A/N: Posting now because the next one will take a while to write, I think. Thank you so much for the awesome reviews and all of your feedback, especially to the guests to whom I cannot respond personally.

I mean it when I say that this story has taken on a life of its own, and I'm truly humbled by the heartwarming, personal messages that some of you have sent. I do hope you all enjoy how it resolves as we move forward.

Song choice and proofreading thanks to go brenna-louise. "Small Wonders" by Rob Thomas will be the song theme for the next couple of chapters. It's on my Spotify - Username: ChelsieSouloftheAbbey, Playlist: Chelsie Potpourri.

Much love! xx

Our lives are made in these small hours

These little wonders, these twists and turns of fate

Time falls away ...

Elsie had been managing to hold herself together, albeit barely, the structure dictated by her job giving her precious little time to dwell on her personal situation. While she and Charles frequently still took their evening sherry or port, they had begun inviting Mrs. Patmore to join them, a peace offering from Charles after the entire situation with the war memorial. In some ways, Elsie couldn't help but be grateful for the cook's interruption, knowing that any time she and Charles spent alone would be when she'd have the most difficulty dealing with her feelings. On the other hand, having Mrs. Patmore, of all people, be the one to join them had cast its own strange shadow over things. The woman was practically Daisy's adoptive mother, after all.

We are a gathering of parents, Elsie thought one night, all of us sharing parts of the role but none of us accepting it wholeheartedly. It occurred to her that it would be best if they remained a united front, running a peaceful and well-oiled downstairs machine as they always had, and therefore Elsie was doing her best to maintain the status quo, lest anyone else discover her preciously-guarded secret. The last thing she needed would be Daisy asking questions about why the senior staff were at odds with one another.

A feeling of calm had dissipated throughout the Abbey as the last days of summer had turned into a pleasantly warm autumn. After a particularly busy season in Scotland, the family had been happy to be back at Downton once again and the servants had all settled back into routine. In the final weeks before the holiday rush, everyone was enjoying as much downtime as they could, the calm before the storm of Christmas entertaining and merriment. And so, while the heads of staff and cook were sequestered in the butler's pantry, Mr. Molesley and Miss Baxter were taking advantage of the calm to catch up with one another.

"I'm just saying it's strange, is all," Mr. Molesley said. He brow was furrowed in a bit of confusion as he tried finding words for what was in his mind. "Mr. Carson is different, and Mrs. Hughes is treating him differently. Haven't you noticed?"

Miss Baxter hummed noncommittally. Truth be told, she had noticed. She just wasn't sure if she should trust anyone else with her observations. She'd seen the changes, but she was rather confused by them. At first, when Mr. Carson had returned to the Abbey from his hospitalization, Mrs. Hughes had seemed to be floating on air. Miss Baxter attributed it directly to her assumption that the housekeeper was in love with the butler, but she wasn't sure if anyone - even Mrs. Hughes - was aware of it, and so she'd said nothing. But as the days turned to weeks, the relationship between the downstairs leaders seemed to be somewhat strained. Miss Baxter noticed it more in Mrs. Hughes, but also saw something amiss in Mr. Carson; always so reserved and stoic, the man had been much more open upon his return, only to withdraw into an almost silent nature when he was around Mrs. Hughes. The ease with which they'd interacted from before the train accident seemed almost forced now, which puzzled Miss Baxter greatly as it had seemed so much more fluid upon his return to the Abbey.

But now, she reflected, Mrs. Hughes looked - in a word - horrible. She seemed to be ill, except Miss Baxter was sure she wasn't. Her color was waning, she appeared thinner, and she was quicker to temper than usual. Even stranger, she seemed to be avoiding the kitchen at all costs. At first, Miss Baxter had thought the housekeeper and cook had suffered a falling out, but after observing more closely, it appeared that Mrs. Hughes wasn't avoiding Mrs. Patmore, but rather Daisy. She couldn't make sense of it at all, and so she told Mr. Molesley honestly that she knew nothing more than he did.

"I have noticed that Mr. Carson seems changed," she answered thoughtfully, "but I would imagine that anyone having been through what he has would come home a bit different after it all."

But Mr. Molesley, usually so easy to appease, was not to be deterred in this. "No, it's not just that. I'm sure you've noticed," he repeated. "They just seem so very different, almost as though they were arguing except that they aren't. It's not as though they're cross with one another, only … strained?" He shook his head in annoyance, unable to put his thoughts into coherent statements.

"Do you remember when he was in hospital?" he asked. "When he asked for his wife? Surely he meant Mrs. Hughes, as Lady Grantham sent her immediately. You said she left so swiftly you'd thought he'd taken a horrible turn!"

Miss Baxter nodded. "Of course I remember. But nothing horrible had happened. In fact, he came home a few days later well on his way to healed."

