A/N: This chapter is called "Interlude" and serves as a check-in for where Elsie, Charles, Daisy, and Beryl are with the entire situation, focusing on their personal feelings (read: FEELSY).

"Make You Feel My Love" still applying for this and one more chapter. Spotify playlist: ChelsieSouloftheAbbey and "Chelsie Potpourri" - or YouTube ... I prefer the Adele version.

Thanks to brenna-louise for proofreading and for allowing me to bounce ideas off of her. If it weren't for her, theladychelsieofdownton, and silhouettedswallow, this story wouldn't have been written or published at all. xxx

And a wee little nod to JustSterling. :)

When the evening shadows and the stars appear,

And there is no one there to dry your tears,

I could hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love ...

She watched his slow, reluctant footsteps carry him down the corridor as he made his way back to the butler's pantry. The days had gone past in a flash as the Christmas holiday approached but the evenings had been unbearably long without him, without the comfort she'd gotten used to drawing from the fire in his pantry, from the warmth given by the proffered wine or sherry. Gone were his carefree manner and the extra glimmer of happiness in his eye with which he'd awoken in that hospital in London, on that day that seemed to her to have been millions of years ago even though it had been mere months. She'd scolded him twice for the winking but now she craved it, craved any sign that all the progress they'd made hadn't disappeared down the drain now that their secrets were being thrust out in the open.

The cold, biting weather wasn't helping; despite the multitude of fires throughout the Abbey, the iciness penetrated her bones, making her joints stiff and her own steps a bit slower. It made her feel old, and made it harder to fight off the sadness that often permeated her mind at the holidays. Elsie loved Christmas but it was a constant reminder of how she and Becky were separated and, up until this year, the holidays had always served as a small reminder that the rest of her remaining 'family' resided within her grasp, only she was forbidden by secrecy to reach out and touch them.

Oh, to hell with this! she decided suddenly, and she marched off down the corridor toward his pantry. She had all intentions of pulling him into her arms at last, of pulling out of him the fear and sadness that she had been reading in his expression these past many days, and of offering all she had to give, her job be damned.

But two steps from his doorway she stopped abruptly, her hand slightly raised as she'd been preparing to knock ... and she wondered. Wondered what she was doing there, why she continued to push despite the fact that he'd been ignoring her for days, wondered if she'd be better to just pick up sticks and leave the entire place behind, move closer to Becky and take a job in a smaller house. At her age, no less.

But she tilted her head and listened instead, hearing the tick of the clock coming from the other side of his door … and her finely-tuned ear picked up on the faint, rhythmic sounds of quiet weeping.

She tiptoed forward the remaining two steps until her hand reached the handle. She turned it gently ... and found it locked.

Locked. He'd never locked her out before. Never. She wasn't sure what to do about that.

Well, what she wanted to do was pull a hairpin out of her tightly-wound tresses and bend it, then crouch down and pick the lock, something her Da had taught her to do when she was a lass and she'd accidentally locked her parents out of the house, only to marvel at how they'd gotten back in. But she couldn't do that now, not here, couldn't invade his privacy when he'd clearly shut her out on purpose. She was no fool, and she knew he'd have heard her steps from miles away, and that he'd have opened the door if he wanted to speak to her. But that knowledge didn't stop her from wanting to unlock the door and rush over to him, to reach up and dry his tears with her soft fingertips, to murmur words of reassurance and love against his lips as the fire dwindled down in his fireplace.

Instead, she stood there like a fool, her hand on the knob of the door that was separating this life she'd accepted from the one she'd wanted, thanking God that no one was there to see her frozen in place, unsure, the housekeeper who'd always been in control of everything now standing on the edge of indecision.

Eventually she removed her hand from the brass and turned to walk away. She'd march herself up to bed and try once again, unsuccessfully, to find some sleep. She knew that she would end up laying awake, daydreaming of a way that she and Charlie and Daisy could craft some sort of family, some kind of new way of being together for whatever time remained to her on earth. She'd spent so many years suffering under Charlie's desire to ignore the past, and then more years trying to pick away at him and convince him that he could, indeed, be happy with her despite all they'd been through. She'd ponder that as she lay awake in her bed, gathering whatever warmth she could from the goose-down and from the hearth, her thoughts full of him even though she was always alone.

She made it four steps away from the door before she heard the click of the lock, the turn of the knob, and the swish of air as he finally, finally, opened the door to let her in.

I know you haven't made your mind up yet,

But I will never do you wrong.

I've known it from the moment that we met,

No doubt in my mind where you belong.

