He awoke still on the sofa. She was not beside him any more. It did not even surprise him that this saddened him. He was glad when a second later he heard the door creak a little as she returned to the room. Her hair was down now and she was wearing a long white night gown. She smiled when she saw he was awake and settled herself cross-legged in the corner of the sofa. He sat back and turned his head towards her. She gave him a small smile.
"Do you want to talk?" she asked him, her voice quiet.
"What time is it?" he wanted to know, seemingly unable to ascertain the hour himself.
"About two o'clock."
He sighed and thought that given he was alone in the near dark with Elsie anyway at such an hour anyway, their situation would not become any more precarious if he removed his jacket and undid his top button.
"Do you want me to put the light on?" she asked once he had done this.
He shook his head, he could see her well enough by the pale light from the window. She made quite a ghostly figure, sitting clad all in white. Her hair looked very nice down. They were silent for a while.
"Mr Carson," Elsie began after a while.
Her addressing him so formally startled him after their having been so close recently startled him. He hoped this wasn't the beginning of a long retreat. The worry had obviously showed in what she could see of his face.
"Charles," she corrected herself, "Do you think things would have been any different had they...had they been married?"
He did not need to ask who she was talking about or indeed why she was wondering; the question had been irking him ever since he had seen Lady Mary that afternoon. He sighed. That he did not know was the honest answer and he was rapidly coming to conclude that he was glad that he never would. On the one hand he would like to think that Mr Crawley would have stayed with his wife for as long as possible, but then that of course meant that Lady Mary's refusal of him had sent him straight to his death and he could not abide that thought. Elsie saw his frown.
"He would probably have gone anyway," she whispered.
He would dearly like to believe her.
"He wouldn't," he replied gently, "You know as well as I do, when you love someone like that and you have the chance to stay together you take it. But he must have felt they were too far apart the moment they decided not to get engaged."
She had no reply for that and so paused before saying;
"I suppose then, I can never have been in love."
The turn the conversation had taken, while it would once have completely thrown him, now only caused a mild ripple of perturbation.
"As I understand it, you have been proposed to twice," he reminded her.
"But I walked away, didn't I?"
True.
She sighed and ran her hair through her hair. The move surprised him but he reminded himself that he had never seen her like this before. She turned sideways a little and curled her legs around herself. The hand fell directly beside his own.
"What a sorry story my life would make to someone," was her next remark. It nearly broke his heart.
"I don't know," he finally managed, "I would suppose the less you love the less you have to loose."
Her hand moved into his own. The fingers linked of their own accord.
"You would expect so, wouldn't you?" she agreed, "So why do I feel like I have everything to loose now?"
She woke him up just before six o'clock. Daisy would be round soon to wake them up and it would be unwise to be found like this. He returned to his room begrudgingly, but she was right: there would be talk if people knew where they had each spent the night. Having changed into new clothes he sat on his bed and waited for Daisy, tired but still thinking. Mainly about Elsie. He had never known himself to be like this before, while he was not made of stone he was hardly an over-sentimental man. Recently however, he could not help but observe the change that had taken place in himself- intentionally seeking out her company, feeling the need to ascertain her opinion over the smallest household decision. Not only that but the way he acted towards her, he had never felt so intimately towards any one in his life. That he loved her was obvious.
He sighed; that certainly wasn't part of his job description. The bright morning light was just beginning to peer of the window sill and into the room. He wasn't even sure when it had begun. For a long time he had maintained the rational belief that she was possibly the only other person in the house, aside of course from hid Lordship's family, capable of holding a rational belief. He thought back to the night that he had found her asleep in his armchair. No, before he'd even found her he'd known he needed to see her. Before that, then. Perhaps, he wondered, it was when the possibility of her leaving had arisen. Even though he had only entertained the notion for a few moments before she had saved him with a musing of where on earth she would ever find the time to leave, those moments were possibly the bleakest he could remember. But she had stayed, thank the Lord.
Then there was the question of what on earth to do. Would she laugh at him? No, surely not, she knew him well enough to be sure that he would never joke about something like this and was certainly not one to scoff at the genuine article. But then there was that look of pitying concern, the awkward bite of the inner lip. He was not sure if he could stand a regretful rejection any better than he could being laughed at. There was nothing, then, to be done or said until he was sure that she felt the same. He waited a few minutes after Daisy knocked on his door before exiting so as to give the impression that he had had a restful night's sleep.
"Thank you, Carson."
A fortnight had passed without great event in the house.
"You are welcome, Mrs Crawley." He bowed his head a little.
