Three weeks had passed since the night of Lady Sybil's elopement, life at Downton had returned to something resembling normality and the weather had become considerably warmer. Life however, could not have been more different for Charles and Elsie. True, they had tended to spend their evenings together anyway and hadn't for a long time been quite attentive to their surroundings while in each other's presence, but things had recently been taken to a new extreme. Elsie has shortly realised that any attempt to conceal their relationship from the rest of the servants would be utterly futile and it quickly became common knowledge below stairs that Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes were, in a sense, walking out together. Elsie surprised herself, usually she despised being the topic of any kind of furtive conversation or gossip, she did not feel, at the moment, that she could be happier.
One particular evening, she and Charles sat- well, almost lay- on the sofa by the fire in her sitting room. It had been quite a difficult day; they had not had the chance to see each other since breakfast time but both quietly relished the prospect of it being both of their days off tomorrow.
"What do you want to do tomorrow?" he asked her.
She lifted her head of his chest to smile up at him.
"I don't care," she told him honestly, "As long as I get to see you."
That certainly left their options open.
"Well," he contemplated, "We could walk to the village or I could ask his Lordship to borrow the motor and we could go for a drive somewhere. Or..." he added, "We could ourselves in here and pretend no one else exists."
"That sounds quite agreeable," she conceded.
He chuckled.
"But what would everyone think?"
Although she spoke with a light-hearted air, what she said worried him.
"I thought you didn't care what people thought?" he asked, planting a soft kiss on her neck where the top buttons of her dress seemed to have become undone.
She gave a tiny shudder before composing herself, she had not totally reconciled herself with the extent of the effect that he seemed to have on her.
"I don't," she told him firmly, "I just don't see much point in inviting gossip to come our way, especially when we're not... doing anything."
"I beg to differ!" he pronounced, feigning offence, "I thought we had accomplished all manner of...-"
"You know exactly what I mean, Charles," she cut across him, "But thank you for trying to spare my embarrassment."
Quite an awkward pause followed.
"Would it help if you discussed it?" he asked tentatively.
"What?" she asked.
Her voice was distinctly wary.
"You know what I mean."
Yes, that was true. But where to begin? She looked at him rather helplessly. His face was gentle and she decided that honesty was probably the best policy.
"I'm clueless, Charles," she almost whispered.
He tried not to look pitying, but the confession, her face as she confessed it, caused an undeniable twang in his heart.
"I've never... never been..." she could not bring herself to articulate it and oddly enough this helped him understand her all the more.
"It doesn't...-" he began.
"The thing is," she continued, head tipped to the side, voice matter of fact in the endearing half-bravado she often applied to situations like these, "I'm not sure if I could... that is to say... well; please you."
It was at this point that he found himself unable to go along with the notion that she could ever make him anything other than happy, ecstatically so. He put his arm around her and drew her close. Finding herself unable to speak, she fell silent and relaxed against him. Nothing he could say to her would completely dispel her doubts, but this action came close to doing so.
"Charles?"
Her voice was muffled against his waistcoat.
"Mm?"
"Thank you."
He smiled down upon her.
"You're welcome," he told her, "Now, before I forget, her Ladyship has asked us to go to Manchester next Friday. Apparently there are some things she would like picking up and is unable to go herself, she hasn't quite recovered from her illness last week."
This struck Elsie as rather odd: her Ladyship was willing to let both the butler and the housekeeper leave the house for entire day, especially as they were now taking the same day off? She looked up at Charles. Judging by the look on his face he was thinking exactly the same as she was.
"You don't think she knows about us, do you?" she asked, failing to hide that she was slightly aghast at the prospect.
"I think it's entirely possible," he told her, "That her Ladyship has put two and two together. I also think it's very possible that Mrs Crawley has been gossiping."
Elsie was puzzled by this.
"You haven't told her, have you?" she asked.
"Certainly not!" he impressed upon her, "But she does seem to be rather more shrewd than I had originally given her credit for."
"But that is so unlike her!" Elsie could not quite believe it, "She's so kind to me, I'd never have thought she go gossiping behind my back."
"No," he agreed, "It is certainly unlike what I had perceived her temperament to be. However, it has come to my attention that she has been spending rather a lot of time with the Dowager Countess since young Mr Crawley died. It is entirely possible that she divulged the information involuntarily."
Elsie could well believe that. If this was indeed the case, they probably depend upon most of the female population of the house being well-versed in the goings on between the butler and the housekeeper. She sighed, but not too heavily as she could sense his eyes on her.
"I don't care," she repeated, "Really, I don't." Then she gasped, "Is that why they telephone you now instead of ringing the bell for me?"
He nodded grimly.
"It would not surprise me if the ladies of the house found some amusement in trying to put us together at every possible opportunity."
When once such a notion as this would have intensely annoyed if not upset Elsie, now she found herself finding it rather funny.
"How long ago do you suppose this began?" she asked him, rather amused herself.
"I would guess at about the time you receive the clothes from Mrs Crawley."
She laughed.
"We never stood a chance, did we?"
"No," he replied, almost chuckling himself, "And it would seem that we are stuck with each other now."
"M'Lord, might have a word?"
"Certainly Carson."
Charles shut the library door.
"What is it, Carson?"
"It's about two members of staff, your Lordship. Two members of staff getting married."
"Ah."
His Lordship had recently, probably due to the recent goings-on concerning his youngest daughter had recently taken a rather exasperated view of matrimony. Not, you understand, that he had suddenly taken a dislike to Lady Grantham, more that he had become wary of matrimony in itself.
"Who, Carson? Which members of staff?"
There was a pause.
"Mrs Hughes, m'Lord."
Pause.
"And who else, Carson?"
"And myself, m'Lord."
"You Carson?"
At the back of his mind Charles wished his employer would sound a little less surprised at that.
"Me, m'Lord."
"Gracious!"
Charles did not quite know how to respond to that.
"So I am to take it, then," his Lordship, seemed to be recovering himself a little, "That Mrs Hughes is not in fact Mrs Hughes?"
"I understand not, m'Lord."
"But you can-t leave Carson, you just-... Wait a second," his Lordship seemed to be puzzled, "What exactly do you mean "You understand"? Surely she told you whether or not she was married when you proposed?"
Pause.
"Strictly speaking, your Lordship, I haven't actually asked her yet."
Lord Grantham's incredulity seemed to rapidly resurface.
"You haven't asked her?"
"No, m'Lord."
Pause.
"M'Lord," Charles began, "You must understand that I have no wish to leave Downton and nor, as far as I'm aware, does Mrs Hughes. However I do understand that in cases like this it is normal for the staff in question to... depart."
"Gracious, Carson, you may stay if you like! Heaven knows, we're short enough of staff as it is. I'm sure some kind of arrangement can be come to in terms of where you would live."
"That is most kind of you, your Lordship."
"Don't think of it Carson, I'm very happy for you both."
"Thank you m'Lord. Will there be anything else?"
"Yes, just a minute Carson. How long have you and Mrs Hughes been...walking out?"
"Just over four weeks, m'Lord."
This, for some inexplicable reason, seemed mild frustrating to Lord Grantham.
"M'Lord?"
"You will come to appreciate, Carson," his Lordship told him, "That there is nothing more irritating than when you disbelieve your wife and she turns out to be right!"
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