A/N: Hi loves! Sorry the formatting was screwed up on this one for a while - should be fixed now? Here's a smidge to tide you over - and set you up for some wonderful Christmas chelsie cheer in the next chapter! ;) Oh, and a little Cobert too, of course. Charity's just here to nudge everyone's love along. Consider her our representative in this story - the embodiment of all shippers! 3
Charity Victoria Edmunds was always rushing somewhere. She had never wanted to come to Downton Abbey, never wanted to join service, but when her mother died she, being the eldest of six children, needed to find a way to help her family survive. Her parents had done well, owning a tea shop which her mother ran with quiet strength and finesse. Her father thought, with Charity's help, the shop would continue on even in her mother's absence.
They'd had to close up before the end of the season. The magic of Edmund's Tea Parlor evaporated along with the ashes of Mrs. Edmunds. Her father had been able to find a job as a cook in a big London house, but they didn't need maids and Charity wasn't sure she could manage doing anything else. Her youngest siblings went to live with her aunt Bernice, who was terribly strict and she knew her brothers and sisters were scared and unhappy. When she was offered the maid's position at Downton, though it meant she had to leave London, she couldn't say no. If she worked hard enough for long enough, she could send enough money home to help her family come back together.
She was rushing to finish her work so that she could go to bed when the glistening snow caught her eye. Oh yes, she thought, It's Christmas Eve. She hoped that her aunt would be kind enough to get the little ones at least a small treat for the holiday. She had been able to send her father a little bit of extra money last month, but she knew it wasn't enough for presents. Bernice had money, but no heart, and that might have been something Charity had in abundance, but not something she could put in the post.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the footfalls of Elsie — the lady's maid— approaching her from the far end of the hallway. She had only been at Downton a few weeks longer than Elsie, but Elsie was older and, of course, as a lady's maid, a far more respected member of the staff. In many ways, Elsie reminded her of her mother — dark hair, bright eyes, a soft smile. Sometimes she would round the corner and see Elsie holding one of her Ladyship's garments beneath the light of a gaslamp as she mended it, and for a second Charity's breath would hitch — could have just as welll been her dear mother sitting there.
"Charity why aren't you in bed?" Elsie said, startling the girl. Seeing that she'd pulled the maid from a deep reverie, Elsie placed a warm hand on the girl's arm to sooth her, "I don't imagine it's because you're excited about Saint Nicholas."
Charity offered her a small smile, "No, Miss Hughes. Just missing my family is all."
Elsie softened her gaze and took the girl's cool hand, squeezing it gently. She almost recoiled when she felt how cold the girl's hands were!
"Oh, love, come on then. Let me make you a cup of tea, you're cold as a corpse standing out here in the hall."
Warming her hands against the steaming teacup, Charity smiled up graciously at Elsie. "Thank you kindly, Miss Hughes."
"Nothing a warm cuppa can't fix, jo." she said, pouring herself a cup. Outside the winter wind blew hard against Elsie's bedroom window. It sent a shiver up Charity's spine. She hoped that her siblings were tucked warm in their beds.
"How is the baby?" she asked Elsie, beaming. Ever since little Lady Sybil had been born, she couldn't help but ask Elsie about her every chance she had. She felt a little special tug toward the baby girl — she had, after all, been a little instrumental in the comings and goings of her arrival. Her youngest sister was just a baby still— only three years old. Seeing the Crawley girls always made her a little sad. One day she hoped to have a houseful of babies herself, and hopefully loving them would make the ache of her mother's loss a little bit less. Maybe someday she'd have her family all together again.
"Oh, sweet as can be." Elsie said, "Her Ladyship's still a bit weebly, but not that I mind. More time to cuddle the bairn!"
Charity sipped her tea and watched a flush of pride come over Elsie's face.
"Miss Hughes — perhaps it's about time you had a bairn all your own!" Charity laughed, mimicking Elsie's thick brogue. She only meant it sweetly, but the remark made the poor lady's maid face fall swifter than the big, wet snowflakes that hurtled toward the ground outside.
"Oh, lass. That's a broken dream, I'm afraid."
"No, Miss Hughes! Certainly not. You're quite lovely I'm sure you could have your pick of suitors!"
Elsie smiled sadly, "Hardly so, my dear. But I thank you for your confidence." She sighed into her teacup, "Besides that it's less about the man and more about the nature of my work — you marry your career when you enter service." She flicked her eyes up the girl, "You're young, though. Smart as a whip. You've got time to go another way."
