Scars

A/N: Dearest, dearest Chelsie readers. I owe you this note, as well as this chapter! As we all know, IRL sometimes gets in the way of our FF. That's what happened to me in August, but I am happy to be back. I also realized, in watching some of the show's Chelsie moments, I DID get some things in this fic "wrong" (e.g., out of canon), like the year Mrs. Hughes started working at Downton, which would require a major overhaul of this story if I were to correct it. I also feel that I've had the characters too forward with each other, too quickly. Ah well. That I may be able to explain, I think. I am deciding to soldier on, in any case. I missed these guys, I missed YOU guys, and I missed writing this story of mine. I hope to continue regularly from here on out!

This chapter is very connected in concept to the next; I had planned on a triptych of sorts about William: one in 1912, 1918 and 1924 respectively; then the first two parts got VERY long. So the third in the set will belong to the next chapter. ~CeeCee

Early June 1912

Elsie stood there, in the hallway, watching William's gangly, boyish figure move away from her. And he was a lad still, really, no more than seventeen or so, though his footman's livery battled with that fact daily. A boy with a sore heart for a silly, sweet-faced scullery maid, lover of the piano and horses. Who still cried for his parents sometimes at night, she was sure. A good lad, all around. A lad, she thought to herself, she'd be proud to call her own, if she'd made different choices half a lifetime ago.

You're a good woman, Mrs. Hughes. I don't know how we'd manage without you, honestly….

His kind, earnest words rang in her ears, as did her conversation with Joe Burns over dinner the other night. She'd turned down being "Mrs. Burns" years ago, with some regret, to be sure; when she tried to envision what her life on the farm would have been like, it made her panic a little. The messiness and dirt of it, the crowdedness of it, the brazen intimacy of a family life.

Her life, as it was now, at Downton, was guided by several sets of rules, stacked up next to each other, like a game of dominoes. One display of propriety naturally connected to each another, the standards following each other with regularity that was both comforting and claustrophobic.

But, somehow, humanity couldn't be quashed, no matter how man rules you threw at it. She hardly thought about it day to day, but her family was here at Downton. William, the son she never had; Anna, the daughter; Mr. Carson….well. She'd let herself ponder that gentleman on a train ride back to Downtown, over ten years ago. These days, it definitely seemed prudent to follow the rules governing their particular, especial friendship. Certainly, it was less messy that way. She'd be lying to herself, however, if Mr. Carson's face didn't pop into her mind when she was considering Joe Burns' offer. She just kept those thoughts nice and boxed up, lest they break free and run amok with her emotions.

But William. Dear, puppyish, kind, earnest William. He spilled Elsie's heart open, and she stood there in the nearly-empty hallway, with the noises of midday slowly coming alive around her, and willed herself not to cry.

We leave marks on each other, no doubt. She glanced down at her hands clasped in front of her, rubbed her left thumb over the edge of her right palm. There was a faint, ridged scar there. From Becky's teeth. Her sister had been no more than three or so, and teenaged Elsie had been patiently spooning porridge into her mouth while their mother and father ate a hurried breakfast of their own.

Elsie never knew what happened in her sister's muddled mind to reach for her rather than the spoonfuls of sugar and oats she'd been eating so happily. But she did. The spoon went flying, landing in Da's tea. Before Elsie could react, the softest part of her palm was in her sister's mouth, and those sweet baby teeth were chomping hard, down. She yelped, her parents yelped. Becky squealed with delight. The porridge landed on the floor with a thud. Da grabbed her hand, bent over it. They both saw the red half-moon of blood bubble up on her hand.

"Ach, that'll leave a mark, lass," Da dabbed it with his napkin, turned to Becky. "Ye daft bairn, ye've marked yer sister for good, ye have!" His voice was a mix of frustration and resigned love. He waved the blood-stained napkin in Becky's direction, and she laughed with delight. The rest of her family smiled ruefully at each other. Becky had marked them all, forever. For good or bad.

And now, almost forty years later, the mark was there still. Elsie smiled to herself. We leave marks on each other, truly. We may not even realize we've done it. William wouldn't be her only reason for staying. But he'd left his mark on her, nonetheless. And it was one that made a difference.

oooOOOooo

Early August, 1918

Charles Carson was very, very tired, in his body and his heart. He leaned back in his chair, listening to the sounds in the hallway and kitchen beyond his door as they wound down for the evening. He pushed his ledgers aside and rubbed his eyes. He didn't like to think so, but he felt old suddenly, and that made him feel helpless.

Nothing at Downton had been quite right since the war began in earnest, but the past week, since William had died, it all felt even more wrong. That brave, kind young man, laying in his deathbed, festooned with wedding flowers. All of it hurt Carson's heart in a way that had no words.

Not to mention, Mr. Crawley was home, but terribly injured and still planning on marrying the wrong woman. Carson watched as Lady Mary's heart broke in several different ways each day. Despite what other people felt, he knew what she was made of. There was a secret softness to her that could be routed out, if one was patient and kind. He had seen it, from the time she was a small girl. And Mr. Crawley had seen it, even more quickly. And then, it had all gone wrong. Like so many things these days…

There was a knock on the door, and even though it wasn't her distinctive rapping, he was hoping to see Elsie Hughes as he called out, "Come in!" They seemed to be passing by each other the past week or so; he'd not shared a glass of wine with her since before William died.