Charles walked briskly down the corridor, anxious to be shut away from the world in his pantry. It was his haven, his home within the house, had been for so long he could barely remember not having it. There had been a great many things he'd forgotten over the course of his recent history, but the safety, comfort, and sanctity of having his own space carved out in the chaos had been immediately soothing to him upon his return from London. Tonight, his footsteps couldn't carry him there fast enough.

He wasn't sure when his patience had snapped, exactly; patience was required of a butler, the ability to stand and wait and not even flinch. But the waiting for this was killing him, waiting for Daisy to decide if and how he'd be able to be a part of her life, and whether or not he and Elsie would be able to find a way to be together in the middle of all of it - because that was what he wanted, he'd figured that one out a long time ago. These feelings he had now weren't Mr. Carson at all - no, this impatient man so full of the sensation of being carried away by his feelings was all Charlie.

The thing was, he didn't regret the reemergence of Charlie. He wished he'd been able to dig the man out long ago, perhaps the day at the beach, or when Elsie had worried she had cancer. Yes, that surely would have been a good time. Or perhaps when she'd come to Downton to begin with? Instead, he'd suppressed his old feelings, and he'd done so admirably; what he hadn't counted on was that she would be just as adept at it in those early days. Her standoffish behavior, her cool demeanor toward him from that first day, was something he'd not expected. She'd arrived the pristine professional "matron," even as head housemaid. Every once in awhile he'd spotted something in her eyes that suggested she was less than happy, but before he could put his finger on it, it was gone. He was so used to being in control, but clearly he could never be in control of Elsie.

But then she'd changed. She'd opened up, and had begun to get him to open up as well. He knew now that in his confusion after the accident, the past and present had fused in his mind. If not for her gentle, kind way with him upon his return, he'd never have been able to sort it all in his mind.

But he didn't want to sort them apart now, didn't want them separated any longer. Funny, he told himself, how something that could have killed you ended up bringing your life back to you instead.

He sat heavily in his chair, fiddling with his fountain pen - screwing the cap off, then flitting it around in his hands (an old magic trick from the stage) before screwing it back on. Three and a half full turns until it's tight. Repeat.

Charles wanted to have Daisy and Elsie in his life, in more than a professional way, there was no question about that. He'd come to that decision weeks ago and would not be changing his mind, and had promised to give Daisy as much time as she needed to figure out where they'd all go from here. He'd meant it at the time, not knowing how difficult it would be to keep that oath.

What if Daisy didn't want him? What if Elsie no longer wanted him? Those two now had each other, of that he was sure - the passing off of the handkerchief was proof enough of that. They were certain to develop some mother-daughter way of being, and why wouldn't Daisy want that, a chance to have the mother she always should have had?

He wished he could tell his daughter so many things he'd never gotten the chance to say. He wanted her to know that from the moment that scared little girl had stepped off of the train, his hopes of ignoring her presence in the house had vanished into thin air. Her resemblance to Elsie's younger self had been remarkable - her eyes were so much like her mother's that he'd wondered how no one figured out the truth the moment he'd escorted Daisy through the door. He'd tucked himself back into 'the butler' then and ignored everything he felt; he became brash and strict and all those things a butler was supposed to be. He never spent time in the kitchens anyhow, so it wasn't terribly hard to avoid the girl.

But he'd observed her over the years, oh yes. From his seat at the head of the table, he observed all. Certainly, Mrs. Patmore's constant scolding of Daisy had helped. No one had noticed his interest because the cook's behavior demanded so much attention. It had been a blessing for him, despite how hard it had been for Daisy, and it had allowed his little girl to grow up before his eyes without anyone being the wiser. He'd always been grateful to Mrs. Patmore for that, for doing what he and Elsie could not. The funny thing was that, back in the day, Charlie and Beryl had started at Downton together, had become great friends in many ways. The fact that she was now raising his daughter was something … well, odd, particularly once she'd become friends with Elsie as well.

Now that he thought about it, it was not long after Daisy had arrived that Elsie had begun to reach out to him again - quite literally. Touch was so forbidden in their profession, no doubt having added to the intense passion they'd shared that summer in London. But the familiar touch of her hand, the accidental bump of her knee against his, her guiding tug when he needed one, and steady fingers administering medication or fluffing a pillow, or adding a blanket and allowing the weight of it to push her hand against his chest - those things reminded him of all that he'd been missing. He'd been flustered by her touch at first, but the loving familiarity of it was so wonderful that he'd allowed it. He had come to realize he couldn't possibly live without her in his life. When he'd feared she had cancer, his relief at her clean bill of health had been palpable. Then she'd come to London and rescued them all by sweeping in and taking control of Grantham House. And she'd reached her hand out to him, and he'd taken it, had let her steady him. After all those years, after he'd loved her and refused her and begged her to return to him, it had been Elsie who'd reached out to him.

