VI:

It was nine days before they dug out and the farmhand made it as far as the village to post Elsie's fistful of letters and buy some much-needed supplies. Elsie, for her part, had settled back in like she'd never been gone – everything was as it had been before she'd gone into service. Which might have been a blessing – it made things easier to come back to.

Elsie was mixing scones for tea when the farmhand came back from town. "Were there any letters?" she asked anxiously when he hauled a sack of potatoes, and several other large canvas grain bags into the house.

"I've got yer precious letters in me pocket," he grumbled. "Don't suppose you've got some tea goin' spare? Cold as blazes it is."

"Kettle's on the hob," Elsie said with a small smile. "Help yourself, Jimmy – you know where Mam keeps the leaf."

"Who'd be writin' you letters, then?" he asked conversationally.

"Me husband," Elsie murmured. "Back in Yorkshire. Bit of a mess, that."

"I should say so," he agreed. "Can't imagine what it's like to be separated by that much land from me wife. Sleepin' in the barn the last few days has been enough."

"I miss him," Elsie admitted as he handed over six letters, each written and sealed neatly. "Thank you, Jimmy – for everything you've done the last few days."

"Of course, miss," he said. "I'll be off now – can you manage the last round of feeding for the cows and horses tonight? Only I'd like to go home and see my wife."

"Absolutely," Elsie agreed. Nine days away from home would be enough to drive a sane person mad. She should know. All she wanted to do was get on a train southbound again, back to England and the arms of her loving husband – and, despite what everyone else thought, oh, how he loved.

She did the afternoon rounds, still keenly aware of the absolutely frigid January weather as it seeped through even her thick woolens. And only then did she settle in to read her letters.

For all of his other qualities, Charles was a very dry composer of words. There was nothing flowery or romantic about his letters, not that she had expected anything different. Until the final letter, which was less in keeping with him, which only made him dearer to her heart.

My darling wife;

We have had weather and I've not been able to get to the village to post these letters until now. I am certain the cold is as abysmal in Scotland as it is here. Lady Ida's funeral was not well-attended because of the storm, and I cannot help but think it was her anger at your absence. Lord Robert was thus inclined, as well.

I miss you dreadfully; your small kindnesses, your laughter, your smile. I never thought that I would come to care for someone so much that their mere absence from my life would cause me physical pain, but it seems to be so – my very heart aches to see you, if only for a moment.

Please do not feel that I am less inclined to be devoted to you because of the distance between us: I will only work that much harder to bring you home sooner. I am working with Lord Robert to find time to come up; I will tell you more when I know for certain that it will happen.

We have moved back into Downton Abbey. Lord Robert cannot sleep in Crawley House, and he will deliberately walk on the other side of the road rather than pass it directly. I thought originally that he did not care for Lady Ida as he might, but I see now that I was mistaken and he carries his grief around him like a cloak. He might never love another as deeply as he does Lady Ida, but he will heal eventually.

As for the money… it has been taken away, as the conditions of the contract were not met. This means that Lord and Lady Grantham will force Lord Robert onto the marriage market again as soon as he is out of mourning. I cannot begin to think this is a good idea, but it is none of my business, as I cannot even handle the businesses of my own marriage.

I long to hold you, Elsie. The nights are so cold and so is my heart.

Ever your devoted,

Charles


The temperature was still absolutely stark and bleak, even though it was nearly April. It had been even colder in the Highlands at the Marquess of Flintshire's wedding, and Charles was only glad that it hadn't snowed when they were there. He was glad of the sunshine and of the well-dug path of road that the coachman from the village followed. Someone had taken great pains to keep the road to Halebroke Farm open.

He drummed his fingers nervously on the sill, catching Lord Robert's attention. "Carson, do settle down," Robert laughed. "We're going to see your wife, not drag you to the executioner."

"Might be the same thing," Charles muttered as they pulled to a stop. He braced himself against the fiercely biting cold, then stepped out into the open. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs; and he thought Yorkshire winters were dismal.

He strode quickly to the front door of the farmhouse and knocked soundly. When it opened, revealing a petite – very petite, bordering on tiny- older version of Elsie, he said, "Pardon me, but I've come to see Elsie."

The woman raised a brow. "She isnae here. And what do you want with our Elsie?"

He hesitated a moment. "She is my wife."

