Chapter 5 – Changing Seasons

A/N: Thanks for all the thoughtful reviews, you guys. I now have a sense of what this story will be and is. My plan is to explore the timeline between S4 and S5 – those last few months of 1923. And I pretty much write canon, so if you are expecting resolution here, this isn't that fic! But I love the idea of taking time with this and ending likely at Christmas, to set a contrast between Cheslie during that time in '23 versus the proposal at Xmas '24.

I appreciate you all reading and reviewing this subtle little fic. ~CeeCee

She gazed out the window as the train entered Yorkshire, watching the familiar landscape that had shed the emerald green of its summer outfits, the trees now wearing a riot of gold, orange, brown and reds instead, dressed for autumn.

It was hard to believe that she'd been standing in the ocean, bare feet covered in sand, not even a month ago; but the seasons were sometimes like that, she found. They came upon a person before she could even pull the heavier coat from its place in the closet, or one could see last year's gloves would do for another winter.

And this roundtrip train ride was the opposite of her last one, that journey to and from London over the summer. She was heading back towards Downton now, but from somewhere else: Lytham St Annes. From Becky, and her group home by the sea. From a woman named Kathryn Clemmens, who was kind and tough and loved Becky nearly as much Elsie did.

Kathryn, Becky's long-time nurse, had called Elsie two days ago, at Downton. Elsie's heart fluttered in her chest a bit, remembering. Because, of course, the call had been answered by Charles Carson. He had knocked on the door of her office, in that distinctive way he had, not long before lunch was to be served upstairs.

"Mrs. Hughes? You've a phone call," his forehead was creased in that dear way it had of folding on itself.

"I do?" She couldn't help the surprise that crept into her voice. Who on earth would be calling her? Then she realized there really only could be one person, and very few reasons she might call. Kathryn.

"Indeed, a Miss Clemmens is waiting for you on the line," he replied, all the questions he'd never dare ask her dancing in his eyes. "Obviously, you can use my study as long as you need to for the conversation."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I very much appreciate it." She had hurried past him, ignoring her pounding heart, hoping that Kathryn's news wouldn't be too terrible, wondering what she would do if it was the worst news possible. How she would manage to hold herself together, pretend not to be mourning a sister that no one in her life knew about.

She had not had to test this particular version of sorrow, however. Becky was doing poorly, yes, and Kathryn explained to her that this was likely the beginning of the troubles that had always been waiting for Becky, in her middle age: her heart, and all of those things connected to it, didn't work as properly as they should. It was all connected to what made her simpleminded, a decision that had been made before she'd entered the world.

Elsie had sat with Becky, holding her hand and letting her sister pet her hair, as she and Kathryn discussed what needed to be done going forward, to make her sister comfortable and happy as the decline began. As Kathryn spoke, Elsie had pressed her cheek into Becky's caress, smelling the warm, sweet, Becky-smell of her damp hand, looking at the face that still seemed ageless in its lack of guile, though her sister was over fifty. Trying to imagine the next few years, the rapid aging that her nurse warned was coming.

She was heading back to Downton, back home, as it was now, after all of these years, for good or ill. And so were the people in it, the people she worked with every day. She leaned back against her seat and sighed, wondering why she'd kept her sister a secret for so long, for all of these years. From Beryl Patmore, from Charles Carson.

She brushed a traitorous tear from her cheek as she wondered. In the back of her mind, there had never been the right time to confide in them, or a good enough reason. And now it was more than a secret; it had become a burden.

One she felt obligated to carry herself.

She grinned, though it wasn't an entirely certain smile. She gazed out at the gorgeous colors rushing by, blurring into a single burst of flame. The season had changed for Becky – and for her – before she could prepare for it. There was no other doing: you had to move forward in this life, lest it leave you behind. And if you kept going, who knows bright wonders might show up at a moment's notice?

oooOOOooo

He'd never admit it, but he had spent the last thirty-six hours alternating between anticipating Elsie Hughes' return – and wondering what had obligated her to leave so suddenly in the first place.

