Giving Mrs. P a little love...
Wind
"It won't be some great love affair like you and Mr. Carson."
Elsie almost choked on her coffee. "Great love affair? You must know something I don't."
Elsie Carson and Beryl Patmore were bundled up under a quilt sipping coffee, gently rocking in an old wooden porch swing at the back of the Mason farmhouse on a chilly afternoon in late November. In the distance they could see the figures of two men, one small, one large, resting against a fence, deep in conversation.
"It's what Daisy says. She says they write books about people like you and Mr. Carson- people deep in love who are separated by some…how did she say it? People deep in love who are separated by some social code or structure. A forbidden love that only deepens with time."
"Goodness! What book is she studying now? Madame Bovary?
"Ooh," the little cook cooed, "what is that?"
Elsie shook her head with a smile, "Never you mind. So he's asked you then?"
"He has."
"Do you care for him?" She studied her friend's face for any spark of enthusiasm for the small farmer.
"Of course I care for him. I care for him because he cares for Daisy. He has been so good to her since William died. She has a chance at a life because of him, and if I were to accept him, I think she could have a chance at an even better life."
Elsie turned her body towards Beryl, cocking her head, "What do you mean?"
"Well, if I were to marry Mr. Mason, I would fully retire from Downton and come to live here. I could rent out my little house, or sell it. That, along with my pension and savings, could be used to put Daisy into a real school. She could receive a real education at university, or travel. She's so bright and she works so hard." The little woman had begun to cry, her maternal feelings towards the girl overwhelming her.
Elsie took her hand, "Do you think you would be happy here?"
Sniffing, Beryl looked around, "I do. There is a proper kitchen and a lovely garden and it feels like a real home." She looked at the men in the distance as she continued, "Mr. Mason is a very kind and gentle man. There is goodness in him that I haven't come across too many times in my life, and he treats me like I am a person, not just a cook or some tiresome old woman. He listens to what I have to say, cares about what I have to say."
Elsie squeezed her hand as the women sat in companionable silence until the wind suddenly picked up.
"Listen to that." Beryl closed her eyes, a peaceful smile on her face as she leaned her head back.
Elsie held still but she only heard the wind rusting in the trees and the tinkle of a tuneful metal wind chime that hung off the side of the porch. "I only hear the wind and the chimes."
"Exactly. Isn't it lovely? You only hear the sounds of the earth and the sky out here. There's a peacefulness to this place. It makes me happy to be here."
Elsie squeezed the woman's small hand, "It sounds to me as if you have decided."
"You know, I think I have."
Looking out at the lush Yorkshire countryside, the old friends continued to hold hands as the soft wind and music of the chimes caressed them.