversation as well as anyone, already beginning to furtively catch the names of all who sat at the table. But, knowing she was only inches away helped to maintain his balance about the matter.
It also helped that she knew the precise amount of marmalade with which to spread on his toast.
Two Hours After The Return
"Now, as you no doubt remember, I'm only a little ways away," Elsie had watched in relief as Mr. Carson managed his way through breakfast, needing little provocation in regards to making it through in once piece. And with him in plain sight, everyone was as well-behaved as they could be, the morale of the house instantly lifting, her relief only expanded. She felt as though she could have carried on sitting right beside him –– having nothing to fear when it came to this part of the day. However, she couldn't remain by his side forever. Not if they wanted to actually achieve anything of importance today. "Though I don't think you'll need me once you get going."
"Oh, I doubt that, Mrs. Hughes."
Elsie took another half-hearted glimpse in his direction, distracted by something in his tone. It was something that she noticed before this morning, but she couldn't quite place at the time.
Now, though, now it was beginning to click into place.
From the first moment they'd interacted with one another today, he'd followed her lead when it came to formality. No matter where they were, no matter who was around, she maintained a strict control over formality –– not needing either of them to slip now that everything was going back to the way it was before. That meant they were back to being the strict Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson, that a wall of propriety and standards obscured them from the rest of the world.
Yet something was not quite the way it had been.
And, until this moment, she couldn't pinpoint what had changed.
It had been his own formality. His tone sounded different, changed. The way he addressed her today sounded peculiar, as though every time he called her "Mrs. Hughes" he was really referring to her as "Elsie".
She had really thought that all of those silly dreams of theirs –– the names, the romantic impressions, the kiss –– would've been put to a stop, especially once her friend officially returned to the downstairs. She'd even anticipated waking up to a stern butler, one who was unapologetically against any such mentioning of what had transpired last week.
That she instead crossed paths with a dear friend who continued to enjoy her company, someone who was perfectly understanding of formality but no longer chose to be strictly compliant with all of their customs… well, it was something she couldn't quite comprehend.
"Well, I best be off."
"Are you're sure, Mrs. Hughes?"
Oh, he had no idea what power those eyes of his had when it came to stopping in her tracks. And, to be honest, Elsie wasn't sure of anything anymore. But, if she didn't leave now, they'd get nowhere. And they certainly couldn't afford that, now could they?
"Quite sure, Mr. Carson."
Four-and-a-Half Hours After The Return
Although his mind seemed to exist in a tenuous form of existence –– Charles remembered much of the knowledge and habits formed over the last decade, he just couldn't connect any of it to tangible memories –– he refused to let that deter him in continuing his work. In fact, and this did feel a little atypical for the man, he was using this lapse as a chance to approach his work from a new perspective.
His newfound truth, the cause behind this new perspective, was simple: Elsie's confession last night might've once convinced him to retreat from the world; however, once she'd started admitting everything, Charles couldn't help but feel as though this were all a second chance. That he was being given an opportunity to refine the life he'd grown accustomed to and live it the way he truly wanted to.
As such, although he wanted to spend these next few weeks re-familiarizing himself with everything, he also wanted to challenge himself to rethink the possibilities. He would not relinquish his standards, he would merely set to improve the mind-set behind said standards.
Of course, this amount of change required a great deal of thought and consideration.
Hence, why Charles had taken a break from studying every crevice and written record within his pantry. Instead, the man had decided to take a break by inspecting and selecting the silver, wanting to decide what should be used for tonight's dinner service. Ever since Elsie reminded him about polishing and maintaining the silver, his heart craved to see it all in-person –– knowing that this task was one of his personal favourites. That she'd kept him from sneaking down before today only added to this desire.
Right then. No use in letting his thoughts wander down that path, the one involving Elsie and desire. That wasn't what the situation called for. And if Charles ignored what the situation called for, he'd wind up getting nothing accomplished and quite possibly revealing himself to be quite a fool, something he had no interest in whatsoever.
So it was with an air of immense concentration that the butler brought tonight's selection of silver back to his pantry for further examination. Upon doing so, the butler found those old mercurial overtones of familiarity –– the same sensations that'd stalked him all throughout these latest days –– dissipating. It seemed that, once he started to sort out these particular details again, his mind became focused solely on the task at hand and could genuinely invest itself in this matter.
In fact, so accustomed to this task was he that, as he carried on with it, the man found himself humming a familiar tune.