The door slammed in his face. He took a step back, stunned by the rudeness. He pounded on the door with his fist again until it opened and she snapped, "If this is how you treat your wife, I should never let you cross my threshold, Charles Carson. Oh, dinnae look surprised – she talks of nothing but her darling Charlie. But you just left her here to rot – and I dinnae thank ye for it! She had a good living and an honest one, until you spoilt her –"

He exhaled roughly, then said, "Your daughter is the one that chose to leave Yorkshire. I am working for the both of us now and –"

Her eyes narrowed. "How dare ye –"

Lord Robert alit from the coach and said, "Carson, is there a problem?"

"No, m'lord, merely a disagreement," Charles said. "Mrs. Hughes is –"

"My name isnae Hughes. It's Campbell." The woman's arms were crossed over her chest fiercely. "Elsie and her sister were Hughes because I gave them their father's name. I've never been allowed the luxury of changing my name." She glared at him. "And tell your lord he'd better get in the house before he freezes. Our Elsie isnae here and it'll be a spell before she gets home."

"She isn't here?" Charles said, concerned. "You let her go out in this?"

"As if I could stop her from goin' into the village and collectin' the post," the woman scoffed. "And ye'd best take down your bags – there's going to be weather later and you'll not get wherever you're going."

Charles raised his brow again. "How do you know?"

She pointed at the horizon. "See the high points and the clouds? Those clouds will be here in a couple of hours. It'll be blowing and snowing something fierce by four."

"And you let Elsie go to the village knowing that?"

She shrugged. "Where were you to be stayin'?"

"The pub."

"No, you should be here," she said gruffly. "We've enough food. Bring down your bags and your lord's and send the driver back to town."

"Lord Robert, would you be opposed to staying the night here?" Charles asked.

"Of course not, old chap," Robert said cheerfully. "Let me get my bags –"

"I'll do that, m'lord," Charles said, retrieving the luggage quickly and efficiently. They entered the farmhouse and he inhaled deeply, seeing pieces of Elsie everywhere around him – the shawl Ida had given her was strewn over an old settee, her delicate work shoes were tucked away by the fire, an unfinished letter was on the lap desk in her hand. It was a small room, all one space with the kitchen, the potbellied stove and a table and chairs sharing equal space with the bookshelves and settee and a rocking chair where knitting accoutrements lay. "Where may I put the bags, ma'am?" he asked.

She turned from the stove and said, "Your Lordship will –"

"Please, call me Robert – let's not be formal now," Robert said. "I am a guest in your home, ma'am."

"And as a guest, you will take my room," she said firmly. "You will call me Mary, or Mrs. Campbell if you care enough to be formal." She lay her icy glare on Charles and muttered, "And you will share Elsie's room, of course. Assuming she wants you to."

"Of course she will," Robert said confidently. "May I be of any assistance, ma'am?"

Mary raised a brow. "Can you do anything in the kitchen?"

"Alas, I cannot –"

"Then ye cannae be of any assistance to me," Mary said, turning back to her cooking.

It was a very awkward time until the door slammed open. "Mam, it's snowing," Elsie shouted. "Has Jimmy brought in the cows? I saw Peter drove in the flock –"

"We've guests, Elsie."

"Dinnae care," Elsie snapped. "I'll go see to the damn cows meself, then – and the horses."

Charles stood up and said, "And I'll join you –"

She inhaled sharply, a bit shocked, then Elsie nodded. "Come on, then – but you'll be freezin'."

Once in his overcoat and back outside, he knew how true her words were. He helped his wife and Jimmy bring in the cows and bed down the horses and cows for the night. By the time Jimmy was squared away in the farmhand's hut, the wind was blowing so hard he had a difficult time standing upright, and Elsie's lantern was a bleak little light to light the way back to the house. He didn't know how long it took to cross the yard, but Elsie grabbed him before he could walk right past the house in the blinding snow. She pulled him inside and immediately stripped them both of their frozen outer garments. His teeth were chattering, and he was cold to the very marrow of his bones. She peeled off layer after layer of clothes until she was in a simple cotton frock, red woolen stockings, and a heavy shawl wrapped around her body.

"Charlie, you need to get out of those wet things," she insisted gently. "Come upstairs where we can talk."

"Hot tea will be ready soon," Mary promised. "Thank ye for helping with the cows –"

"You're welcome," Charles choked out.

