Sorry for the delay in this chapter - the ideas are there, the time to write them is (unfortunately) not!

Day 8

She mumbled in her sleep, squinting at the early morning summer sunlight creeping over her face. She felt Charles' hand tighten over her stomach, his knee nudging the back of hers and she mumbled again – she didn't want to wake, not yet, nevertheless something insisted on drawing her from her sleep.

"Mmm… Charles –," she complained, rolling forward a little.

His body followed hers, pressing up against her back. Warm. Firm. She stretched one arm out over the pillow in front of her, her brain waking now, reason and thought coming to life. She thought of the day ahead, the Sunday spent dozing had left her mind fuzzy and she couldn't figure out what day it was or what their plans were. She thought of how odd it was that they finally had the gift of a double bed only to spend most nights wrapped together at one edge of it instead of enjoying the space and stretching out. She'd slept too long and now nothing seemed to want to function, and there was something pressing against her, and his fingers had started to wander.

She sighed, surprised by the sound of her own voice, the mellow timbre of it as it swam around them. He moaned something in response, pushing against her again and it was then that her brain came to life and realised exactly what it was pressing against her lower back.

Smiling, eyes still closed, body still lethargic, she allowed herself to lean back against him and open her body to his embrace. Briefly the snatched thought that this time next week they'd be back at Downton and gone would be mornings spent lazily making love with hours of nothingness easing out ahead of them.

The thought was brushed away as his hand moved between her legs, pressing and seeking, his mouth gliding over her neck, down to her shoulder, the top of her arm, until she acquiesced and twisted her head round in order for her mouth to meet his. They lay like that for a while, his wonderful fingers working magic, his mouth doing the same, the joy and heat of it all filling her completely. Who would have ever thought this could be; that he would be so very attentive?

It wasn't until she gasped into his mouth, her body pushing upwards towards him that they shifted, enough for her to move beneath him, for his eager hands to ease down her thighs as she parted her legs around him.

"Good morning," he whispered along her neck, his tongue ticking her collarbone.

She slid her hands gracefully up his bare back, a light smile playing across her face as his mouth found hers again.

"Good morning my darling," she whispered against his lips.

He suddenly gasped tightly, stilling above her, hands gripping the pillow.

"What's wrong?" She gripped his shoulders, concern replacing desire in one sure swoop.

"Ahh…" he moved his hand, trying to support his body.

"What? Charles…"

"My back."

"You've pulled your back?" She tried to sit up, to help him move and turn over. In agony he flopped beside her, turning as much as he could. She leant over him, "Charles, how bad, should I fetch a Doctor?"

He shook his head, eyes creased together as he tried to ride out the sharp stab of pain. "…Cramp…" he finally uttered.

She sat back, looking down at him, "Cramp?" She asked incredulously.

He nodded, still breathing deeply, unprepared for her slap on his chest. "Cramp!" She said again, "Lord above Charles I thought you were having a heart-attack."

He reached for her hands, "I'm glad you were so concerned."

"Concerned! We've been married a week, how would it look if you died in my bed following a heart attack?"

He couldn't help but chuckle at her wide-eyed expression, "Like I died happy."

She gave in and smiled, rubbing her palm on his chest now, "How's the cramp?"

"Easing."

"Good," she leant down to kiss him; he pulled her tight against him again, his arms encircling her body. She breathed deeply, "So the cramp didn't dampen your… spirits, then?"

He chuckled again, "No, but you may have to erm…" He gasped again, in pleasure this time, as her hand took hold of his painful erection, "Yes, just that." He managed to grind out, his fingers fumbling over her body, eyes closed in ecstasy as she touched him.

She moved on top of him, glorious in her new found confidence, she guided him inside her delighting in their shared moans at the unity.

"How I love my wife," he muttered to the ceiling, hands firm on her hips as she set a slow, steady rhythm.

She bent forward to kiss him, her hands by his head, flat against the pillow as she supported herself. "Never stop," she whispered, "never."

"I can't imagine a day without you." He said later, his body still shaking with pleasure, his fingers trailing up and down her spine. She lay on top of him, their skin slick with the exertion of their love-making.

She kissed his chest, "Well, it's quite likely you'll never have to. Except of course when you join them for the London season next year."

His hold on her tightened momentarily at the thought, "Ridiculous how quickly I've grown used to having you beside me at night, I can't imagine sleeping alone now."

"Me neither."

