It was a few days before the snow that lay thickly on the ground commenced its thaw in earnest. The rooftops of the cottages were first, helped first by the warmth emanating from inside and then by gravity, slabs of ice sliding silently across the slate only to hit the ground with a deadened thud. Next were the paths and lanes where various sets of footsteps and cart wheels had eased the way, quickly followed by the patches between the trees that the winter sun could reach.
Having savoured the opportunity to remain indoors the first day, Charles and Elsie struggled up to the Abbey the following morning and back again that evening, only to repeat the exercise the day after that, her hand clasped firmly in his and arms linked for mutual support. On her initial return she'd been welcomed back with a chorus of hellos and overly interested enquiries as to how her journey had been but brushed them all aside with a curt thank you and disarming smile, all the while muttering to herself that Sergeant Willis had a lot of answer for. Only Mr Bates seemed unbothered by the rumours that were swirling about the place, so much so that it gave Elsie cause to stop him halfway along the landing corridor one morning to ask if everything was alright.
"It is, Mrs Hughes," he sighed, "But it seems the arrival of Master Bates is about as tiring as I ever could have imagined, if working here wasn't sufficiently tiring enough."
"Of course, it is," Elsie said kindly, "And I fear it might get worse before it gets better." She saw his face drop a little, the already dark circles under his eyes grey a little more. "I'll tell you what," she offered, patting his arm gently, "It's my half day tomorrow. I'll pop down to see them both, shall I? Take a basket of something from the kitchen to save on the cooking. Maybe I can persuade Anna to let me take the bairn for a while so she can have a nap."
He gave her a grateful look. "Thank you, Mrs Hughes. That's kind and I know she'd be pleased to see you." He paused, adding, "Though she'll take some convincing as regards that nap."
Elsie laughed knowingly. "I'd expected nothing less. She's a determined one, that wife of yours, determined to do it all by herself, no doubt." She raised a questioning eyebrow and he nodded curtly in confirmation. "Don't you worry, Mr Bates," she added with a wry smile, "I'll get her to rest, even if I have to slip something into her tea!"
The Bates' cottage was a simple two up, two down with a pleasant outlook over fields on one side and the lane on the other. Elsie thought that even by the standards of her own accommodation it was a modest affair although, she mused, it would be much easier to keep warm on days such as this and Mr Bates would certainly not see his little family going cold whatever the cost. She rapped on the door as loudly as she dared, not knowing if Johnny would be asleep or not, and waited. The walk down had been easier than to her own home, helped by the shortest route being via footpaths that skirted the fields and therefore had felt the touch of the sun far sooner than the shaded paths through the woodland that marked her and Charles' usual route. She took the time to look around her, it had been a few weeks since she last visited and she could see the hints of Anna struggling to keep up with things, not that she blamed her in any way, a new mother had far more to worry about than cleaning windows and scrubbing the front step after all. But she knew Anna and knew her to be houseproud, and rightly so given the hardships that had been overcome to have something that was rightfully hers. She wondered if there was a way to help, sending one of the live-out maids down for an afternoon perhaps, but in a way that would be accepted. As she heard footsteps within she laughed to herself, there was certainly no circumstances under which either Bates would allow such a thing!
"Mrs Hughes?" Anna exclaimed at the sight of the housekeeper, "What a surprise!"
Elsie smiled as she entered, Anna stepping back to let her pass. "Mr Bates didn't let you know I'd be coming?" she asked.
"No," Anna said wryly, her hands finding their way to her hips, "It must have slipped his mind."
The two women shared a look and followed one another to the sitting room. As she sat down in one of the armchairs and let Anna fuss about the state of the place before disappearing to make the tea, Elsie took in her surroundings. She'd not had reason to call round many times in the past but she reckoned it looked about as tidy as could be expected, given the circumstances. What would have been a decent sized room was made smaller by the several half folded piles of washing in one corner and a jumble of baby-related things in another. She thought she recognised the highchair from the Abbey and fancied it had been the one used by Lady Mary once upon a time, it having no doubt been kindly gifted by her or the Countess now that Master George had grown out of it. She wondered whether its return would be requested before too long if she was right about the secret Mr and Mrs Talbot were keeping to the family, for now at least.
"I'm sorry about the mess" Anna apologised needlessly as she returned with a laden tray, "I doubt seem to have much time for getting things straight. Every minute seems to be taken up with something else."
Elsie brushed her words aside, "Anna, you know better than to think me bothered about anything of that sort. Besides," she added, "I came to see how you and the baby are, not to check up on your skills as a housewife."
Several moments of silence passed as they sipped their tea, one not quite ready to ask and the other not sure of the answer but, eventually, Elsie bit the bullet.
"So, how are you? How's little Johnny doing? Keeping you on your toes like a wee one should?"
Anna nodded as she set down her cup. "He's wonderful," she gushed, her smile confirming it as the truth. "He sleeps for about four hours at a time which, if Mrs Brown next door is to be believed, is nothing short of miraculous. I think I've gotten the hang of feeding now too which is a relief. I was so worried about it."
"I can imagine," Elsie replied, "It's a lot of change in a short time. I must say that you're looking rather well on it."
