A/N: Thanks again to silhouettedswallow for awesome beta work. (The plates are no longer taking note of the footman!) The song "Pictures of You" is on my Spotify "Chelsie Potpourri" playlist. (Username – ChelsieSouloftheAbbey)

*Be sure you've seen chapter 6, as 6-8 are all getting posted within minutes of one another.*

Xx

CSotA

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you

That I almost believe that they're real

I've been living so long with my pictures of you

That I almost believe that the pictures

Are all I can feel …

Elsie approached the dining room door, stopping short just after passing through, the scene before her quite unexpected. "Milady?" she questioned uncertainly.

"Mrs. Hughes, please, join me," Mary said, not turning to face the woman, but rather indicating with a wave that Elsie was to join her where she stood at the head of the table. The chair that usually sat there, along with the four others closest to it, had been moved, making room to move about and access the items that were laid on the tabletop.

Elsie approached warily, seeing that "dinner" was going to be a rather odd affair. She spotted two plates at the opposite end of the table from where Lady Mary stood. A footman stood against the wall and Elsie gave him a nod by way of greeting.

"I do hope you don't mind … my little 'project' seems to have taken over the dining area." Mary backed up and motioned for Elsie to move closer, allowing her to examine the items more in detail. "Please, come and see."

Photographs, Elsie noted first. So many photographs – oh, my, she thought, reaching out to pick one up, that's the Dowager. How long ago was this taken? She returned the photograph to the pile, raking her eyes over other items … newspaper clippings, a staff photo album, wine ledgers – oh, she went into his pantry to get those! – novels, a couple of small toys, and a few Christmas cards, trinkets … Elsie suspected that the younger woman had simply filled a box with the contents of the butler's pantry at Downton, taking anything and everything that she could think of to remind him of who he was. The other items must belong to the family, and several of the items seemed quite old indeed.

"What do you think? Is there any chance of it actually working?"

Elsie looked up, startled from her musings, and saw Lady Mary starting at her intently. "I am not sure," she admitted. "But perhaps."

"We should eat – you must be famished – and then perhaps you can help me select the items that we should bring along tomorrow."

We. Of course, she'll return with me. "As you wish, Milady."

Dinner was comprised of some type of fish and vegetables – Elsie paid little attention to the meal, simply putting food in her mouth mechanically. She was thankful that the meal had all been plated together on one dish. Elsie was uncomfortable enough sitting at table with Lady Mary; she'd have had quite a difficult time indeed if she'd had to sit through a multi-course meal trying to make meaningful conversation the entire time.

They ate in relative silence, and Elsie took a moment to compliment the footman on his wine choice.

"Mr. Carson would be very proud of you, Steven," she told him. "This wine is an excellent accompaniment to the meal."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes – that means a lot to me," he replied, blushing from somewhere below his collar to the roots of his dark hair. "I spent some time with him over the summer trying to learn as much as I could. My granddad was a wine maker and I feel like it's in my blood – Mr. Carson seemed rather happy to learn that. I'd like to do my granddad proud."

Elsie nodded. "That's quite admirable, and something that Mr. Carson no doubt values very highly."

Steven nodded, returning to his place near wall as the women ate.

"Mrs. Hughes," Mary ventured after a few minutes, "I must admit I'm finding myself torn."

"Torn, Milady? How so?"

Mary looked guiltily at her plate, moving some food around with her fork but barely eating anything. "I feel like, if all this," she waved her hand over the multitude of items on the table, "doesn't work, there's no hope." She said the last bit so quietly that Elsie almost didn't hear her. Elsie took a moment or two before responding lest she lose the emotional control that she was just managing to maintain.

"Milady, we must not give up on Mr. Carson …" She looked down at her hands, which were now clasped so tightly around her fork and knife that her knuckles were white. "I promised," she finished in a whispered breath.

"We will always take care of him, of course," Mary forged on. "Allow him to live on the estate, in a cottage, find some other work for him if he cannot return to –"

"No!" Elsie said, much more sharply than she intended. She whipped her head up to meet Lady Mary's eyes, the intense, steely blue meeting the tired, slightly-overwhelmed and hopeless brown. "I am sorry, Milady, to have spoken in such a tone. But we must not think negatively … not yet, anyhow. Dr. Gill told me this afternoon to give Mr. Carson a couple of more days to show progress, that the time they kept him sedated may have confused him more or, at the very least, the family that have been in and out visiting may have been too much for him." She started niggling her lip … How to say this delicately? "He believes that if just one or two of us go at a time, with photographs or other items such as you've gathered, it may be less stressful and, therefore, prove more beneficial than if we keep up a constant parade of family and friends heading by his bedside."

Mary sat back, motioning for Steven to remove her plate. She looked steadily at Mrs. Hughes, who returned her gaze unwaveringly. "Please, finish your meal, Mrs. Hughes. Don't mind me, I had a rather late luncheon."