He kissed her hair, enjoying the silence for a moment, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. "We should get up."

"Not yet, it's not late."

"No, but we have to start getting ready."

"What for?"

"I have a surprise for you."

"Oh?" She looked up at him, "different to this morning's surprise?"

He slid his fingers into her hair, "I thought we'd take a trip. Just for a couple of days, make it more like a honeymoon."

"It has been like a honeymoon." She smiled, folding her arms on his chest and leaning her chin on them, "It is our honeymoon."

"Well I've arranged it all –,"

"When?" she interrupted. "Before the wedding?"

"Weeks before. We take the train at 11p.m. I have booked a hotel room, only above a pub but the reputation is good –,"

"Where?" she interrupted again. "Where are we going?"

"By the sea of course," he smiled broadly at the memory of their last sojourn there. "Lytham St Annes, I thought it a great shame your sister couldn't be at our wedding and I… what's wrong?"

"Did you contact Mabel?" She moved to sit up. "Have you spoken to her?"

"No, there was no time to contact her, I just thought whilst we were there it might be nice to make her acquaintance." he brushed her upper arm as she pulled the sheets around her, "Have I done something wrong?"

"No, of course not, it's just rather a shock, to see her again after all this time. I hadn't even considered…" she glanced down at his concerned expression, reaching forward to touch his cheek, "thank you. It's very kind, very thoughtful."

"Well the weather has been wonderful so we should at least get a walk by the sea, and a change of scenery is always nice."

"It is." She looked toward the clock, "I suppose we best get up then, have some breakfast before we have to go."

He watched as she reached for her robe, opened the wardrobe and scanned the contents for what to wear. There was suddenly a feeling of apprehension in the room that wasn't there ten minutes ago (far from it) and he worried he'd somehow crossed a boundary.

"You drink too much tea," he complained as she finally exited the lavatories at the station and joined him on the platform.

"It's a long journey," she said taking her bag from him, "I don't want to be caught out. And you drink just as much as I do, if not more."

"How more?"

"Your hands are bigger, your cup is bigger."

"Your logic seems rather strained."

She smiled up at him as the train pulled in, allowing him to open the door for her and hold her bag again as she got on board. She'd always enjoyed train journeys; you got to see so much more of the country travelling that way.

Of course he slept on the train. His newspaper, still folded, on his lap, his head falling back and forth until it finally came to rest upon her shoulder. She read for a while. Watched the scenery. Fiddled with her nails. Anything but focus on the niggling sourness in the pit of her stomach.

She'd written to her sister of course, they wrote quite regularly, and she'd informed her of the wedding. Her reply could be described as, at best, curt, perhaps polite at a push. There was always an underlying current with Mabel; a slight hint of humour at the fact Elsie could even consider something so ridiculous as marriage at this late stage in life. And to Downton's butler. She'd taken particular delight in that fact. There was no time to visit, to attend the ceremony, she was too busy, they were all too busy. Farms didn't just 'stop'.

When they arrived it was already afternoon and they were both hungry. They walked from the station to the heart of the town and ate chips on the promenade as they watched bathers play around in the surf.

"The day's getting on," he said watching the sky, low clouds rolling in over the horizon.

"Hmm."

"You know the address don't you, should we leave our things at the pub first?"

"Maybe we should leave it until tomorrow, perhaps send a note first."

"Tomorrow's our only full day here."

She bit down on her lip, crossing her legs at the ankle and swung her legs.

"You seem reluctant to go," he said watching her face.

"Apprehensive perhaps." She glanced at his concerned expression and reached for his hand, resting hers on top of his. "It's just been a long time and to be honest Mabel and I have never had the easiest of relationships, not since we were children anyhow."

She breathed deeply, closed her eyes for a moment before continuing.

"When I decided to go into service she couldn't understand my choice; why would I leave the farm? But of course the irony is she left too… eventually. After my parents died anyhow."

"I'm sorry," he turned his hand over and folded his fingers with hers. "I thought I was doing something nice."

"Oh you have, really you have, it's very kind. You weren't to know and I am looking forward to seeing her, I'm not saying we hate each other, it's just that it's been such a long time, I feel nervous."

"Well, perhaps once we see her that feeling will disappear."

"Perhaps. We'll take our cases first and then find the address. I have a letter with me with it on."

"I knew you'd be prepared."