Elsie led him up the steps to her room and barely batted an eye to see his clothes neatly hung next to hers in the closet. "What on earth are ye doin' here?" she asked softly as she helped him undress.

"We were north for the Marquess of Flintshire's wedding," he said.

"I know that," she sighed. "You said so in your letters. But why are you here?"

"Because I needed to see my wife," Charles groused softly. "Lord Robert suggested the diversion – and I wasn't inclined to tell him no."

"Did mam upset you?" Elsie murmured.

"Only for a moment," he admitted.

"She's threatened you within an inch of your life," Elsie rambled on nervously as she watched him change into dry clothes. "For letting me leave you."

"I've noticed," he said dryly. It took him a moment to realize it, but she was anxiously biting her lip and busying her hands hanging his damp clothes. "Elsie, what's the matter? Aren't you happy to see me?"

"I am," she hedged. "But you'll not be so happy to see me, I think, when I change clothes."

He blinked, confused. "I don't understand."

She huffed a little and mumbled something under her breath.

"What?"

"I said… I said I'm in the family way," she repeated just a tiny bit louder.

His breath caught; she was… actually… with his…

"Dunnae look at me like that," she said, her voice cracking as tears gathered in her eyes. "Why do you think me mam wants to do you murder?"

"You didn't tell me," he said in a low, accusing tone when he'd finally recovered his wits. "How could you not tell me?"

"I didna want you to worry," she whispered.

"So you run around by yourself in a pony trap and lug around grain sacks and retrieve cows from the pasture? Why on earth would I worry about you and our child?" he asked in disbelief.

"I'll be doin' a lot worse than that by the time the bairn's here," Elsie snapped. "Do ye think me mam lets me stay here for nothing? I earn my way."

"Elsie, please," he said gently, holding his hands up in surrender. "All I'm going to do now is worry about you and our child."

"That's why I didna tell you," she said. "Because I dinna need you comin' in and actin' the hero when you aren't going to take me home. I'm the one who has to live with it, not you. I'm the one has nightmares about blood and death and… god, help me, what happens if I die like Ida?"

"You're strong," Charles said firmly.

"Oh, like you know anything," she scoffed. "Mam is a midwife – she'll not let me do anythin' too much."

"Oh, Elsie," he sighed. "Why didn't you just… tell me?"

"Because I'm scared," she mumbled. "So scared that you'll… just…"

"No," he denied gently. "Elsie, you are my wife and this is our child. I will not disown either of you, no matter what anyone has done to you in the past. I swear it. We exchanged vows, love." He helped her out of her dress, each movement careful not to spook her, and he marveled at the changes in her body – her breasts were far more full, nearly spilling out of her corset, and her corset was looser than it had been, but was still very tight against her ribcage as her body increased. A small smile crept onto his lips and he touched her corset. "That's our child in there," he said softly. "You've got to protect him or her, Elsie."

"Her," she said softly. "It's a girl. I know it."

"Well, forgive me for hoping it's a little lad," Charles said with a gentle possessiveness as he splayed his hand over her corset. "A little lad who takes more after his lovely mum than me."

"Dinna say that," Elsie whispered. "You're the most lovely man I've ever known, Charlie. And you'll be such a good da." She rested her hand atop his and leaned in for a quick kiss. "I just wish… things were different and we could be together in the open."

"God, I've missed you so much," he sighed. "It's dreadful without you."

"How do you think I feel, chasin' cows around all day and bakin' bread that's not even fit for the rubbish fire?" she countered. "I'm dreadful homesick, Charlie."

"Then come home with us," Charles said simply.

She looked as though she'd been struck; but she hid it and murmured, "I cannae. Where would I stay? No one would take me on. Can you imagine the tongues wagging the in village? Charlie… Lady Grantham would eat me up and spit me back out, and you to boot. I cannae do that to you." She inhaled deeply and pulled away from his touch. "I wouldnae ever hurt you just because I love you. And that would destroy your chances in service – it's too selfish of me to even want to –"

"Elsie, love," Charles sighed, unwilling to let her go but unable to fault her unassailable logic. He had no other marketable skills beyond those of a valet and a butler… unless you counted his skills from two years of trotting about the stage like a fool. And there was no way on god's green earth he was going back to that. He couldn't support himself, let alone a wife and a child, doing that. "I'm sorry I'm not good enough –"

"You are more than good enough," she murmured. "It's me that's not good enough. I went and got meself in a mess and now I've got to live with it. And love is wonderful and fantastic… but it doesn't make for a full belly or a roof over your head. Unless you're me mam, in which case, love away." She began to dress in heavy petticoats and a plain grey woolen dress, then crossed a heavy knit shawl over her body, tucking it into the waistband of her dress. "There's no good solution to our current predicament," she pointed out. "Unless I die in childbirth, and even then, you'll still have a bairn to raise." Her smile was sad. "I hate that I love you so much some days."

