A/N: I've remembered why I used to be a more prolific writer when I posted almost exclusively to this site many (many) years ago. You are all just so lovely and encouraging! (I've also remembered the obsessive watch for reviews, and can't help but think that having access on a smartphone every hour of the day is not really helping me beat that addiction this time around). I'm trying to respond to all your lovely reviews individually, but still; thank you everyone!
_unravelling_
She has taken to knitting.
It is slow and in the 3 months she has persevered she has managed to finish only one unmatched pair of socks.
Her poor progress has as much to do with her limited skill as it has to do with her limited time.
Mr Mason has promised that when she gets the hang of it, she will be able to knit without a light, as Mrs Mason had often done.
She tells no one, but this is why she keeps on with it.
She finds as the months draw on - it is closer to a full year he has been gone now, than half - that she is awake more than she is asleep at night.
She cannot imagine more months passing where she sits up and watches the night slowly brighten to day, without going mad.
She does not dwell on the dreams that wake her. Cannot if she is to remain at Downton and not follow after him, grab him and pull him away from the war - a childish fantasy but then hours alone in darkness will do that to even the most sensible of people.
And so she has taken up knitting and will continue with it until she can pull the needles and wool to her at night when she wakes, and not need to waste precious candle wax to see by.
She has signed more than three dozen letters as 'Elsie' now, has received five signed 'Charles'.
She is scared to ask him what made him change so suddenly an address he has been using in letters and speech since she became Housekeeper.
Is afraid, but also does not honestly believe it matters. He will have his reasons, he is Mr Carson and does nothing without great thought, but it is only important to her that the change has happened and that he has not as yet reversed the decision.
Besides, no doubt war does strange things to a man, and a little informality between two people who have been friends for so many years, is hardly the worst that could happen.
She is working on a second pair of socks now, black and thick, as close knit as she is capable of. She will send them, when she is done. Winter is drawing in now and his feet have long hurt him on cold nights.
They will not provide the comfort of a hot-water bottle but they are what she has in her power to give him.
She drops a stitch and curses, she will need more miracles than she perhaps deserves if she is to send these to him before Summer comes around again.