A/N: Okay, okay, okay. First off, you all are some of the best readers and reviews a gal could ask for. So I thank you a thousand times over. Secondly, I need to shout out to amelia-cordelia for pointing out my CHARACTER TAGS WERE OFF. Wah wah. I thought I had done the tags, but now it's all fixed and correct. And thirdly, as an author, I am not sure I am supposed to play favorites with my chapters, but this one is my fave, so far I think. I had such a great time writing it. Thanks for taking this journey down memory lane with me! ~CeeCee

Late Spring, 1902

Elsie arrived on the overnight train from Lytham St. Annes and reached Downton as the sun came up. She had the coach let her in through the back, attempting to avoid running into Mr. Carson. He would be able to see how pure worn out she was, and she wasn't in a mind to have someone examine her sore spots. Not today. It's just a day, like any other, she thought, and was shrugging her coat off even as she walked towards her sitting room. In many ways, it was good to be back home. Because, yes, for good or ill, Downton was home. She knew her footing here, which is what she needed. The comfort of the well-known.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes! Welcome home," Elsie turned to see Anna Smith, the new housemaid, walking towards her, a smile on her pretty face, her blue eyes warm and welcoming. She's a good sort, Anna. She had interviewed her via mail and in person before she had to leave Downton for several days, and the girl had started in her absence.

"Hello, Anna. I expect Lucy has been showing you how things are done at Downton? I was sorry to miss you coming on, but it was unavoidable."

"Certainly, Mrs. Hughes. It's been a whirlwind, I'll say, but I do believe I am catching on. I will do you proud. Shall I let Mrs. Patmore know you are back? She can bring you tea and breakfast to your sitting room. Might be less hectic than the servants' hall breakfast," Anna grinned a little at her. Never mistake sweetness for stupidity, Elsie thought. There was more to this young woman than a sunny, calm personality. She understood people, even at a young age.

"That's very good of you, Anna. Yes, please have her send something in."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Hughes," she paused. "I'm sorry about your mum." And then she hurried away, to fetch her boss some breakfast.

She turned to go into her sitting room and heard a deep nasal tone behind her.

"Ah, Mrs. Hughes, ye've returned at long last," Sarah O'Brien, her ladyship's maid. "I was wondering if I might have a word about the quantity, or lack thereof, of mending and finishing supplies, in the stores here. Of course, I keep my own bag kitted out, but sometimes I need a bit of extra, lace or buttons or some notion, that I don't keep personally stocked."

"Indeed, Miss O'Brien, and I am sure we can work something out. Please stop by when they've all gone up to dinner this evening and we can sort through the details."

"But, Mrs. Hughes, I really feel that –"

"Carry on, Miss O'Brien. You'll have my ear at the end of the day. That's my final word on it." And she shut the door in the blasted woman's face. No one was denying she was a fine lady's maid, and despite her general sourness, she was very devoted to Lady Cora, and the Countess to her. There's no accounting for taste, Elsie decided, setting her bags aside and hanging up her coat. She mused on Mr. Carson's adoration of Miss Mary, who became more imperious each day. She'd be insufferable by the time she reached sixteen.

Best to focus on people's good qualities, Elsie, she could hear Mam saying. And still, don't be taken in by them. And then she'd laugh, as if she solved one of the great mysteries of life. Perhaps she had.

"You were wiser than you knew, Mam," she whispered, and for the first time this week, the thought of her mother made her smile, rather than form a lump in her throat.

There was a knock at the door. That'd be one of the kitchen girls with her solo breakfast.

"Come in!"

"Mrs. Patmore said this was for you, so I thought I'd save Polly the trip," Mr. Carson stood in the doorway, and she realized she'd been wrong, at least in part: seeing him did make her feel very exposed, but it also made her feel very…at ease. Almost happy.

"Mr. Carson! Personal service, and everything. Have things changed that much in five days?" She decided the safest approach for her right now was their friendly bantering.