She reached across the table and patted Charity's hand affectionately. Charity sighed herself in response, her tea nearly finished.
"Do you want to know a secret?" the girl said, her mouth turning up in a mischevious grin.
Elsie paused, her teacup halfway to her mouth. It clinked against the saucer as she set it down, "I suppose I can't resist."
Charity leaned across the table, "I think Mr Carson is keen on you."
"Oh, Charity love, don't be daft."
"No, I mean it Miss Hughes! He fancies you."
Elsie felt her face flush. Charity couldn't help but giggle at her blushing.
"You fancy him too, don't you?" She whispered, her spirit brightening. Elsie only shook her head dismissively, happy to have made the girl smile.
"It's late, Charity, you must be knackered! All this talk of love and bairns!"
Elsie finished her tea and stood when she heard Charity chuckle.
"I never said anything about love, Miss Hughes."!
Beryl Patmore had only been at Downton a few months. She'd come on as assistant cook initially — but when the old cook, Mrs. O'Malley, took ill at the end of the summer, she took over the entire kitchen in her absence.
Last week O'Malley's sister had called to say that she wouldn't be returning to service, and so Lord Grantham had told Beryl that the kitchen was all hers! Normally she'd have been thrilled at the opportunity- but not a week out from the newest fad of a holiday* gathering- the largest of the year, too. It was late, but Christmas Eve in the kitchen was a quietly bustling place. Careful not to wake any of the house, but still with so much work to do, she knew she wouldn't get more than a wink or two of sleep. She felt herself nodding off, stirring cake batter, when Elsie stepped into the room. The two women had become fast friends — both with sharp wits and a longing for their sisters, it was only natural that they had a bit of a kinship.
"Oh, hen*- you're going to work your hands to the bone!" Elsie said, coming over to the large, oak table where Beryl stood, "Can I do anything to help?"
"Put me out of my misery, Elsie!" Beryl laughed, dropping the spoon into the batter — her hands cramping up. "Oh, fiddle."
"Here, let me have a go." Elsie said, reaching for the bowl. Beryl handed it to her without further fuss and slumped down in the closest chair.
"Christmas," she huffed indignantly, "Silly hol'day if you ask me."
Elsie laughed, slipping her finger round the rim of the bowl. She licked the gooey batter from her finger — 'mmming' with approval.
"Beryl, love, this is your best yet." she said, "The little ones are going to devour it."
Smiling, Beryl reached across the table and took a lick for herself. Her reaction was not so sweet. "Blast! Needs more vanilla."
She stood up and took the bowl from Elsie, "Did you send Glenna an'thing for a gift?"
Elsie sat down, her eyes heavy. She watched Beryl stirring the batter and the smooth, repetitive motion almost rocked her to sleep. "I wrote her a letter. Told her about the bairn and all that. I didn't have time to get a trinket."
"Same," Beryl said, heaving another sigh, "I didn't even have time to send a letter. They'll probably think I've died and gone to heaven."
Elsie smiled, resting her chin in her hand. The warmth from the stove made the room cozy. Outside it had begun to snow even harder, the wet snowflakes pelting the window. The little ones would be so delighted to see it in the morning.
"How much more've you to do this evening?" she asked Beryl.
"Oh, puttin' together the Crackers*, but most of the sweets will be done after this cake — but then there's a goose, two ducks, a swan and I was plannin' on roast beef but Mr. Taylor didn't have it up for me at the butcher's this morning, so I don't know what I'll do 'bout that- and then there's the trimmings."
"My, my." Elsie said, "And they'll eat all of it, you suppose?"
"If there anything like the last house I cooked for, they will." She laughed, "So if you want any o' the Crackers, better take one before you go to bed tonight — there won't be any left tomorrow night."
"I think I'll do that," Elsie said standing, "Might I take one to Mr. Carson?"
Beryl stopped stirring and looked up at Elsie knowingly, "Sure he'd love that. He's sweet on you."
Elsie blushed, "Oh, that's enough."
"He is, Elsie. I swear it." She dropped the spoon again and cursed, shooing Elsie away, "Go on, go tuck in. I've got to get down to work on these or I won't sleep 'till I'm dead."
"Goodnight then," Elsie said, grabbing two of the brightly papered Crackers from the countertop and heading toward Mr. Carson's room.