It took almost thirty-five minutes on the bus to the farm, and then a long walk to the main house up a muddy path. She was surprised to find how nervous she felt as she approached the front door; Charles' hand was on back, just lightly, offering support.

She knocked, stood back, almost leaning against her husband.

A woman that looked very much like Elsie, only slightly taller and slightly older, unbolted the door. Her face was ruddy, she wore an apron and had the look Mrs Patmore wears when bothered during a busy period.

"Elsie?" She mouthed, rubbing her hands furiously on the apron.

"Hello Mabel, it's so good to see you." All of her concerns disappeared as she faced her, and she stepped forward quickly and drew her into an embrace.

"It's good to see you too," she said against her shoulder, "a surprise." She glanced over to where the tall, imposing man stood watching them, "Is this your new husband?"

"Charles Carson," he said, as softly as he could manage, holding his hand out to her, "Very pleased to meet you Mrs Heath."

"Oh goodness, do call me Mabel." She shook his hand, and Charles noted the hearty grip.

"I'll try my best."

Elsie moved to stand beside him. Resting her hand on his arm. "I'm so happy you're finally meeting."

"Finally being the operative word, I've been hearing about you for years and years in her letters. Come in, I'll make some tea."

The kitchen was large and warm and smelled of baking. The large table was covered with pies, scones and cakes.

"I'm baking for market," Mabel explained, "Jack can sell it with the milk and we make a little extra on the side."

"It smells divine," Charles said removing his coat, careful to avoid discussing Elsie's rather limited repertoire in the kitchen.

"Don't let him eat your profits," Elsie teased as she took his coat and hung them in the hall. "He has a sweet tooth."

"She never told me that in her letters." Mabel leant on the back of one of the kitchen table chairs eyeing up this man she'd heard so much about. "Well, I'll say this, it certainly took you long enough to ask."

"Mabel," Elsie rebuffed, her cheeks reddening.

"I'm just saying, he waited a fine few years before he made his move."

Charles coughed and Elsie rested her hand on his on the table. "It wasn't like that, things don't happen like that in –,"

"In your kind of world? I know that, a lot of things that happen in the real world don't affect your world. Tea Mr Carson?"

He nodded, a little dumbfounded by the woman's unfailing honesty and robust directness, "Yes, please."

He glanced quickly at Elsie, "She's worse than you!" He mouthed.

"So, Elsie Carson then." She brought a huge brown teapot to the table.

"Yes, I'm still rather getting used to it myself."

"Well you were Elsie Hughes for a very long time, to be honest we thought you'd stay that way forever, Jack always said it was a shame you turned down Joe."

Grimacing slightly Elsie dropped sugar into Charles' tea and handed it to him quickly.

"How are the children?" Elsie said cutting her sister off.

"They're well, adults now of course, I have three grandchildren so far!" She chuckled, "handfuls though."

"How lovely though, to have them." Elsie sipped her own tea.

"You don't have children Mr Carson?"

"Of course not," he stopped, paused, softened his voice, "I have never been married before."

"I told you that Mabel, I'm sure."

"Perhaps. Children are a blessing though."

"They are," Charles said quickly, reading his wife's unease, "they bring the house to life."

Mabel finally sat down across from them, "You have a cottage now don't you."

"We do, we're settling in." Elsie smiled, "It's rather nice."

"So this is your… honeymoon?"

"In a way." Elsie said gently. "We've taken two weeks off, to settle into the cottage."

"If you'll excuse me, I might take a turn around the yard," Charles said standing, "get some air, give you time to talk."

"Feel free, watch where you're walking though in those fine shoes."

"Thank you," he let his hand linger for a moment on Elsie's shoulder before disappearing back down the hall and out of the solid oak door.

Elsie waited for it to close before she spoke, "Must you be so forthright with him, he isn't used to it."

"He's used to you."

"That's me. We've had a long time to build up to it, as you so handily reminded us."

Mabel shrugged, "How are you finding it then, marriage?"

"Actually, I'm rather enjoying it."

Her sister's eyes widened, "Really? All of it?"

Elsie shook her head, "Yes, all of it."

"I am surprised."

She finished her tea, "So was I." She smiled over her cup. "I thought we'd bumble along the same way we always had, now I find myself…" She suddenly felt coy, embarrassed by revealing her feelings.

"You're in love," Mabel said, as if surprised by the fact herself.

"I suppose I am. You don't have to look so surprised or be so judgemental."

"Was I being judgemental?

