Elsie was already awake when the scullery maid pounded on the door of the quarters she shared with Margie. As far back as she could remember, she had fallen into a deep slumber within minutes of her head hitting the pillow. But not last night. She would pay for it today, but at least she knew her own heart: she would trade Joe Burns' chapped lips for a set of keys worn at her waist. A simple cotton skirt for a dark brocade one. This shared room, or a shared bed with a husband, for a larger, solo bed. She looked over at Margie, who was slowly stretching out bed. Her auburn curls were a tousled cloud above her green eyes.
"Well? Am I sayin' g'mornin' to Elsie or Mrs. Hughes?" Margie pulled her simple nightgown over her head, and began dressing for the day.
"Ah, Margie, none of that. I'll always be Elsie to you, you daft girl," Elsie joined her friend in dressing. She felt a tug at her heart. She would be losing her roommate, certainly, but she hoped she would not be losing her friend. She was gaining much, to be sure, but she couldn't help but think of the things she was leaving behind. She hoped Margie wasn't one of them.
"There's the answer then," Margie was smiling, but her eyes looked sad. "It's been an honor boarding with you, Mrs. Hughes." Her voice was teasing but gentle.
"They'll be making you head housemaid, you know," Elsie didn't feel like there was any point in being coy about her decision. What was going to be done, would be done. She glanced over at her nightstand. Two letters sat there, waiting to be posted. One thin, one fat. The thin one was to her mother and Becky. The fat one to Joe Burns. Each tugged her heart in opposite directions.
"Indeed. I'll nawt be complainin' over the promotion, of course," Margie pinned her curls back with practiced ease, tucking them under her cap. "In a few years' time, after Peter and I save, we'll have enough to be married and gone. Mayhaps we can even get started earlier, with the extra money coming in." Peter was one of Downton's footmen, tall (but not too tall), dashing and kind, with a crooked nose and an easy smile. He and Margie, who was a few years younger than Elsie, had been steadfastly courting since before she herself had arrived at Downton.
"It's all settled to everyone's liking then," Elsie grinned at her friend, who returned the smile. The breakfast bell rang out and they both hurried to the door, Elsie tucking her letters into her apron pocket. They felt heavier there than they had any right to.
oooOOOooo
Charles headed downstairs toward the servants' hall, slightly distracted. Some silverware had gone missing at breakfast and he hoped there was nothing sinister about it. Carelessness could be forgiven, one time, at least. But theft was verboten and grounds for immediate dismissal. He prayed the missing pieces would turn up. Firing someone was always nasty business. He'd done it several times in the past few years, and he never got used it. In a way, he hoped he never did. He headed towards Mrs. Davis' sitting room, passing the unending clanging and clattering of the kitchen.
He was raising his fist to knock when the door swung open. Elsie Hughes and Margie O'Connell stepped out together, somehow both smiling and serious. They gasped at Carson's surprise proximity, but both recovered quickly.
"Mr. Carson," Margie nodded. "I'll be off then, much to do." She hurried away with a short backwards glance at her friend.
Charles took stock of Elsie herself. She turned back to him, squaring her shoulders. If he didn't know her decision when the two women had walked out of Mrs. Davis' room together, he did now. Something…something in the shape of her face, the lines of her mouth more set. She suddenly seemed older, more determined.
"Well, Mrs. Hughes, I would like to congratulate you on your new position. I do believe you will be the youngest housekeeper in the history of the Abbey," he nodded to her, and held out his hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I hope to be the best, as well, if time and history proves it, or at the very least, to make Mrs. Davis proud," he heard her voice catch a little at the name of her superior, but she reached out her hand, which he engulfed with his much larger one. Her palm was chafed from housework; it would become smoother as she left the job of housemaid behind. He pictured her without her white cap, and decided it was easy enough to do so.
He released her hand, but felt that there was more to say. She was still looking at him expectantly, her dark eyes full of excitement, fear…and sadness. When we gain something, we lose other things. He thought of Charlie, of Alice, of what might have been, if she had chosen to take Carson as her last name, instead of Grigg.
"I have no doubt at all," he finally said. "And...Mrs. Hughes. I honestly believe you will never regret your decision. There is lasting satisfaction and happiness to be found here, in industry and hard work."
Her face suddenly changed, there was a bareness to it, an openness, he'd never seen before. "You'll help me, Mr. Carson? Won't you?" It was such a plainly stated request, he was startled into an unplanned response.
"Elsie, I am always at your disposal. Always," he caught himself. "Mrs. Hughes, I mean."
"Might I inquire how long the pair of you intend to conduct business in my doorway?" Mrs. Davis' teasing voice rang out, startling them both.
"Apologies, Mrs. Davis, we were just finishing here," Mr. Carson replied through the slightly opened door.
"I will miss her sorely," Elsie said softly. He turned to her, eyes wide. He took a deep breath, took a chance.
"As will I," he replied. "But…we will have each other." And with that he entered Mrs. Davis' room, leaving her standing, startled, in the hall alone.