Thick flakes drifted silently downwards, their long fluttering journey finally coming to an end as they settled on the ground and clung desperately to one another, the carpet of snow increasing as the minutes ticked by. The cloud above allowed for no hint of moonlight nor the dawn that couldn't be far off now, and the trees would have remained invisible against it had it not been for their branches being edged in white.
Huddled half over against the cold, a figure emerged onto the lane. Hat pulled firmly down and a woollen scarf wrapped several times around them against the freezing world in which they journeyed. Sensible boots disturbed the newly fallen snow and seemed loud against the otherwise quiet air, the even pace ensured an even rhythm of scrunch, followed by scrunch, was kept up, the only disturbance in its regularity coming when a toe collided with an errant stone lying unseen. The resulting trail of footprints vanished as rapidly as they appeared, and eyes were lifted upwards in silent prayer and thanks that the delays that had beset them any longer than they had..
Reaching the doorstep and transferring their small case from one gloved hand to the other, the figure paused. The hour was unsocial to the extreme and no doubt the occupants within would be fast asleep and immune to the worsening situation beyond their walls. It seemed wise to attempt to rid as much snow from their person as possible and so attempted to do so through the stamping of feet and brushing of sleeves, but it was largely in vain. With a final look at the white being left behind, a hand turned the door handle as quietly as was possible and, with a final stamp of feet to clear their boots, they entered.
The fire in the grate had long since become a pile of glowing embers but it was easily rekindled, the poker and a few lumps of coal expertly employed so that it was roaring back into life within a few minutes, causing fingers stiffened from the cold to ache as they began to thaw. It felt wrong to be here, to have snuck in without announcement. The cottage had appeared so dark and lifeless from the outside, but it hadn't proved to be. The hall brightened by the faint light from the sitting room which they knew was due to the lamp having been lit and not extinguished, the soft snoring coming from the chair in the corner explaining how the room had come to be so warm and cosy. It was all in such stark contrast to the surroundings of their previous hours, an adventure of suitable ardour that the simple delight of discovering heat and the comfort it gave warranted savouring, just for a moment longer.
At last it couldn't be put off any longer but just as they considered they'd have to create a disturbance of a kind, a loud spit from the flames was accompanied by a loud snort that was hard not to at, the unheard words muttered on their lips hinting at the dream that unfolding. The figure stood from where they'd been crouched on the hearth rug and, crossing towards the chair, leant down over the person deep in slumber, his head resting back with features soft and relaxed.
"Charlie," she whispered, the backs of her fingers stretched out to gently stroke his cheek, "Charlie, wake up."
He reacted slowly, his head unconsciously moving towards her touch. As the caresses continued, his eyes began to flutter open, sporadic at first but then more quickly as his mind processed the sight that greeted them.
"Elsie?" he asked confusedly, "You're home?"
"Yes, my dear man, I'm home," she said, smiling as she felt him flinch at the cold feel of her lips against him, a reaction that might have offended if he hadn't spoken at the very same moment.
"Thank God," he said with a dramatic sigh of sheer relief, reaching out to clasp her hand within his own with little idea of ever letting it go, "Thank God for that."
The whistle of the kettle alerted her that the promised warm drink would soon be in her hands, the smell of bread toasting drifting up the stairs causing her stomach to rumble more loudly than was dignified, but she didn't much care.
Charles hadn't wasted any time on the niceties, shooing her upstairs the instant he realised how cold and wet through she was. It was endearing that he wouldn't hear any word of a protest against his making her some breakfast, his rapidly mumbling words about her surely being half starved were all she'd discerned as she'd gratefully relented and headed up. It seemed a lifetime since they'd argued over her departure and she thought over it as she'd dug out her warmest flannel nightie, quickly washed in water she knew to be tepid but still felt hot to her frozen skin, and clambered inelegantly into bed such was her keenness to be under the covers. She'd already fetched herself an extra blanket, a thickly woven grey and white tartan affair that she'd had for too many years to think about. It was too heavy for everyday use but it would be just the thing to see her thawed out. Really she longed for sleep but she doubted she was going to get away with that just yet and so sat propped up and waiting instead.
"Right, here we are," he bustled into the room, a heavily laden tray between his arms, "Tea, eggs and toast."
"I should get lost more often," she said teasingly, ignoring his huffy response as she gratefully took it all from him and was quick to bring the tea to her lips and sigh contentedly as she took a sip. It was rather scolding but she didn't care and took several more before turning her attention to the food. She was conscious of him watching her but cared little. He could wait a bit longer.
"I've been worried, Elsie," he said as the final mouthfuls were taken care of. "We didn't know where you were?"
"We?" she questioned, placing the knife and fork tidily on her plate.
Charles stood from where he'd been perched on her side of the bed and lifted the tray from her lap, and placed it on the dressing table before crossing to his side and climbing in alongside her.
"Mr Talbot came to meet you and when you weren't there, Lady Mary and I started to get rather concerned," he explained.
Elsie stared at him. "What do you mean?" she asked with bewilderment, "Mr Talbot didn't know what train I was catching?"
"Of course he did. Lady Mary telephoned him before she sent you the telegram."
"What telegram?" she asked, frowning.
"The one I sent you telling you which train to catch," he explained in a tone that implied it was obvious, " That would get you home without having to change trains so many times."
Elsie stared at him incredulously, not understanding a word, and the look of puzzlement she was receiving in return was one that spoke on only one thing, the potential for cross words being exchanged, and heated ones at that.
"Clearly I've missed a thing or two," she said in a tone designed to soothe, "And I'm sure you'll fill me in, but can it wait? I've not slept a wink and whilst the sun might be thinking about waking, I am most certainly not!"
"Of course," he stuttered, seeing the dark shadows under her eyes now, "I wasn't thinking. You're right, all this can wait."
He leaned over to press a kiss to her temple and rose from the bed, smoothing down the covers behind him as she started to organise her pillows so she could settle herself.
"I'll telephone the Abbey, let them know you're back and not to expect us until later," he said, needlessly checking the curtains were sufficiently closed before taking up the tray once more and heading towards the door.
"I would imagine they know all about it by now anyway?" Elsie said, her yawn overtaking her words so they came out muffled.
Charles stopped and turned. "Pardon?"
"In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the whole village knew," she said matter-of-factly, before yawning again.
"What do you mean?" Charles asked, frowning.
"What do you mean, what do I mean?" she asked, a wry smile faintly drawn on her lips, "I was seen, of course." And when he just stared blankly at her added, as if it were obvious, "By the milkman, which was only to be expected really."
He didn't reply, his mind whirring at the implication before it clicked. "You got the milk train home?" he exclaimed with disbelief.
"And how else would I be here? Given the hour," she replied innocently, her eyes closing. "I can be quite resourceful, you know."
Well, I know...but a milk train? I can't quite believe it," he blustered, "My wife, sitting amongst the milk churns and the post bags..."
"Aye, your wife," she murmured, a smile still on her lips as sleep came on quickly, "Your little old wife."
I hope this didn't disappoint those that were hoping for a bit more angst. I contemplated keeping them apart for a bit longer but I couldn't do it to them. I need my Carsons together as much as the next person!
Early morning milk trains criss-crossed Britain throughout the first half of the 20th century. I've heard many tales of parents and grandparents catching them home from a very, very late night out! I've done my usual level of cursory research and think some took passengers. However, in my head, Elsie is riding in a goods wagon, seated regally on a hessian post bag surrounded by metal milk churns having charmed a guard into letting her aboard. If you'd like to join me in that fantasy then you're very welcome :-)