Mr. Molesley's eyes widened suddenly as a new thought dawned on him. "Wait … didn't he also ask for a daughter?"

Miss Baxter sighed inwardly, having hoped he'd not remember that but realizing it had been a rather futile hope. Mr. Molesley gave all appearances of being a bumbling footman, but she saw the truth of his personality even if no one else did: he was caring, quiet, shy … and observant. It took him a while to put things together sometimes, but he remembered everything.

"He did," she replied quietly, "but I'm sure it was a bit of confusion in his semi-conscious state." Please drop it, Mr. Molesley, she thought.

"But why?" he enquired, pushing the issue. "Why would he ever think of a daughter if he doesn't have one?"

Miss Baxter only shrugged, trying to distract herself with the mending she'd brought to the table.

"Unless ..." he continued, staring off into the distance, "Do you suppose he truly has a daughter? Perhaps one that lives close by? We don't really know Mr. Carson at all really, do we? We only work here, and we all imagine we're friends of a sort," he said, blushing slightly as he stole a glance at Miss Baxter, "but we don't really know Mr. Carson, or Mrs. Hughes for that matter."

Please, please don't carry that any further. Blessedly, at that precise moment, Mr. Molesley let out a huge yawn.

"Please forgive me, Miss Baxter. I think it's time that I turned in."

"Yes, I'll be heading up myself as soon as I've finished with this sleeve," she answered, feigning a yawn of her own. "Good night, Mr. Molesley."

"Good night, Miss Baxter," he replied, rising from his seat. "Only, Miss Baxter …?" he trailed off.

She looked up at him, silently trying to will his thoughts into stopping before they reached the questions she'd raised in her own mind weeks ago: Was there a chance, a small, strange, perhaps even lovely chance, that the housekeeper and butler were, in fact, actually married? That they could, in fact, even have a daughter? And why, then, was Mrs. Hughes looking so much worse when Mr. Carson seemed so much happier?

"Never mind," he said, shaking his head. "It was a foolish thought."

"Alright," she whispered. "Sleep well."

oOoOoOoOoOo

The following week found Elsie flitting about in a tizzy. Madge was sick again, and Elsie was starting to wonder if they'd been remiss in not dismissing the girl for the numerous flights of fancy she'd exhibited over the past few months. She never seemed to want to work, per se, but Lady Edith seemed to like and appreciate the woman, so Elsie had gone out of her way to make sure that at least that one, small thing that made Lady Edith's life more pleasant would be maintained.

No matter that I'm as much Lady Edith's maid as Madge, she thought wryly. This is the third time this month that I have attended her! Elsie couldn't complain, though, and she knew it. Lady Edith had few requests, was mild-mannered and quite polite, and truly seemed to care about any answers that Elsie gave to questions she was asked. The Crawleys were a kind family to work for but Elsie admitted that, of the family who still resided at the Abbey, she liked Lady Edith best of all.

"Come in," Lady Edith replied to Elsie's knock.

Elsie entered and closed the door behind her. "I do apologize, Milady, but it appears that Madge is, once again, unwell. I hope you don't mind?"

"Oh, not at all," the younger woman replied. "In fact, I was hoping to run into you at some point."

"Oh?" Elsie waited for Lady Edith to rise so that she could begin unfastening the buttons. As her fingers flew down the placket, she felt the young Lady tense, and was suddenly fearful of the questions she was about to be asked. Since her return from Switzerland, the she'd noticed that Lady Edith was rather morose and withdrawn, and Elsie had a very good idea as to why that was.

"Yes," Lady Edith said, taking a deep breath. "You see, Mrs. Hughes, I find myself in a rather awkward and untenable position, and I need some advice." She smiled fondly before continuing in a quieter voice. "Sybil always counted on you for a wise word, a kindness when she felt she'd receive it nowhere else. Mary had Carson, but I always felt a bit left out of all that."

Elsie smiled at the memory of a young Lady Sybil fleeing her family to seek refuge in the housekeeper's parlour, seeking a biscuit and a shoulder to cry on at times. She met Lady Edith's eyes in the mirror, took a deep breath, and came to a decision. "You are always more than welcome to unburden yourself to me, Milady. I would never want you to feel otherwise."

"You may regret that, Mrs. Hughes, but everyone says you're the one to talk to when one has a secret," Lady Edith whispered.

Elsie diverted her eyes from the younger woman, moving over to the wardrobe to hang the dress as she spoke. "Am I correct in presuming that this involves your trip to the Continent, Milady?"

Lady Edith nodded, but said nothing. Elsie noticed her tears but, rather than embarrass her, chose instead to keep speaking.

"Milady, you've no need to divulge anything to me whatsoever, but I believe I may be able to guess where this is headed." She paused to gather her thoughts, stuffing her personal anguish back down into that deep well from which it had erupted the day she'd visited Charles in the hospital, and remembering her own days spent in Lady Edith's position. "I don't mean to offend, Milady, but … might this have to do with Mr. Gregson?"

