A/N: Don't be too concerned about the title, there's still three more parts to go, promise!
_an ending_
The war ends in November 1918. Charles and Thomas have been missing for two months.
On the 11th she stands with the staff behind the family as the announcement is made by His Lordship.
Mr Matthew is back, William with him, both injured but so very much still alive.
The House celebrates that night. She smiles for the first time in a while and is glad that it's over, that the men can come home now victorious and safe.
It is later, when everyone else is asleep, that she slips into his pantry and curls up in his chair, her hair braided down her back. Her nightgown and robe are not warm enough for the cold night, but she feels warmer just for being in this place.
"Two months, Charles. You missed it by two blasted months."
Mr Bates has not felt comfortable enough to make any changes here, has in fact spent more time in the servant's hall and the boot room. She told him at the beginning that he was welcome here, but now she cannot be gladder that he sought out space elsewhere.
It has been almost eighteen months since Charles was in here but she imagines she can still pick up the scent of him. She presses her nose to the worn fabric around her and breathes in deep, and there he is, sunk into the very furniture of the house.
"You silly, silly man." She whispers and allows a single tear to dampen the seat back.
Footsteps in the hallway, the slap of bare feet against stone have her turning her face to the door as it opens. She does not straighten up as Lady Mary enters.
The young woman has a cushion and cover with her and settles on the floor in front of the chair, rests her back against Elsie's curled legs. The silence between them familiar and long.
"He would hate this, wouldn't he?"
She hums her agreement, fingers reaching out to brush against dark brown hair.
"Oh he would be appalled with both of us, M'Lady; you for being down here after dark, me for allowing a Lady of the house to sit on the floor."
The head in front of her nods, tipping back after into the fingers in her hair. "I think he would be just as upset if I let you sit here instead."
And he would, dear man, and would get himself worked up trying to decide on a better solution with neither of them willing to take the second chair.
What Charles does not know, what neither she nor Lady Mary have ever told him, is that many years ago a dark haired young girl would slip into this room in the night, curl up against this chair and wait to be found. She does not know what would bring her down from the maid's quarters to this room on those nights; maybe something she saw in the girl's face before dinner. But she would come and find her and talk her back to sleep with tales of Highland mountains and the magic men who work the farms. They never spoke of it come light.
"Tell me a story Mrs Hughes." Says the woman who is too old to need them.
"In the mountains, at the edge of any map, you will find a sign that says 'here be monsters'. This is where the dragons live..."
Perhaps though, there are times when no one is too old to need the guarantee of a happy ending.