After speaking with the mysterious Kathryn Clemmens for a quarter of an hour, she'd emerged from his study solemn-faced but calm. Requested a day off, including a night away from Downton. Her tone was light, her face was serious and her eyes entirely avoiding the questions his were asking.

Which was fair, of course. He had no right to encroach on her privacy. No right, but he couldn't help himself from wondering, so he didn't bother to try. But now that the time of her requested leave was expiring, he was anticipating her arrival at any moment.

As he reached his study after dinnertime, Beryl Patmore bustled into the hallway.

"Ah, Mrs. Patmore," he greeted her. "Did Mrs. Hughes mention to you what train she'd be taking back? I want to ensure someone is at the station to meet her, if possible." A pointless question. He knew what train, and he'd sent the car to pick her up not twenty minutes ago. Somehow, he couldn't help himself.

"Not sure that's necessary, Mr. Carson. She's already returned. Have you not seen her?"

"No, I've not! Is she in her office?"

"I suppose you each just missed the other. Miss Baxter came down right after the meal finished, looking for her. She'd not even gotten her hat off, but her ladyship needed something solved urgently, and I suppose only Mrs. Hughes would do. So off she went," the cook shook her head. "I was going to make her a plate up in a minute; she looked travel-weary and spent, I'll tell you, Mr. Carson."

Only Mrs. Hughes would do. Something deep inside of him sighed at the thought.

"Very good, Mrs. Patmore, thank you. I'm sure she'll appreciate that once she's finished with her ladyship," he nodded.

"Appreciate what?"

He and Beryl Patmore turned at the sound of Elsie Hughes' voice. She looks tired, he thought. But well. Whatever had called her away had been settled satisfactorily, at least for now.

"A hot meal, and maybe a strong cuppa," the cook replied, grinning.

"Dinner yes, but I'll pass on the tea, Mrs. Patmore, thank you," she grinned at both of them, and he was pleased to see it reached her eyes. "However, Mr. Carson, if ye've something from the wine cellar you'd be willing to share…?" She raised an eyebrow at him as the cook bustled away to secure her some edibles. She followed him into his study and he closed the door behind them.

She was silent as he poured them each a glass and they took a seat at the small table for two.

"Thank you," she said as he passed her the wine. "For both the drink and the discretion. Ye've not asked what took me away, nor even hinted at even the mildest curiosity about it."

"You're very welcome, on both accounts," he cleared his throat. He wasn't sure if her words were an invitation or a warning, so he waited. He also knew that, in a few minutes' time, Beryl Patmore would interrupt their tête-á-tête and the distinction would be meaningless.

She sipped her wine then looked over at him, her forehead creasing. She seemed to be considering something for a moment, her countenance open; then her face changed, settled into the one he was used to.

"I meant to find you when I returned, but Lady Cora had an emergency she needed assistance with," her voice wasn't entirely respectful. He found he didn't mind.

"And only you would do," he replied, filling with warmth again.

"Aye, and I only I would do, in or out of my travel clothes," she replied, and her expression changed once again. "I suppose it's lucky everything resolved itself and I was able to return so quickly." She added, and something told him that was all he was going to get from her on the matter. A door may have been open, briefly, but she'd firm shut it again, for her own reasons.

"Lucky for us, you mean Mrs. Hughes," he quipped, and it felt acceptable. "Downton might crumble upon itself if you were gone for too long."

"I'm not going anywhere, Mr. Carson, so there's no need to worry on that account," she answered, grinning, but her color was high. "I'm here to stay. There's really no other place that feels like home anymore."

"I have to agree with you, Mrs. Hughes," he took another sip of his wine, wondering where she had been, and grateful for her return.

Beryl Patmore came in at last with a tray and he poured her a glass of port as well. The trio of them chatted, the conversation becoming livelier, lighter, and he mused, briefly, what made a place home.

He felt it had very little to do with the grand house above him. He was certain of it.