Anna's smile seemed to grow at the complement before suddenly faltering and then replaced by an eruption of tears. If Elsie was startled it was but momentary as she swiftly placed her own cup down on the side table and moved to kneel in front of the woman, taking her into her arms and holding her close. She could feel the resistance, Anna stiffening against her touch before she collapsed against her, her shoulder dampening as the tears continued to flow. Elsie offered hushed words of comfort and rubbed the younger woman's back and eventually the sobs slowly began to subside.
"It's not what I thought it was going to be, Mrs Hughes," Anna confessed, pulling back to find a hanky to blot at her eyes. "Nanny makes it all look very easy but it's not, or at least it isn't to me."
Elsie looked at her sagely, "Nanny has a good deal of help, and has the added advantage of not having had to birth the children in her care."
"True," Anna sniffed, "But shouldn't it be getting easier by now? I mean, he's nearly six weeks old and I feel about as rotten as I did a month ago." She paused to blow her nose. "I don't think I'm doing a very good job," she half-whispered.
"Well, of course you are," Mrs Hughes insisted in a kind but firm tone. "You're exhausted, my girl, and, unless you've had a radical change of personality, trying to do it all alone."
"Maybe," Anna said ruefully, "But this is what I -"
A piercing cry from somewhere above their heads cut her off, and Elsie couldn't help but notice the slump of Anna's shoulders as she smiled resignedly and stood. Elsie joined her, ignoring the creek of her joints as she did so, and managed to catch Anna's eye.
"Why don't you find out what it is he wants and, once he's feeling happier, let me hold him for a bit whilst you rest?"
Anna shook her head wearily, "I can't let you do that, Mrs Hughes," her eyes turning upwards towards where the cries were getting louder, "He needs me."
"He does," Elsie conceded with a nod, "But he'll need you just as much tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that too. I'm not a mother but even I can see it's a marathon and not a sprint."
Anna crossed to the doorway but hesitated in climbing the stairs long enough to give a backward glance.
"You'd look after him long enough for me to have a short nap?" she enquired, a hint of hope creeping into her voice.
"Aye," Elsie agreed, "And longer if you need me to. Besides, it's not often I get the chance to hold a wee bairn these days."
"You're too good to me, Mrs Hughes," said Anna with a weak smile, the tears clearly threatening again, and with that she hurried upstairs.
Charles stomped the snow from his shoes on the rough mat at the backdoor and let himself in quietly, as had been instructed. The hint of dusk when he'd departed the Abbey was now falling in earnest, the bitter air with it, and he was as glad as he could remember to slip unnoticed into the cottage and close the door silently behind him. It had been an odd request but he'd not questioned it too much. He was growing somewhat accustomed to simply going along with her schemes, not wholly but enough. And the sight that greeted him now made him happy that, on this occasion, he had.
His wife was sitting upright but relaxed in the chair closest to the fire, its embers bright through the increasing gloom. The streaks in her hair seemed more silver than grey and gave her an ethereal glow, one that suited her current role of guardian angel to the bundle wrapped up tightly and snuggled into the crook of her arm. Her head rested back, her eyes closed, and she looked to him about as content as he'd ever seen her. He watched her for a minute, his chest heavy with both a deep sense of both love and sorrow. He cleared his throat gently and smirked as she turned her head towards him before opening her eyes.
"I see you succeeded in your mission," he murmured, not wishing to disturb the babe.
"Did you doubt me, Mr Carson?" she retorted with ease, her voice teasingly light.
He shook his head in dismissal and after removing his outer coat and hat moved to take the seat opposite her, to smile as Johnny stirred, his head rolling from side to side as a dream took him, before settling down once more.
"Anna's sleeping," she explained, "Has been for quite some time, I'm pleased to say."
He nodded but offered nothing further, choosing instead to stare into the firelight.
"No regrets, Charlie," her voice breaking his reverie.
He looked up and met her piercing gaze piercing with a small look of surprise, not that he should have been. They'd known each other too long and she knew him too well.
"No regrets," he said in agreement.
They sat quietly, the hiss and crackle of the firewood shifting in the crate the backdrop to the baby's sniffling snores. After a while, she asked if he'd take Johnny whilst she made them a pot of tea, offering the added reason that her arm was beginning to go rather numb. He agreed readily and as she returned was not embarrassed to be found himself humming a melody to the sleeping child.
"It's as if the rest of the world was a million miles away," she said as she poured, adding the milk and leaving his cup within easy reach of his free hand. "Just you and me and the little one."
He nodded his agreement. "Quite a change to how you spent your time the other night," he said. Her journey home still hadn't been spoken of. He'd wanted to ask, to prise the story from her but after the call from Sergeant Willis, she'd been so dismissive that he'd decided on a different tactic, one of waiting. But his patience and curiosity was at its limit and now suddenly seemed as good a time as any. And, it seemed, she agreed.
"I'm not on the run from the law, Charlie," she joked, "You needn't worry about anything like that."
"I sincerely hope not," he bristled, "And I never thought you were," adding sincerely, "But I do want to know."