It'd been subconscious at first, a trickle of noise that'd steadily progressed into a rivulet of sound as he continued. Something that Charles wouldn't be able to grasp if he gave it too much thought, but something that was also begging to be remembered.
"'Twas on a Monday morning," The words came to the forefront of existence as his eyes skimmed the silver before him, "And there I saw my––" No, that's not quite right.
"'Twas on a Monday morning," He quietly started again, letting his grip on both the situation and the silver relax, knowing he'd get nowhere if he pushed himself too much. He'd done that all of last week and had hardly anything to show for it. "When I beheld my darling,"
Blinking at himself, a disbelieving huff escaping the man at the sound of the correct lyrics coming forth, "She looked so neat and charming," Gazing into the divinely polished metal before him, softening his gaze as the right words began to hover before him, "In every high degree."
Charles couldn't help but give an appreciative smile to the moment, continuing to gradually let the words emerge from that old abyss, that tainted emptiness of memory he'd once feared, "She looked so neat and–– looked so neat and nimble, oh," Now determinedly picking up the strands of music vividly threading themselves in his mind, "A-washing out her linen, oh,"
He was nearly there, could almost taste the words as they gently came back to him.
"Dashing away with the smoothing iron," The next line of sentiment protruded from thin air, prompting him to stop. He turned his attention away from the silver, glancing in the direction of a certain sitting room. Singing this was indeed an old tradition, this particular song brought on by thinking of a wonderful woman who was only a short distance away, "Dashing away with the smoothing iron, she stole my heart away."
Beaming at another comprehension, the man briefly closed his eyes in recognition of this blessed familiarity –– more blurs of recollection continuing to careen around him in the stillness. Standing here like so, whittling away at tasks whilst basking in this quiet love for her, he'd already been doing this for many years.
And if life were willing, he'd keep on doing as such for many more.
Sixteen Hours After The Return
Elsie was not worried. She wasn't concerned in the slightest. She knew very well that Mr. Carson was mostly recovered. Somewhat mostly recovered, that is. Still, whatever memory he hadn't officially recovered would soon be picked up again. Yes, there was no reason for her to wonder if the dinner service went well, if her friend had been ready to return so soon, if she hadn't been making a tremendous mistake by insisting things return to the way they once were.
Liar, that wretchedly traitorous part of her mind snipped, causing the woman to sharply look away from what she'd been staring at. Fortunately, the specks of dust that'd made their way onto her table took little, if any, offense .
Elsie Hughes, the woman began to reprimand herself, unable to believe that she was this bothered by the situation, relax! He'd remembered the cutlery, he was catching onto the names of their subordinates fast enough, he was much more confident than he'd been only a few days ago, and––
And his familiar footsteps were finally approaching her sitting room.
Straightening up in her seat, busying herself by rearranging some papers, she caught the sound of a detour. The butler apparently needed to stop in his pantry before arriving here.
My, my, a dark thought began to whisper, Suppose he's no intention of dropping by after all? Suppose he has fully recovered everything, including his common sense?
Elsie had been touched by his resolve to remain friends. That he'd heard her out and that he'd still wanted to hold to that promise of theirs. In all honesty, she was floored that he hadn't demanded she leave the Abbey at once for such treatment. However, that being said, she wouldn't be surprised if standing in those grand halls once again –– if the sight of the dinner and everything that came with it –– brought his thoughts back to normalcy.
"Mrs. Hughes?"
His initial knock finally registered with her, the housekeeper's gaze darting in the direction of the doorway. Mr. Carson had been standing right outside for some time now, the butler looking at her with great concern ever since he'd approached the room.
"My apologies, Mr. Carson," An excuse was on the tip of her tongue, something to distract from her lack of attention.. But she didn't want to make excuses to him, not after everything. "How did it all go?"
Taking that as his cue to enter the room, he'd stepped over the threshold and quietly took his customary spot at her table. She raised an eyebrow at this, tiredly wondering for the millionth time if this action meant he finally remembered. But when the movement only looked to be an ingrained habit with no explanation attached, she resignedly got up from her spot to join him at the table –– convinced that he'd never recover any of the memories, not at this rate.
"Well, if you must know," Mr. Carson was giving nothing away with those words, no sounds of success or failure, drawing her curiosity further and further into the conversation. Ten days ago, at this hour, she would've received a straightforward report, not the synopsis to a novel.
"Go on."
The man was being nearly incorrigible, maintaining a surprisingly good poker face as he looked to think about how best to break the news of dinner. Did that mean it went brilliantly and he was merely holding out the suspense? Had he panicked, ruined the whole thing, and needed a moment to think his mistakes through?