Although, at first, he admitted that he had had his doubts about her and her son, he had to admire her courage. In spite of this it seemed that she was still enjoying occasional spells of solitude and had retired already, although it was only the early afternoon to the chair beside her window.
"Will that be all ma'am?" he asked.
After a moment she replied, "You know Carson, I really could use your assistance with a certain matter- that's if it's not inconvenient?"
"Certainly, ma'am," he replied and put down his tray.
Mrs Crawley crossed to her wardrobe. Charles felt instantly awkward; women's clothing was not exactly his forte.
"Are you sure that Mrs Hughes would not be more able to assist you in this matter, ma'am?" he asked.
Mrs Crawley shook her head firmly.
"Definitely not," she told him, "You see, it's Mrs Hughes in concerns."
With formidable strength she wrenched open the heavy wardrobe door. Charles was truly perplexed, but years of experience told him not to show it.
"Indeed, ma'am?"
Mrs Crawley started to lay some of her garments out on her bed.
"As you probably know, Mr Carson, I don't have a ladies maid."
He nodded in reply.
"Well, Mrs Hughes has been good enough to take care of me since I've been staying here- I expect you know that too? Well, since...since we had the bad news she has been especially helpful to me, Carson. Everyone has, I know, but she needn't have- the rest of the family are somewhat obliged to act as they did as I would be to them if something similar should happen on their part- but Mrs Hughes, was most considerate in listening to me and trying to offer comfort. She can hardly have much time to spare, but she always manages to find some for me."
Charles' mind was reeling. Firstly, he now felt an absolute oaf. Had he known that she was giving counsel to Mrs Crawley he would not have dared presume to go to her as he had done. It had been the height of inconsideration on his part not to at least enquire if it was convenient for her. Aside from this he felt a different sort of unease. Perhaps she was like this with everyone, perhaps she could not help herself from comforting people, regardless of her relationship with them or her feelings for them? His hopes, that had gradually built since they had said goodbye the morning she woke him in her sitting room, hit a brick wall. Paradoxically, his reasoning in suspecting that she did not return his feelings only made him love her more.
"Mr Carson? Mr Carson, are you quite well?"
Mrs Crawly was looking at him with concern.
"Perfectly, ma'am," he assured her, despite the dull numbness about his limbs.
"I was saying," she continued, "That I should like to give her something in return for her kindness, but I know she probably won't accept it. I have been led to believe that it is common, however, for a ladies maid to receive her mistress' old clothes. She won't know that these are all, in fact, practically brand new. Unfortunately, it occurred to me that I have never actually seen Mrs Hughes wear anything other than her black dress. Which of these do you think she would best like?"
Charles looked down at the garments before him. What could he picture her in? He thought of her as he had seen her on that night; long hair resting over her shoulders.
"Forgive me for wondering, ma'am- do you have anything of a darker purple?"
"You know, actually, Carson," she replied thoughtfully, "I think I probably do."
She returned to her wardrobe for a moment.
"Yes!" she announced, bringing fourth a purple blouse with small pale yellow flowers on it, "I don't think I've ever worn this, it never quite went with my colouring. Yes, I agree, she'll look splendid in it. This skirt should go very well too."
Once again, he was reminded of his painful but oddly contenting ignorance to women's fashion. Mrs Crawley smiled as she took the clothes to one side.
"Is that new boy waiting at table any relation of hers, Mr Carson?" she wanted to know.
Charles was intensely grateful for the return to familiar territory.
"Yes, ma'am, he is her nephew."
"And very like her too," she commented.
"Harry is a nice boy," he agreed.
"At first, I thought he might be her son," Mrs Crawley told him.
Charles shook his head.
"As I understand it, Mrs Hughes has never actually been married," he told her, "That is to say, the boy isn't her son, not that she would hav-"
Mrs Crawley cut him short with a smile.
"I'm aware, Mr Carson, you weren't casting aspersions upon Mrs Hughes' honour."
He could think of nothing to do but shuffle meekly. She smiled at him.
"Quite the opposite in fact."
He looked up at her. She was smiling at him in a very odd way.
"I'm sure I've no idea what you mean, ma'am?"
"I'm sure you know exactly what I mean, Mr Carson. I do have a pair of eyes and I've seen what you're like around her. Oh, don't worry," she added, seeing his face, "I don't think anyone else has and they're clearly not as intelligent as I first gave them credit for. Mr Carson," she told him, "She always speaks most highly of you."
It was not until he left the room that he realised that she had probably planned the entire conversation.
Am I being too ridiculous? Also, it strikes me as odd that I write the longest chapter yet when I'm supposed to be doing my coursework. Please review!