"Weren't you," she lowered her voice, "aren't you always."

Mabel tutted as she rinsed her cup, "So we're still here then, after all this time."

Angry with herself for the sudden change in mood Elsie got up and joined her sister by the sink, rinsing her own cup and watching Charles talking to the hens by his feet through the kitchen window.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be abrupt."

"We've hardly ever been close, have we?" Mabel admitted.

Elsie respected directness but right now a little cushioning might have been nice. Nevertheless she nodded, tilted her head to one side as she watched her sister return to kneading bread. She turned and gripped the back of the chair she stood by, her throat tight as she contemplated what to say next.

"I don't want to argue Elsie," Mabel said gently, "You're my little sister and in a way I'm proud of what you've accomplished, I am. But your life is so far removed from mine."

She stared at her sister realising what strangers they'd become. They used to play in the mud together, eat berries off the tree in the woods by their house, there was a time Mabel was her closest confidante – now she knew practically nothing about her.

She wondered what had happened that she couldn't be glad for Elsie's joy, why couldn't she simply be pleased for her?

"I don't want to argue either." Was all she said in response.

"What happened, it's a long time ago." She dropped the lump of dough into a tin and covered it with a tea-towel. "The decisions you made, they have little importance now upon my life."

Elsie couldn't help feel that the words, although meant to ease their awkward relationship, stung slightly – the emphasis of 'my' in particular, as if establishing a void between them that wouldn't easily be filled.

So much for building bridges.

"How long are you here for?" Mabel asked.

Charles shut the door behind him and made his way back to the kitchen and Elsie looked up at him as she responded, "tonight and tomorrow, we go home late tomorrow afternoon."

"Would you like to have dinner tomorrow, I can arrange for Jack to be here then?"

"I think we'll be busy." She said too quickly as Charles responded with, "That would be nice," at the same time.

Mabel smiled knowingly, "Well, either way, I'll be cooking a pie and we'll be sitting down at 12:00, just as we do every day, join us or not, the offer's there."

Charles took it as a kind offer.

Elsie as a sign of dismissal.

"We should walk back for the bus," she said, "thank you for the tea, and the talk."

"Thank you for visiting. It's a long way to come, I appreciate that."

"Yes…"

Charles would have lingered but she was in her coat within a minute and standing by the door as he questioned Mabel on the livestock they kept. He hurried when he caught his wife's stare and followed her quick-march back down the driveway.

She didn't speak on the bus ride back, only stared out of the window at the darkening view. When they got back to the public house she disappeared into the bathroom for twenty minutes and he sat silently in the little room with his coat on listening to the noise of outside.

She seemed almost surprised to still find him there when she emerged and did a double-take at him sat in the small chair by the window.

"It's started to rain." He said to fill the silence.

"English summer. Thank goodness it waited until we were back."

"Elsie…" he rested his hands on his knees, leaning forward as if longing to say something vital.

"Yes?"

"Are you, I mean…"

"Oh for goodness sake Charles spit it out!"

Open mouthed he drummed his fingers on his knees as he watched her remove her hatpins and hat and place them on the top shelf in the wardrobe.

"Do you want to eat downstairs?"

"I'm not in the least hungry; in fact I have a headache." She looked at his pained expression and hated herself, "You go down, read the paper, have a drink and some food, I'm going to take a bath. It might make me feel better."

"I don't like to leave you."

"I'm a big girl. I've been alone most of my life." She disappeared into the bathroom and he listened for a moment to the sound of running water.

"If you're sure," he said rising uncertainly.

"I am."

"Right then, well, I won't be long."

When he'd gone she sat on the edge of the tub and cried.

He brought her a sandwich and a bottle of lemonade when he came back up, she was only just getting out of the bath and he placed them on the side table in the bedroom as some sort of pitiful offering, hoping her mood had changed as he listened to her dry and change.

He was out of his day clothes and reclining on the bed when she finally emerged from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following her in.

"What are you wearing?"

"My nightgown, why?"

"It buttons right up."

Her brow crinkled as she looked down at herself, "What?"

He gestured at her collar, "It fastens right up here."

"Charles, it's meant to." She removed her robe. "What do you want me to do?"

"Take it off."

"No!"

"Why?"

"They're not my sheets."

"You're being silly."

"Well thank you so very much. I'm so glad I have you to rely on to put me in my place." She turned her back on him, focussed on hanging her clothes in the small wardrobe.