"It was a very long five days without you, Mrs. Hughes," he said solemnly. "I hope…I hope all went smoothly and your family is doing as well as can be expected in these circumstances." He set the tray down, and she thought of Becky, secured in the lovely home for the simple-minded, chasing after sea birds on the pebbly sands of the pretty shore town Elsie had discovered for her, like a child of six rather than a woman of twenty-eight.

"She'll be happy here, I believe", the kind-faced nurse who was charged with her sister said to Elsie.

"Becky's always happy, Miss," Elsie responded. "But I know you'll look after her, and care for her as she should be. That's what's important."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," the nurse placed her hand on Elsie's arm. "We are taught the value of all people as part of our training, and we will value your sister. Never you worry, please. God cares for even the smallest sparrow, as we have all been taught."

They had both turned back to Becky, dark hair dancing around her face in the sea breeze, feet dark with sand. And smiled at each other. Her sister was going to be fine, and that's all that mattered.

"Yes, it did. It was very kind of the Crawleys to cover the cost of our funeral luncheon," She poured herself some tea.

"Indeed, they are the very definition of generosity," he appeared a bit uncomfortable, and she realized with a start that, yes the Crawleys were very generous, she could not say otherwise, but that the idea had been his. Her heart softened even more, and she blinked back tears. "Won't you join me?"

"Well, just for a minute. Breakfast is about to be served down the hall, and lest a revolution be planned in our absence, I must oversee it," he sat across from her. "Anna seems like a very good sort of girl. I was concerned about her beginning in your absence, but it was absolutely no matter at all. Lucy said she's efficient, calm and respectful, a hard worker, and more composed than most girls her age. Rather likeable, really, in contrast to some of the other staff members…" he trailed off and she looked at him above her teacup.

"Did Miss O'Brien corner you as well this morning?" And she couldn't help it, she burst out laughing.

He raised an eyebrow, grinned at her. "She is like a pointer on the trail of a scent. And if you repeat that, Mrs. Hughes, I will deny it until the end of my days."

Elsie was really laughing now. "She's a menace, sometimes, that woman. A rather fine lady's maid, I will give her that, and her ladyship is genuinely fond of her, but the sound of her voice rather sends me running."

"She was going on about bows and buttons and lace, Mrs. Hughes. I felt like I was at a bazaar in Marrakech, being heckled into purchasing something I've no need of."

Elsie wiped tears of indeterminate emotion from her cheeks, still chuckling. "And that, Mr. Carson, must be the end of the discussion, wouldn't you say? I'll handle Miss O'Brien later today, when I am a bit more fortified."

There was a sharp rap at the door, and Iain popped his head round the jamb. "Ah, Mr. Carson, I thought I heard you in here. Welcome back, Mrs. Hughes, it's good to have you back. Mr. Carson, might I speak to you for a moment? I need your advice about a small matter his lordship asked me to handle for him."

"Of course, we'll leave Mrs. Hughes to clear the cobwebs of travel," he rose, started to follow the younger man out the door.

"A day like any other, at Downton," Elsie said to him, and it felt better this time.

Mr. Carson paused. "That reminds me – I hope you'll be joining me for our evening tipple tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it, Mr. Carson."

oooOOOooo

Carson looked down at his desk, which he had mostly cleared of its daily clutter. The table now contained a small plate of fruit, cheese and petit fours, flanked by two glasses of a very fine Bordeaux, from a bottle taken from the cellar with Lord Grantham's blessing. A small, wrapped gift sat to one side.

He had missed Mrs. Hughes this week more than he had expected. He could admit that to himself, at least, though he would never say it out loud. He'd felt a bit…rudderless…without her to balance him. She'd never been gone from Downton for so long before. And he was heartened she had returned, today of all days.

A day like any other, she had said to him this morning, but he knew better. He'd never marked it before, for some reason, but felt moved to do so this year. It felt…appropriate.

Her distinctive knock rang out and the door swung open.

"What's all this?" She stood stock-still, looking truly shocked.