And at that, Lady Edith managed to let her sob escape. She moved to sit abruptly at the foot of her bed, and Elsie reached out swiftly to grab her elbow and guide her lest she fall to the floor.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes, what have I done?" she sobbed.

And Elsie answered in the only way she knew how - an echo of a conversation from long ago, one she'd had with the elder Margaret Hughes. "You've done nothing that millions of young ladies the world over haven't also done. Milady, you fell in love, and trusted that it would carry you through."

Lady Edith continued to sob quietly, and Elsie did the first thing that came to mind: she sat right down next to her, propriety be damned, and wrapped her arms around the woman. She wondered fleetingly if Lady Grantham knew of the child, then dismissed the idea immediately. Lady Edith and her mother were never particularly close; no, Lady Edith was closer to her aunt than anyone else in the Crawley family.

Ah, of course, Elsie remembered. How foolish of me to have forgotten - Lady Rosamund went WITH her to Switzerland. So she certainly knows. But ...

"If I may ask, who else knows, Milady? I presume Madge has figured it out. The changes …" She didn't go on, knew she didn't have to. Elsie knew all about how a woman's body changed when she was pregnant - the marks, the loose feel of the skin, the tenderness, and the wider hips all being things that Lady Edith never could have hidden from her own maid. Elsie was actually impressed that Madge had said nothing, and her opinion of the maid went up a notch.

Lady Edith nodded. "Yes," she answered, sniffling and wiping tears from her face as she sat up and looked Elsie square in the eyes. "And Grandmama."

"Oh, my," Elsie allowed. No wonder she was so understanding. "And they have been … supportive?"

Lady Edith barked out a short laugh. "Aunt Rosamund has been sympathetic, I suppose, to my plight. She was with me when I almost … when … well, anyhow, I didn't, and she was by my side the rest of the time as well. Grandmama, well, she knows," she finished with a smirk. "And would be beside herself to think I'm telling you - or anyone else, for that matter."

Elsie wasn't so sure about that, but she wasn't about to let on to Lady Edith as to why.

Lady Edith rose and started pacing the room. "That's the rub, you see. Heaven forbid that anyone but Mary bring a scandal to this house," she spat. "When it's my sister it seems that all is forgiven!"

Elsie had so many, many things she could say in response to that, but she chose the one that would likely be the most helpful at that moment. "I am not sure that your mother would support you any less than she would Lady Mary, but you should tell her, Milady. I believe it would be better coming from you. The risk of anyone else getting to her first is too great."

"I know. I just … you see, Mary was the eldest. She was the one groomed for this life, for taking over an estate like Downton. Sybil was the baby, the rebel, the one with the lovely eyes, beautiful face, and kindest soul you could imagine. But I was … well, I suppose I was the one who preferred to hide in the shadows, the quiet one, the one who always followed the rules. My mother might have, I think, expected this less of me than them. Does that make sense?"

"I understand what you're trying to say, Milady, but you're still her daughter, and that means so very, very much in the end."

Lady Edith looked at the housekeeper curiously then, as if trying to puzzle something out, something Madge had said about an observation she'd made the last day Dr. Clarkson had visited Mr. Carson. She'd told Lady Edith of how Mrs. Hughes had met the man in the garden, and how the conversation they'd had seemed strained. Madge had passed Mr. Barrow in the corridor and asked him about it, but he wouldn't tell her. Still, she'd told Lady Edith, she knew she heard them discussing a child … oh, surely not, she thought. But, then again … who knows?

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," she said with a small, grateful smile. "It does, doesn't it? In the end, perhaps that's what matters most - that she's my mother. I can understand what that means, and I know she would do anything to protect me, regardless of what she might have wanted herself."

And, with that, Elsie had nothing much else that she could say. She nodded and smiled at Lady Edith, helped her into her nightgown, and felt the feelings in her heart start to flutter once more. This time there was no violent eruption, no overwhelming wave of hurt and anger and sorrow, and less regret. Those feelings were controlled, and something new was taking shape, something starting to grow and bud in its own still, small way. She felt, for the first time, that there was hope, that there might, perhaps, be a way to happiness for them all.

"I am grateful to you, Milady, for trusting me with this. Truly."

Lady Edith gave a brief nod, a deep kindness in her eyes. "I thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Sybil was right."

"Milady?"

"You've a very comforting way about you, Mrs. Hughes. It's no wonder why the girls downstairs speak so highly of you."

Elsie blushed, but thanked her for the compliment.

"If there's nothing else you need, Milady?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hughes. You've given me a great deal to think about."

Elsie paused, then met Lady Edith's eyes, where she was not terribly surprised to find kindness, understanding, and not a little compassion. "I believe I could say the same," she murmured. "I bid you a good night, Milady."

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

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