"I'm just saying…"

"Don't say anything…"

"I'm merely pointing out that –,"

"Oh for goodness sake Charles!" Leave it alone! Will you just for one second leave me alone!" Her voice broke and she had to catch her breath, steady herself against the wardrobe door before she resumed the task of hanging her clothes.

The silence was painful as she closed the door and re-fastened the suitcase, putting it beside the bed. She daren't look up to his face, to the place where he still sat upright in the bed watching her. She'd never shouted at him like that. Never in all the years they'd been together.

By her side of the bed she stopped to remove her slippers, turn back the sheets.

She heard him breathe deeply then open his mouth, "I just want to…"

He stopped when he saw her close her eyes, face screwed up in frustration, "Sometimes Charles, it's a gift to know when to stop and let it go. This would be one of those moments."

And so he did. Sitting in silence as she got in bed beside him and opened her book.

"I'm not hungry," she said when she noticed the sandwich.

He shrugged, "Of course you aren't," he drew back the sheets and climbed into bed beside her. "Sorry I seem to be interfering."

She closed her eyes again, "I can't talk about this."

"About what? I appear to have upset you."

"No. I just need to be alone."

"You want me to leave? Where should I go – find another room?"

"No." She shut her eyes, leant her head back against the wall, "No I don't want that."

"I wouldn't sleep," he said gently.

She tilted her head slightly to look at him, her eyes heavy with unshed tears.

"I don't mean to be harsh."

"Let me help. That's what I'm here for, it's my job now."

She smiled, rubbing her cheek where the tears spilled over. "It's my problem, and it's an old problem and one I should be able to bury. It's as familiar to me as breathing."

"Elsie…" He reached for her, knocking her book to the floor as he drew her into an embrace.

She sobbed against his firm chest, pulled awkwardly against him in the strange bed in the strange room.

When she'd calmed she lay more comfortably, still resting against his chest but both laying now. "I'm sorry I shouted."

"I can let it go."

She chuckled sadly, "I know you will."

"You're worrying me; this was meant to be a joyful trip."

"It should be, it just reminds me of where I came from."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"In some ways. Mabel and I… she blames me for things, for leaving. I was younger, she always said that gave me more freedom, she felt tied to the farm, to our parents."

He kissed the top of her head.

"My life should have been mapped out as securely as hers was – farm life, marry a farmer myself, help run the farm, die a farmer's wife with a dozen children and a ruddy complexion."

He thought of the woman he'd met today and how negatively Elsie seemed to sum up her existence.

"Needless to say I didn't want it and I broke my Father's heart when I left Scotland." She breathed deeply, running her hand over his chest, across his stomach, "My parents grew ill, as old people do, and I wasn't there and Mabel was the only girl so she took the burden of it. And she blamed me for not being there to help. Of course when they died she left, she'd been courting Jack for years and they had the opportunity to purchase their own land here and things became what they became but we've always maintained this distance, this awkwardness."

"I'm sorry for that."

"I know." She turned over so she was looking up at him, "I don't think I've ever had such an emotionally turbulent week in my entire life."

"Things were going so well," he twisted her hair around his fingers, "I didn't mean to put a dampener on things."

"It isn't your fault."

"Perhaps we should still go for lunch though…"

She squeezed her eyes shut, "Can we talk about it tomorrow, or I'll worry all night and never sleep, and I look haggard as it is."

Her eyes were red from crying and her skin flushed but she still looked like the prettiest girl he'd ever met, "tomorrow."

"Thank you," she lifted herself up from him, leaning over to turn off the lamp and lying on her side.

He moved behind her, held her securely, his heart still heavy with the sadness she seemed to carry – never would he have thought this visit would turn out to be so glum. He'd meant it to be a joy for her, a treat, not a reminder of the distance in her family.

He kissed the back of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair and squeezing her stomach

"Talk to me," she whispered into the darkness, her voice still clogged with unshed tears. She rubbed the back of his hand where it lay upon her stomach, "Read to me."

"I don't have a book." He kissed her head again. "And it's dark." He closed his eyes, sorting through the many verses he'd come across in his years before he settled on one. "As fair art thou, my bonnie lass," he finally said, echoing her familiar timbre as much as he could.

She smiled, folding her fingers with his, "Yes," she swallowed, "recite me that."

"So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry:
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee well, my only Luve And fare thee well, a while! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile."

I hope you're still enjoying this - please let me know!