"Do come in," he said, suddenly a little nervous. What if she resented the fuss? Ladies didn't always wanted to be reminded of their age, though, in his mind, Mrs. Hughes was still quite young. She had a certain…vitality about her. Right now, she looked like a child, dumbstruck by gifts under the tree on Christmas morning. She had one hand over her heart.

"Mr. Carson…why…I…that is…I never..."

"It is a very rare occurrence when you are speechless, so I choose to interpret your near-silence as approval." And he could see, she was not upset, or embarrassed. Surprised, yes, but that was quite alright.

A small smile crept onto her face as she sat down. "Well, now, Mr. Carson, you really did pull out all of the stops." She still sounded a little breathless.

"Happy birthday, Mrs. Hughes," he joined her at the desk, handing her the glass of Bordeaux.

She took a small sip. "This is delightful!"

"From the cellars, on Lord Grantham's approval. I have the taste, but not the purse, for this particular vintage," he smiled at her. "Did Miss O'Brien get all of the contraband she was after this morning?"

She chuckled, bite into a petit four. "You would think, to hear her, that she was outfitting dozen ladies to be presented this Season, rather than just her ladyship. But we got there in the end," she rolled her eyes, then leaned back.

"This was quite nice of you, Mr. Carson. I do appreciate it," she smiled openly at him. "I…I very much appreciate our friendship." Her cheeks flushed slightly pink, and he felt his too. In nearly fifteen years, neither of them had ever said anything so bald before, so simply stated. So truthful.

He held her gaze for a moment. "As do I, Mrs. Hughes. More than I realized, I think." As the moment stretched, he wondered if he had more to say. There may have been other things, other sentiments, somewhere deep in his heart, but his mind pushed them away. Better to savor this moment, the purity of it.

She broke the silence by lifting the small wrapped package on the desk. "What's this now? You never bought me a gift?" They exchanged small tokens at the holidays, as did many of the staff, but this felt more personal. Because it was more personal. He had chosen this present quite carefully for her.

"Open it, then." He steepled his fingers. He was certain this gift would bring a smile to her face.

"Why, how on Earth did you…" she was gazing down at the gift. A book. The Hound of the Baskervilles, the third novel chronicling the crime-solving of Sherlock Holmes, written by Arthur Conan Doyle. She looked from the book to him several times. "I was reading this last year, when they serialized it in The Strand, but –"

"But you missed several issues, including the last installment," he interjected, hoping she would forgive his rudeness, which was due solely to enthusiasm.

"Yes, that's exactly it. I muddled my way through, piecing it together at first, but then I gave up. Especially since I missed the ending." She shrugged, then grinned, and looked back at him again. His heart swelled knowing he had put that smile on her face.

"I…I took the liberty to put an inscription in the front page, if you care to look."

She opened, and read aloud, "'To E. Hughes – I gift you the gift of the whole story, which is something we rarely get in life. Warmly, C. Carson.'" She closed the book, put both hands atop it. She took a deep breath, and looked back up at him. There were tears shining in her eyes.

"Mrs. Hughes, I really hope that I didn't –"

"Quiet now, you hear? I want to say this. You paid attention, Mr. Carson. You minded me in a way that no one has since I was a wee one at me Mam's knee, God rest her," one lone tear ran down her cheek. "I'm so used to minding everyone else, all the time, I never stopped to realize, you were minding me. You saw something I was missing that could bring me a little happiness, and you found it for me. It's quite a feeling to know someone is paying attention. Makes me feel more here, if you can understand me," she whisked away the stray tear on her cheek, and renewed her smile at him. "And now, I can fill in all of the blanks, and see what happens at the end." She reached out and placed her bare hand on his.

His stomach leaped up and rolled in a not-so-unpleasant way, a way that it hadn't in nearly half a lifetime. He cleared his throat.

"You'll have to tell me if it has a satisfying conclusion," he tried to gather himself before she noticed something amiss.

"We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"