A/N: I'm sorry about the delay, folks, and appreciate all the "gentle" inquiries. :) I love that you've missed it!

My sincere thanks go out to my lovely helpers on this chapter, parts of which needed to be "Scottishified" - the Doc and ladyaureliacrawley were of invaluable help on this one and LAC even added in some Gaelic! I work with languages for a living, and just couldn't throw this out there without that bit of authenticity.

Song choice is "Who Are You Foolin'?" by folk singer Cheryl Wheeler. You likely have never heard of her, but by some miracle the song is on Spotify, so I've added it to my "Chelsie Potpourri" playlist (username: ChelsieSouloftheAbbey). She's pretty fab if you like folk music.

Thanks for all the reviews and reblogs! Two more chapters coming VERY SOON! xx

I could write you a letter, and I always do in my head.

Just to tell you I'm better and this lonely didn't kill me I guess.

But just when I know I've finally let go,

I dream you are so much closer.

Oh who am I foolin'?

Some things you just don't get over.

I'm wearing a new face, a little insane,

And here in the old place nothing's the same

I'm waiting for winter, it always seems warmer somehow.

It's the sun on the snowfall and the silence I am longing for now.

But with one backward glance, I won't stand a chance,

So I'll wave goodbye over my shoulder.

Yeah who am I foolin'?

Somethings you just don't get over.

Elsie tried to ignore the burning feeling of despair that was threatening to burst forth from her at any time. As the sound of the train echoed through her brain - quite loudly, in fact, despite the noisy chatter of the others inhabiting her car - it fell into a rhythm that seemed to be chanting to her: weakness-and-shame, weakness-and-shame …

It had only taken a few weeks for Elsie to realize the God-awful truth of her situation; it hadn't been long at all before her body started to believe the words of an age-old language being whispered in its ear, the faint murmurs that had confirmed her deepest fears, and Elsie had realized that there were two opportunities that lay ahead of her.

The first was ridiculous and she dismissed it immediately: there was simply no way that she could afford to not work, to raise the child on her own in London. She needed money, not only for herself but for her family back home, and there would never come a day that she'd take to the streets to earn it.

The second had been rather a futile hope, really, as she knew the reality of both her and Charlie leaving their posts, of one of them finding another job as they lived as a married couple, was an impossible dream. At their ages, either of them would be lucky to find any other work that would pay to support not only them but the bairn on the way; even then, they'd be lucky to obtain a reference at all once the Carltons and Granthams found out the true reason behind their leaving. And they would find out, Elsie knew, oh yes, because no one below stairs ever kept secrets for long. A visit to Charlie had only confirmed her deepest fears about that second option - he wanted nothing to do with leaving a good job and he'd just been made butler for one of the most influential families in their corner of England.

Despite the terror bubbling up inside of her, Elsie would do nothing to stand in his way. She certainly couldn't argue with his rationale, couldn't ask him to give it all up because of her own foolishness. Elsie felt deep down that the circumstances in which they now found themselves were, honestly and truly, because of a careless decision that she had made; she'd pushed for what she wanted, pushed for hours of happiness instead of years of restraint.

She'd visited Charlie in the village near the Abbey to tell him, and he had offered to send her money, to do what he could to help support the child. He did his best to talk her into traveling home and having the child there, perhaps leaving it with her mother. That brought up another issue, of course, one which Elsie had never discussed with him.

But then, as Elsie had looked into his eyes, the deep brown color full of all the love and longing, sadness and regret that he had, she realized there was perhaps an option three: to travel home and have the child, but to then let it be raised by another family while Elsie returned to service. She could return to London even, if she could be so lucky, perhaps, return to some semblance of the life she'd been building for herself before she'd sabotaged it all in a moment of weakness.

Of all the options, this third one was the soundest, but it was the one that broke her heart. The idea of losing Charlie to his "family" had been bad enough, the knowledge that he'd chosen them over her having shattered her heart into a million bits despite the fact that it was the best choice for him. But the idea of giving up this child, this wondrous new life that had been created by their tremendous love … doing that would nearly kill her.