"Surely you don't mean that," he said, a bit put out by her words.

"I do," she mumbled miserably. "Makes it so much harder to let go… and even more difficult to hold on." Her face crumbled and she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, balling her fingers into a fist, trying to muffle the sobs that were tearing out of her.

"Oh, love," Charles sighed, pulling her into his arms; she was stiff as a board, not wanting him to comfort her. He wasn't going to give her a choice: they had taken vows and entered into matrimony together, and even if they needed to be apart for a while, he was determined that when they were together, her burdens were his.

It wasn't until she'd calmed again, stilling in his arms with her head pressed against his chest, reminiscent of their stolen nights together, that he tried to speak again. "I've made such a mess of this – of everything," he said very quietly. "I should never have let you leave, Elsie. My position isn't as important as you are. As our marriage is."

"Nonsense," she whispered, a hiccough coming in the middle of the word. "You're more important than I ever will be – you're the one fighting in Lord Robert's corner. The man would go to pieces without you."

"And what about you?" he challenged.

She pulled back and smiled up at him unconvincingly. "I'm a tough old bird," Elsie murmured. "I'll be fine. I just… I love you so much, you see? It's hard, being apart."

"It is," he agreed.

"And you'd make a piss poor farmer, based on this afternoon," she teased.

"You're going to hold against me that I can't yank a cow into a barn?" he asked.

"Just a wee bit," she replied, smiling. "How long are you two staying?"

"Depends on the weather."

Her smile brightened. "Well, it's not going to let up for a few days," she said cheerfully. "Gives me plenty of time to remind you of all the things you should be missing with me not underfoot."

He cupped her face in his hands and drew her in for a kiss that left them both dizzy with want. "You are never under my feet," Charles rasped, his voice deeper and haggard with the effort of keeping himself contained. "God, I love you, Elsie Carson."

"Mam's going to come up and check on us –" Her eyes darted to the bed, then back to him. "Later," she promised softly.

"What about the baby?" he asked.

"You aren't going to do it any harm," she said with a small smile. "It's too small to do much harm to." Elsie adjusted her shawl, but it only drew more attention to the small swell of her belly. "I must look a right mess –"

He kissed her again, threading his fingers into the base of her bun, holding her closer to him. She moaned and met him kiss for kiss, then he released her. "Now you look like a happy wife," he whispered.

"You naughty man," she whimpered. "I am not happy – I –" Her cheeks were flushed bright red. "I want to tell me mam to sod off with tea and just… not leave bed. And not let you leave my bed, either."

He coughed and mumbled, "When bedtime comes, we will be together – unless you don't want me to –"

"Don't be ridiculous," she huffed. "Of course you'll be in my room with me. Where else would my husband be?" She reached up and pushed the errant curl of his hair off his forehead. "I suppose you're right. Tea will be ready soon and mam will be very cross if we're not there to eat. She practically forces me to eat."

"You're eating for two," he reminded her.

"I know," she sighed, "but I've been so sick lately – eggs make my stomach upset. And ham. And… well, a lot of things."

"Oh dear," he sighed.

"Yeah, your child is a handful of trouble already," she commented dryly. "I've been dying for some fresh peas and there aren't any but dried to be had anywhere in Scotland."

He kissed her forehead and murmured, "As soon as they start appearing mum's garden, I'll send you as many as you like."

"You don't have to," she whispered.

"Of course I do," he said. "You're my wife," he added, hoping that made as much sense as it had in his head. She and the child were his everything now, his reason to continue soldiering on. Of course she should have peas if she wanted them.

There was very little he would keep from her if only she wanted it.

She held his heart very firmly in those delicate hands of hers – they were far stronger than they looked, he had discovered – and she kept it very safe for him.

He just wished that she wasn't so ruddy stubborn.