Normally, Elsie would've been able to read him well enough to know the truth within heartbeats. However, whatever was once normal for the butler looked to have collapsed down the stairs the same moment he did. And now, with all the peculiarities of the week –– his talk of their marriage, her continuing to realize he was a changed man, this newfound level of intimacy between them –– she felt she could no longer assume anything when it came to Charles Carson.
"Well," He began again, oblivious to the fact that she wanted to speed the conversation along and reach the conclusion.
Yes?
She saw it in his eyes only seconds before he announced the truth. Noticed with a sense of anticipation that there were flickers of something marvelous in his eyes, something that informed her, "Everything was a success!"
Thank God! "Oh, that's wonderful news, Charles!" The words flew into the air before she had a chance to think them through, the sound only encouraging his grin to widen further. She herself wanted to smack herself for such a foolish slip, needing to work on that habit and unable to believe she'd called him that. "My apologies, Mr. Carson: I seemed to have forgotten myself."
He shook his head, dismissing the apology outright, "Actually, Mrs. Hughes, I had been wondering if you wouldn't object to using our Christian names again –– only in private, that is."
"You mean you want us to speak as though we were still," Elsie paused, unable to finish her thought. Why would he want to continue walking that perilous slope now that they both knew the truth?
"Do I mean that I want to speak as though we were still friends willing to see each day together?" The man finished the statement, mollifying her at once long before he said, "Yes."
Friendship or not, it was a bold proposition. But, the longer Elsie thought it over, the more she felt it made sense. If she'd lost as much as he had, she'd probably be more cavalier about certain traditions like terms of address.
As it stood, she'd honestly been slipping when it came to his name all day. At breakfast, after putting marmalade on his toast, she'd almost teasingly called him "Charlie" as she watched him recall how delicious the treat truly was. And when he locked himself away in his pantry, no doubt going over every possible detail he could, she'd had half a mind to tell Charles–– See, you've done it again, silly girl!
"But, that's only what I'd like. What would you like?"
She really needed to stop getting caught up in her thoughts.
"I'd like that very much," In retrospect, that was far more risqué a remark than his request had been. But when the ceiling hadn't come crashing down at the sentiment, when his expression only brightened at her words, Elsie could only suppose it was all right. Still, when she realized he needed a little extra encouragement to trust in her response, "I mean that, Charles."
"I'm glad to hear it, Elsie." Her small smile grew at this, her heart having missed being called that. It was as silly as her thoughts from moments ago, especially considering it'd only been a day since he'd stopped calling her that, but the woman rather liked hearing her Christian name spoken in such a fashion.
"So, would you like to tell me about the dinner?" The twinkle in his eyes radiated delight at this, steadily glowing brighter than any light in the room.
"I would. But before I forget, I'd like to ask," Unveiling Jane Eyre practically from thin air –– when had he been able to sneak that into her room? –– he questioningly looked back at her, "Would you be interested if we continued reading afterwards?"
Once again touched by the sentiment, a strange sensation taking over at the sight of that book in his hands, Elsie nodded her consent. She'd never understood the pleasure that came with book clubs before, having heard her Ladyship and others discuss the idea with little appreciation. She herself had neither the money to invest in enough books nor the patience to deal with such subjective conversations. Now, however, the idea of sharing this book together enticed her far more than she could have ever imagined.
"I would be interested, yes. But, as you said: there'll be time for that later. Let's hear about your successful dinner," Surely, he was more interested in talking about that! "And then we'll continue to hear more of Jane's tale."
"Right." A hint of the butler she knew very well came back as his posture evened out, the man preparing himself to tell the tale, "Well, interestingly enough, there was someone I recognized at once –– someone besides you and his Lordship, of course."
Elsie nodded, knowingly answering the unspoken riddle, "And just how was the Dowager tonight?"
The man chuckled, pleased the woman knew as to whom he was referring to, "Seeing her again was quite a treat! She really hasn't aged a day, Elsie, I mean it," I'm sure you do. "Though, speaking of age, I must confess: I was floored by Lady Mary's growth as a young woman!" Of course you were. Why am I not surprised? "The last time I saw her, she'd been about this tall and was in the process of explaining how the broken vase in the drawing room was most certainly not her fault…"
_._
Author's Note: Once again, thank you for your patience and your continued support! The next update should come in about 3-5 days and will definitely include some of the suggestions given, if not hints of all the suggestions :)
In any case, as always, I hope you enjoyed this and have a lovely day!