So Elsie had written to her Mam, giving few details in the letter save for the declaration she would be returning home, lest the note fall into the prying hands of a nosy footman or maid. She then met with Lady Carlton. 'Yes, Milady, my mother has fallen quite ill. Yes, if you please, I would request to return home as soon as you've found a replacement. I am truly sorry, Milady.' And thank God the woman had at least been kind enough to offer a reference, because Elsie had just put herself out of a job.

The train pulled into the station and Elsie was pulled from her reverie by the horrifying sound of the pouring rain. Drops were absolutely pounding on the roof of the train cars, huge puddles on the walkway of the quay as she descended the stairs. She smiled at the porter who'd unloaded her trunk and helped her to find a trolley for it, and hoped that her Mam had been able to send one of the farmhands with the cart in order to fetch her at the station.

"Miss Elsie?" came a voice from behind her. "I'm hear t' fetch ye for Mrs. Hughes. She cannae hardly wait to see ye."

"Jack Campbell, is that you? Oh, my, but you've grown into such a tall lad!" The sound of her voice startled her a bit; the cultured, clipped London tones she'd tried so hard to develop these past years suddenly irritating her the moment she was surrounded by this voice of her homeland. She tried to ignore the feeling, as it certainly wouldn't do to slip back into the thick brogue she'd worked so hard to rid herself of in order to have a successful life in service. She'd falter at times, but wouldn't let herself forget - propriety is everything in service, and a thick, Scottish accent was certainly never proper if one wanted a successful job in England.

Elsie couldn't believe the sight of the man in front of her, the one who'd been but a boy of twelve when she'd left the farm and who now looked like he was strong enough to work the land single-handedly. Actually, she thought, that is likely an accurate assessment of what is happening. "I cannot thank you enough for coming for me."

Bless him - if Jack had been startled at the sound of her voice, he said nothing; the young man just nodded, hefting her rather large trunk onto his shoulder as though it were filled with only air as opposed to all of her worldly possessions. "Best be off if we're t' make it before nightfall. Mrs. Hughes sent me with a piece for ye, if ye need a scran."

Elsie was surprised to discover that she was, indeed, famished. "Thank you."

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Essie!" came Becky's screeching voice. Elsie had about two seconds before her sister's body came careening into hers, barely time to turn just so, protecting the life she was so carefully guarding within her and bearing the brunt of Becky's force with her hip instead.

"Oh, Becky, my darling lass," she said softly, cupping her sister's face with her hands and kissing her repeatedly on the forehead. "I've missed you so."

"Are ye staying?" Becky demanded. "Essie needs t'stay wid Becky."

"I'll be here for a long while, yes, but not forever," Elsie answered gently. She would never tell Becky the true reason for her working, would never make the girl feel like a burden, but an unspoken truth had always existed between Elsie and her Mam: one day, Margaret Hughes would be gone, and Becky's care would have to be managed by someone else. Elsie was putting as much by as she could in order to be prepared for when that day came, and the guilt she felt at the knowledge that a bairn would now be sharing in that was too great to speak of just yet. "Becky, where's Mam?"

"Elspeth Margaret Hughes, ciamar a tha thu?" Elsie turned quickly, trying to maintain control of her ever-changing emotions as she moved forward into her Mam's open arms. "Shhh, it's alright Elsie. We'll manage," her Mam whispered, calming all of her eldest daughter's fears in a few quiet words. Elsie could hold it in no longer; feeling four years old instead of forty, Elsie embraced her Mam forcefully, burying her face into the older woman's neck and weeping at last, unable to voice her fears and concerns but knowing that, as always, her Mam understood them all, spoken or not.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Mrs. Macinroy's cousin?" Elsie's frustration was rapidly climbing. "Mam, you can't be serious? Everyone knows the Macinroy family is daft!"