Elsie did as she was asked, grateful for the light meal after the intensity of the day she'd just been through.

Mary's gaze wavered between watching her housekeeper eat and looking over the materials she'd brought from Carson's pantry. Reviewing the conversation in her head, she realized with a jolt that Mrs. Hughes had, through some conversation with Dr. Gill, seemingly taken control of how the next days should play out, that somehow she was now leading this 'investigation.' Mary supposed that wasn't unusual, as the woman's entire job revolved around taking control: of maids, linens, Downton, even Grantham House … and, of course, of the butler. After another moment of deliberating, she came to a conclusion: Carson's well-being was more important that some silent power struggle amongst the two women.

"Mrs. Hughes," she said aloud, "I'd appreciate hearing more of how you feel we should proceed."

Elsie's breath caught a moment, and she reached for her wine and sipped it slowly as she formulated a response; in about a dozen words, Lady Mary had acknowledged that Elsie was the stronger woman in this situation, had tossed the ball in her court and had asked her opinion, almost as an equal. Of course, they weren't equals, and Elsie told herself that she'd do well not to forget that. Funnily, she could hear the reminder in his voice inside of her head as opposed to her own.

"I think we should each select no more than, say, four items to bring – I will focus on staff-related things, and you should focus on the family. I would recommend we select items that we can discuss at great length should he ask questions about them, things about which we can offer many specific details." She paused, taking a deep breath, here goes nothing, Elsie, and continued. "We can meet with him one at a time so as not to overwhelm him."

Mary listened intently, hearing again what the woman didn't say – that she wanted time alone with Carson, and that she assumed Mary would as well, neither of which were incorrect assumptions.

"Very good," she answered, rising from her seat. "Let's do just that, and plan to leave just after breakfast."

Elsie nodded. She rose from her chair and headed to the other end of the table where she retrieved the two items she knew would be the most valuable ones she, herself, could pick: the staff photo album and the wine ledgers. She backed away from the table but, on second thought, returned and reached for one more item … the small, silver frame with Alice's photograph.

"A friend?" Mary enquired softly, ignoring the bitter feeling that came from Mrs. Hughes knowing the identity of this woman while she, who'd known Carson her whole life, did not.

Elsie nodded, a sad smile appearing on her face. "Yes, an old friend. It's possible that, if he doesn't have any memories of Downton, this will spark an entirely different set of them."

"Good idea," Mary admitted. She reached out and chose some items herself.

"Milady, if you'd be so good as to excuse me, I'm going to retire for the night. Thank you for inviting me to take dinner with you, and for putting together and sharing all of this."

"Of course. And, Mrs. Hughes? Thank you."

Elsie closed her eyes and gave a brief nod, yet another acknowledgement that, at least this week, they were allies on a mission.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Elsie made her way to her room, clutching the books and frame to her chest as if she could somehow infuse all of her memories of him into the items themselves, memories that would seep into his brain and free the chains that were holding it captive. She shook her head, uncomfortable with the feeling that, despite what had just happened in the dining room, she had absolutely no control over the entire situation. It would be up to her to unlock his brain, she was sure of it, just as she'd always been sure of him, of them, even when it had seemed completely hopeless. Robert and Violet Crawley had known him the longest, to be sure … but she knew him the best. The only question that remained was how much was too much to share … How much do you tell him, Elsie? How much do you tell THEM?

She locked her bedroom door and deposited the items on the bed, knowing that she needed to get changed and washed and unpacked before her mind could be allowed to focus on the day ahead. Her evening ablutions taken care of, she hung her clothing in the tiny wardrobe, shaking her head at how soon she'd returned to the room she'd thought never again to inhabit. Mrs. Bute was well again, after all, and Elsie would no longer needed at Grantham House during the Season. She sighed, smiling at the happiness she'd felt these past few months, being able to share in all of the events surrounding Lady Rose's presentation, all of the business and busy-ness of the Season itself, of what London had offered. It had been a great many years since she'd set foot in the city, and she'd thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity.

Finally changed into her nightdress, hair smartly plaited, Elsie tucked herself into her bed and sat back against the headboard. She ignored the staff album for a moment, and pulled the wine ledger onto her lap. Opening the cover, she smiled fondly at the handwriting before her. His neat, perfect handwriting, carefully cataloguing and tallying inventory, with notes next to most entries that recorded his thoughts regarding taste, popularity with the family, even relationships with the merchants themselves. She allowed her fingertips to brush over the precise script, reading the words on the page and hearing them in his voice.

As she peered more closely at the notes, she noticed a pattern. She had suspected she would, but the confirmation was music to her mind: next to several of the wines, a small star, an asterisk, noting the wines he'd shared with her over their evenings together, wines which she'd particularly enjoyed. She allowed herself to get lost in the memories of those nights, slipping off into yet another dreamland which would never be recorded on paper for anyone else to see.

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