Something more complicated than disappointment settled on him when Mrs. Patmore appeared in the doorway.

"Well that's me, done," she said. "Mrs. Hughes isn't in her study, so I wanted to check in with you, Mr. Carson, before retiring. Need anything?" He could see the worry and exhaustion he felt being reflected back at him on her face.

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore, I was lost in the numbers here. I hadn't realized how late it was," he stood up, ignoring a half a dozen aches in his bones. "How is Daisy doing?"

"Not well, Mr. Carson. Not yet, at least," Mrs. Patmore's eyes clouded over with tears. "She's still carryin' around the guilt of it all, rather than seein' what she was doin' as a kindness. Letting William give her – and his da – what he could. She'll get there. Sometimes, it's hard to accept other's kindnesses." She shook her head, wiped the tears off her face. "But now, Daisy and Mr. Mason'll have each other. That's William's legacy, you could say." She looked up at him, "Guess I'll be off to bed. You'll…you'll check on Mrs. Hughes, won't you, Mr. Carson?"

"Indeed, Mrs. Patmore, I won't retire until I've seen her," he meant it. He was a bit worried himself about her.

After Mrs. Patmore had gone, he checked her office himself, rapping on the door and opening it without a response, something he hardly ever did. She wasn't there. A lonely, cold cup of tea sat on her sideboard. She wasn't in the storerooms, and she wasn't in the yard. He was near panic when he noticed a low light in the servants' hall.

He hurried down the hallway and there she was. Her back was too him; she was sitting at the little upright piano, her hands resting lightly on the closed lid protecting the keys. He wondered how long she'd been there. He wondered that Mrs. Patmore hadn't checked the hall; he wondered, perhaps, if she'd been moving around all evening, treading lightly, avoiding everyone, only to end up here, finally.

"Hiding in plain sight, I see," he said quietly. She started a little, sighed.

She didn't turn around, but she sat up a little straighter. "Easy to hide when you're the boss, I think. Most people are trying to avoid you, if they can," her usual teasing tone was there, but it was muted. "The only people I had to really dodge were you, Anna and Mrs. Patmore." She spun around to face him. She wasn't crying but her face was heavy with sorrow. It was a testament to her spirit, he thought, that she could even find humor through her sadness.

"Now, now, Mrs. Hughes, be honest," he stepped closer. "We both know Miss O'Brien's on that list as well." He waited, hoping he hadn't misjudged.

A smile lit her face briefly, sun through the clouds. His heart leapt and softened. He face became still again.

"Ah, Mr. Carson, here we two are, year after year, with nary a scratch on us – well, at least none too worse for the wear – and William, that dear, dear lad –" her voice caught, and she looked away from him, placed one hand back on the piano. "Well, life is not fair, nor is it meant to be." She finished, brushed quickly at her damp cheek.

"May I?" He gestured to the small piano bench, aware that once he sat, if she let him, they would be very close together, much closer than they usually were. And it was late. And his heart was worn and sore and softened with sadness, hers and his own. The rules that governed their lives felt…blurry…right now. They meant less than she did.

She nodded, her eyes still far away. He sat, braced himself. Took her hand from the piano lid into his own. She looked at him, startled. It was so small, and yet so big. To sit here, in the middle of the night, unobserved. Just…holding her hand. They both knew it. He didn't want to speak. He was a little afraid to.

She finally did. "Do you remember, Mr. Carson, a few years back, right around the time Mr. Crawley came to Downton, when an old beau of mine came poking 'round again?" She smiled a little at him.

"Yes, I do, Mrs. Hughes," he replied, feeling nervous. "You turned him down, much to this house's collective and my individual benefit." He surprised himself a little by saying it. He was so tired. And she was so…lovely. Even in her sadness. Maybe even more so, since she was less guarded. He supposed that was it.

"Well, flattery will get you everywhere, and you're right – I did turn Joe Burns down. Part of me wanted to say 'yes' but most of me…most of me didn't. I had a lot of reasons, some of them quite reasonable and others probably somewhat frivolous…" she trailed off, and he saw her eyes move towards their joint hands.

"But in the end, it was a conversation with William that settled it for me." She paused, collecting herself. Took a shaky breath, and continued, "He had no idea, of course, that I was contemplating Joe's offer. No one did at the time. But William…he just reminded me, without knowing he did, of why I made the choice to stay at Downton in the first place. And what – and who – kept me here."

"I, for one, am glad that he did, in that case," he answered.

"I thank you for that," she replied. She sounded a bit more like herself now. "It all just feels like…such a pointless waste, Mr. Carson. That young lad, with only goodness to put into the world. Gone, like that."

"He's not completely gone, though, is he, Mrs. Hughes? What he did for Daisy, for Mr. Mason," he stood, released her hand, against his own wishes. "What he did for you, for those of us at Downton who need you here. Even if he never knew, we do. I do."

He stole a glance at her. She was looking down at her lap, at the hand he'd just been holding.

"He left his mark on me, that's for certain," she finally replied.

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes," he answered, softly.

"Good night, Mr. Carson," she finally looked up at him. "And thank you. Thank you, for reminding me about things I'd forgotten. I'm grateful that you did."