"As is your right," she agreed, lifting the cup to her lips, taking a sip and settling it gently back down again. "But it's a little embarrassing if I'm honest."
His eyebrows shot up. He'd not expected that, but forced himself not to comment but to wait.
"I never got Lady Mary's telegram," she started. "The doctor looking after Becky was driving a good part of the journey to check on an old family friend who'd not been well and he offered me a lift. It seemed churlish to turn it down."
"But," she sighed, "By the time we got closer the snow had started to fall and I was starting to get concerned that I'd miss my train. The doctor was fretting unnecessarily and so to speed things along I gave him the briefest of thank yous along with a promise to let him know I made it back safely."
Charles frowned. "Well, that all sounds understandable. I'd have wanted some reassurance if I was abandoning a woman all alone in the middle of nowhere in such weather!"
"Abandoned? Hardly!" she tutted, "And honestly, since when is Leeds Central train station the middle of nowhere, I ask you? But that's beside the point really because you see I was hurrying then, rushing to make it to the platform and I didn't notice that I'd dropped it. And then later that was what brought about all the panic."
"Dropped what?" he asked.
"My handkerchief. It must have fallen out of my handbag when I was searching for my ticket."
Charles frowned again, the obvious question forming on his lips but she seemed to anticipate this as she carried on. The embroidered handkerchief, it seemed, had been lost once she'd boarded the train, nestling itself under one of the seats. It had been discovered later by the driver who was doing his routine checks before leaving the train in a siding at York. He'd handed it in to the Lost Property Office.
"And there it would have lain, if it hadn't been for the overly worried doctor," she said, adding at the sight of his continued confusion, "You see, that train never left Leeds. At least not with us on it. We were forced to alight as there'd been a landslip further down the line, the train moving later once it had been cleared. I simply spent a good part of the night in an extremely draughty waiting room along with several dozen other passengers. Eventually they managed to get us on a train headed south and I picked up the milk train at Newards Cross."
"So what has all this got to do with Sergeant Willis?" Charles asked a little too loudly, his gruff voice startling Johnny, who's eyes opened dramatically but with a bit of ssshhhing closed them again quickly enough.
Charles received a stern look but it was brief as she took up the tale once again, of how the doctor had waited until gone midnight before he couldn't wait any longer and called the stationmaster at Downton to confirm Elsie's arrival. Knowing the housekeeper by sight and knowing that she hadn't, he then took it upon himself to call his counterpart in Leeds, an apparently sensible man. After making enquiries amongst his staff, he wasn't able to confirm the fact either way and so called the local police to alert them to a possible missing woman, and from there it seemed to escalate. Two policemen were sent to commence their own investigations managing to speak to several people but, perhaps unsurprisingly, received conflicting reports concerning a woman of middle age in a dark coat and maroon scarf clutching a small suitcase. A porter thought he'd seen her heading for the bus stop outside the station's main entrance, another swearing blind he'd helped her board the last train towards Doncaster. Her name and description were circulated down the line but given the hour it was sometime before someone made the link with the initials 'E.M.H.' on the handkerchief, setting in motion a series of telephone calls crisscrossing the county to try and locate the missing relation of one Becky Hughes until, at last, the call came across the desk of someone who actually knew her, Sergeant Willis.
"Why didn't the doctor call the Abbey?" Charles asked, incredulous at her account.
"I have no idea," she shrugged. "I doubted he intended it to go so far as it did. He's a kindly man and I imagine he just wanted to know I'd made the train."
He stared at her, quite unable to decide what he made of it all. The idea that half the county police force seemed to have been dashing around spurred on by an errant square of cotton seemed ridiculous. And all in aid of his wife? His ordinary, capable, wonderful wife? Well, it was ludicrous and he couldn't help but chuckle. A deep throaty chuckle that he fought to dampen down for fear it would overtake him completely and so instead of laughter it seemed to her that he was fit with rage, his chest heaving as he repressed the sound and jostled little Johnny, but he simply slept on.
"You're angry," she said, simply. "And I don't blame you. You weren't happy about the milk train, but this?" she reddened, "Well, it's mortifying. Such a lot of fuss over nothing!"
"No, not angry," he rushed, his eyes looking directly into hers as his battle to remain quiet was lost and he couldn't help but break out into a chortle, "Tickled, if anything. And now I know what to get you for an anniversary present."
"Oh?" she asked, allowing herself a smile at what she now saw was his considerable amusement.
"Handkerchiefs," he stated matter-of-factly, "New handkerchiefs. And with the correct initials on them at that!"
Well, there you have it! The mystery is solved and in a manner that I hope befits our lovely Elsie.
In case you're wondering, Newards Cross is a delightful town, with wide Georgian streets and a mishmash of assorted buildings from across the ages, all carefully maintained by the good people who live there. It has an efficient train service that has been known to come to the rescue of many a stranded passenger on a wintery night. It is also entirely made up as I was feeling lazy about making sense of the 1926 UK train network, given my previously failed attempt in chapter 5. I beg yet further forgiveness but suggest we all go there for a day trip sometime, just to see for ourselves how picturesque it is ;-)
One chapter to go...