It was the greatest touch she could have offered him, and his heart had soared.

And then he'd been in that awful accident, and had almost lost it all again, could have lost it all again, but Elsie's pull, her voice that beckoned to him from the recesses of his dreams like a siren song and then helped him build the butler back up; quite literally, she had saved him.

And now he truly remembered, without the strange hesitancy from before. He wanted it all now, and wanted to convince Daisy and Elsie that things would be different. He wished he could just pull them into his pantry and demand that they all be a family. He wished Daisy would know how far he'd go to protect her, and how he'd never do them wrong again. He needed them both to hear how he'd lost his heart the day that little girl stepped out onto a train platform in Ripon, and how he'd only truly lost it once before, on a similar platform in London when he'd sent her mother away to Scotland. He had been lucky in both instances to get his heart back, and he knew he had Elsie to thank for it. Over the years, she'd given him back his capacity to love, had handed it to him in cups of tea, gentle touches, caring glances, and the offer of a steadying hand. He wanted to return the favor, to both Elsie and Daisy, but he saw the chance slipping from his grasp with each passing day.

He was a patient man, but that patience was wearing thin, and he was scared.

He put the pen back in its box and reached for the bottom, right-hand drawer of his desk. He opened it slowly and extracted a small item from the back. It was a photograph of a little girl - of his little girl - as an infant. Elsie had sent it to him after Daisy - Margaret, he thought - had been born, when she'd written as he had requested to assure him that they were both fine. He wasn't sure she even remembered sending it, and he knew she had no idea he'd held onto it - and the letter - for all these years. She certainly had no idea he'd withdraw it once or twice a year just to look at it, to imagine what Daisy's life had been like without him, without a father that could have loved her unconditionally if he'd given himself the chance.

There was no doubt in his mind that they all belonged together; he just had to convince them that he meant that.

He heard the familiar footsteps walking through the corridor as a tear slid onto his thumb. Charles hadn't noticed he'd begun weeping, but the instant he heard the clicking of her heels and felt the worn edge of the photograph he fell apart completely. He wanted desperately to let her in, sobbing or not, but wasn't sure if she'd even want to speak to him.

Perhaps, Charlie, he thought, they don't need you at all anymore.

No.

He rose and headed for the door, sensing that she was waiting on the other side, and he turned the lock and heard the sharp click of it sliding over. He wiped his face and, hoping for a miracle, he turned the knob and pulled.

The winds of change are blowing wild and free,

You ain't seen nothing like me yet.

Daisy stood at the window in the servants' hall, a cup of tea in her hand, and watched the first snowflakes of the season fall from the sky. She'd half expected to see Mrs. Hughes tonight, cold and damp as it had been earlier, but the woman was nowhere to be found. Daisy couldn't be sure, but she felt as though everyone was avoiding her, waiting for her decision. She wasn't sure what they all expected of her - perhaps dilly dallying, indecisiveness, or childish petulance.

Well, she wasn't that little tweenie anymore.

Daisy had figured out what she wanted; she wanted a family, pure and simple.

The more she'd reflected on everything she'd been told - from both Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson - the more she knew she couldn't possibly hold this whole thing against them. The past years had, in many ways, been as painful for them as they had been for her, except that Daisy at least had the sweet, early childhood memories to hold onto, and had never known what she was missing out on.

When she arrived at Downton, it had been Mrs. Patmore who had filled that parent void in her life, and then Mr. Mason. Daisy knew that she wanted to keep them in her life forever; they were so dear to her she couldn't possibly put it into words. She was determined that this whole strange, unforeseen ordeal would bring everyone together, that she wouldn't let it shatter them all apart, unable to forgive or to heal or move forward. But she'd never have had Mrs. Patmore or Mr. Mason if her real parents hadn't brought her to Downton as soon as they knew what her life was really like. In a way, she had Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson to thank for bringing those she thought of as her parents into her life.

How strange. How sadly, wonderfully strange it all is.

Daisy saw how Mr. Carson looked at her recently, gazing at her from his seat at the table, peering through the kitchen door when he thought she wasn't looking. He was avoiding her at all costs as though he were afraid of her, and Mrs. Hughes had made herself scarce as well. Daisy appreciated the space, but she'd have loved to have been able to comfort them with a kind word or an encouraging smile, to reassure them that all would be well.

She knew they didn't expect her to take charge - not quiet, meek, reserved Daisy. Well, she'd changed as much as they all had. They'd spent the past twelve years together working in the same house, but now that Daisy knew the truth, they could never go back to just that.