"Elspeth, the woman and her husband have a well good life - in yer blessed England, no less! - and they are God-fearin' folk who work hard and keep to themselves. They'll take good care of yer bairn, make sure it's fed and grows up strong." Margaret was becoming incensed as the argument escalated for at least the third time that month. "Oh, lass, what did ye think would happen? Did ye think ye'd came dachaigh from London, all high 'n mighty with posh clò and a posh accent, and that they'd be linin' up at the door waiting to take in yer poor bastard of a child?"

Elsie flinched as if she'd been slapped and turned away from her mother. She gripped the side of the kitchen sink and stared out the window into the night, at the snow-covered fields lit only by moonlight.

"No," she whispered, "but I'd rather raise my bairn here myself and work the croft, never return to service, than let that woman's family take what's mine."

Margaret lowered her voice to murmur and moved over to the sink, reaching out for Elsie's hand and squeezing it as she spoke. "Aye, but ye cannae - it's nae good. I've only got a few more good years left, and this croft is failin' more each harvest. Crops nae come back, you've seen how many of the stock we've had tae sell off just to make sure we're fed in the cold months. It's an impossible dream even if ye wanted this life, and we both know that bein' a crofter's wifie - or, worse yet, doing it on yer own - is not the life for ye. You're meant for something greater, Elspeth, something better 'an what I've had. I don't regret loving your Da and having you lassies, but this family life is lonely, and yer too well good for it."

"Oh, Mam, I've been so foolish," Elsie moaned, trying her best to be quiet enough that Becky wouldn't waken. "I did everything right,only to throw away a wonderful future for the sake of what, exactly? I'm no better than the maids back in London, the ones with nothing but air in their heads, so busy making eyes at randy footmen that they forget they have to make a life for themselves."

"Elspeth Hughes, y'eve done nothin' that millions o' lasses the world over haven't done … oh, lassie, ye fell in love."

"But Mam, I knew better! I'd shake my head at those girls every day! And now here we stand. What does that make me?"

Margaret sighed. "It makes ye no better than yer old Mam, lass," she said softly. "Whyever do ye think I ended up married to your Da, God rest his soul? Falling in love isn't the sin, El … don't ever think that it is.

"One day, hopefully not too far into the future, ye'll be back in yer big houses and around some new posh family and will realize something: ye've lived your life. Ye've made choices, for better or worse, but ye'll see that you've been made all the stronger because o' them. Ye've always been my strong, cannie, dependable lass, always the one to care for others. Ye'll be in charge of a big house one day, ye mark my words, and ye'll have those that will come to you from homes far worse than the one we're standing in now. Watch over them, Elspeth, and remember yer own. Watch over them as if you were watching over this one here," she said, reaching out to rub her daughter's swollen belly. "But don't ye ever forget, even in yer darkest hour, that ye're a Hughes woman, an' that we're made of sterner stuff than what the world throws our way."

Elsie sighed and leaned back as Margaret placed her arm around Elsie's back, pulling her into a sideways embrace. The older woman kissed her daughter on the temple, and whispered, "We'll pay a call to the Macinroys tomorrow then, alright?"

Elsie took a deep breath, wiped her tears, and nodded, already calculating how many wee bits of clothes the two women could put out in the next few months, already planning how much to offer this neighbor's family for the privilege of raising her bairn, this life inside her that she was growing closer to every day no matter how much she wished she weren't. She was so certain that it would be yet another strong Hughes woman, one she'd christen in her mother's name before handing her off forever with the hope that the lass would grow up full of love, ambition, and fire ... just like those who had gone before her.

"Yes, Mam. And who knows? Perhaps they know of a family in England in need of a housemaid."

"There you are, love," Margaret replied softly. "There's my wee lass - always plannin', always strong and sure. Don't ever forget yerself, Elspeth."

"I won't. I promise."

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