Tomorrow, she thought. I'll tell them tomorrow.

She just hoped that, after a week of barely even seeing one another, they'd not changed their minds about wanting their daughter back.

She rinsed and dried her cup and put it back on the shelf. She double-checked the stove, then quietly headed up to her room for a few hours' sleep.

I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue,

And I'd go crawling down the avenue.

No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do

To make you feel my love.

Beryl sat in her room, wide awake. The events from the last few days had stunned her, well and truly. She'd been struggling to maintain a sense of normalcy in her manner, dreading how awful it would be if anyone discovered what was making her so snippy lately. It wasn't as though she was angry, but she was quite sad. Daisy had yet to decide how her life would play out, and Beryl realized that Elsie and Charles must be feeling a greater strain than she was. They were maintaining their sense of calm and propriety remarkably well, she gave them that. She could tell things were different between her friends, but had no real reason to question either one about it. They seemed like the Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson of years ago, the two people who danced around each other as if in avoidance of something they didn't want to touch. She wanted to talk to them about it, but it wasn't her place.

Daisy, though … well, Beryl felt that she was well within her rights to talk to Daisy. While Elsie and Charles had been busy not paying much attention to Daisy at all, Beryl had been there. She'd been the one to teach the girl, to make sure she had enough to eat throughout the day, make sure she had warm enough blankets on at night. She'd put salve on the inevitable first burns from the stove, plastered the first cut from a knife that was too dull, advised about boys, and encouraged Daisy to see the best in William, to give to him the best of herself and to be open to the love that William had offered in return. There was nothing that Beryl wouldn't do for her girl, and that was never going to change.

She got up and made her way to Daisy's room, having heard the girl come up moments before.

"Daisy?" she called softly. "Are you up, dear?"

She heard the faint sounds of movement from within the room, but no footsteps approached the door. Beryl sighed and turned away, not willing to wake her if she was finally asleep. She made her way back to her room and climbed into bed, lying awake, wondering if Elsie was doing the same.

Elsie Hughes … how could you have kept this from me?

Store cupboard key, dozy kitchen maids, cantankerous butler, Ladies of the house with endless party demands and last-minute changes, illness, death, shameful stories of family and cowardice … how she and Elsie had handled these things had given birth to a strange and beautiful friendship that neither woman ever felt she deserved. It was impossible to want what was best for herself and best for Daisy without thinking about, without caring about, what was best for Elsie.

Beryl wasn't sure how the woman had done it, frankly. She couldn't imagine how painful it must have been to have left Daisy behind as an infant, but to then find out she'd been sent somewhere else, to not really know where, well, that was just awful. She was grateful they'd had the opportunity to find her and to bring her to Downton, but she wondered if that had been worse … to be face-to-face with the life you always wanted but had given up.

But now they can have it all, if Daisy wants that.

And what about Charles? Beryl had known him over half his life. The dear, sweet man. They'd become adults together at Downton; they may have had disagreements over the years but they were each other's oldest friend. He'd held her hand when she feared blindness, illness, and more; she'd supported him with words of encouragement when he didn't feel worthy of the family, when he didn't think himself capable of serving as butler. Their friendship had softened them both, and for that she'd always be grateful. She couldn't help but think of him in a different light now, knowing what she did about how he'd sent Elsie and his unborn child away. It was so unlike the man she thought she knew.

But he brought her back. He brought them BOTH here, to watch out for them. And he DID watch out for them, didn't he? Them and everyone else in the great house … including you, Beryl.

She remembered that Season in London when he'd evidently met Elsie, remembered him heading out at every available moment; she'd thought he'd become mates with some of the footmen and valets that hung about that pub by the park. She never set foot in the place, so how could she have known?

Now she knew where he'd been, whom he'd been spending his time with, and she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed the difference in his demeanor that year. She did pick up on his new formality and harsher nature when they returned, but she'd always attributed it to the fact that he'd been promoted to butler, assumed he was putting forth a new persona to match the job title. She shook her head at the memories; clearly, Charles Carson had been doing more than spending time at the local.

Her two dearest friends in the world. It hurt that they'd not confided in her, not once.

Beryl Patmore didn't often pray, but she prayed that night. She'd do anything in her power to bring peace to them all, as soon as Daisy was ready. She had faith in her girl, now no longer a girl at all, really, and knew she'd make the right choices.

Prayer sent, she rolled over and put out her bedside light. She tucked her blankets around herself and slipped off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

If you'd be willing to drop me a little review, I'd be eternally grateful! xx