A/N: Aaaaand, we're off and running! This one is Elsie's POV, and was easier in many ways for me. My undying gratitude to silhouettedswallow for beta services rendered! She reins in my wordy ways, and you all benefit!

Thanks also go out to those of you who have reblogged on tumblr, and to those who have left encouraging reviews for me. I'm glad you like the story so far, and it's shaping up to be a bit longer than I had planned…hopefully that works!

Just a reminder: The entire playlist for this story is on Spotify, listed under "ChelsieSouloftheAbbey" for Username and "Music of the Heart" for the playlist title.

Reviews are so appreciated - thank you!

One flight down, there's a song on low

And your mind just picked up on the sound,

Now you know you're wrong,

Because it drifts like smoke

And it's been there, playing all along...

Now you know...Now you know.

-Norah Jones, "One Flight Down"

Elsie woke slowly from her deep and peaceful slumber. She opened her eyes, gradually letting them adjust to the darkness. The embers in the hearth gave a gentle, orange glow to the far corner of the room, but outside the sun was just barely beginning its slow ascent.

Elsie loved the quiet time she had in the mornings. As a young girl she had always woken before dawn, because not all farm chores waited for the sunrise. It had proven to be an impossible habit to break, which served Elsie well as a housemaid, but as housekeeper it allowed her a bit more time to herself. Time alone was golden in a house as busy as Downton, and for Elsie it could only be found in these earliest moments of the day. Well, there were the late evening hours too … but she was loathe to give those up to anything.

Slowly, she turned over toward the window, enjoying a leisurely stretch, and tried simultaneously to pull herself into a state of wakefulness and to cling to the last bits of her dream. Lately, her dreams all involved water … always water … but last night's dream had bits of one she hadn't had in decades. The farm … Becky … the year the crops were thin … fear and shouts … then the rescuing rains that fell at last … a river … the ocean … warmth that enveloped her from within. Elsie loved the rain, always had, and she knew that harkened back to those early years of her life when rain meant a bountiful crop, which meant steady food for their table and – when they were lucky – something to trade in the village. It meant easier times at home, and those had always been hard to come by. But now Elsie loved any kind of water, not just the rain. She loved lakes, rivers, oceans, finding their depths peaceful and calming. She could get lost in them, and it was the reason she often found herself walking the grounds of the Abbey in these early hours, toward the little lake where few others seemed to venture. Oh, but that ocean … that bit of the dream had been recurring nightly as of late. As the sun reached Elsie's window, she smiled in delight at the memory from which that bit of the dream came.

Elsie had always been intelligent, and when she finally was able to leave the farm she never looked back. Knowing a life in service would be the best way to escape Argyll and also earn money to send home, Elsie dedicated herself wholeheartedly to her work, starting as a simple maid and working her way up the ladder. She'd convinced herself that a life in service, with all its constraints and difficulties, would be her future. She was fairly certain she'd never marry, particularly after turning down Joe Burns. A life in service, as a single woman, would perhaps be lonely, but Elsie believed it would be worlds better that the other option facing her, which could mean becoming her mother: tied down to a small, struggling farm – and struggling marriage – with no chance of escape. Joe really was a good man, and it had saddened Elsie to hurt him, but she had spent years dreaming of getting away. So, bags packed and good-byes said, Elsie headed in the complete opposite direction from that life she feared. She was prepared to be on her own, and knew she could make a go of it.

But then, years later, Elsie took the position of head housemaid at Downton Abbey, and fate placed Charles Carson in her life's path. Elsie smiled now, knowing that she'd fallen hopelessly in love with the stoic butler somewhere along the way; it was a sweet, wonderful, life-giving secret she had kept for years. When she was promoted to housekeeper, Elsie's life got even better as she found herself working side-by-side with the man she adored. It was the best of both worlds, for she had her work and had found happiness, and for many years Elsie was content to keep it all tucked safely into a little corner of her heart; she could love him without anyone knowing. His dedication to the family was sure, and she was certain he'd never leave them … or, by association, her.

But for the past few years, Elsie had a niggling feeling that Mr. Carson felt something a bit, well, more for her. He couldn't possibly be in love with her, not by a long shot, but he was gradually letting her in to see the bits of himself that he rarely showed to others. Letting her see the man and not just the butler. He had been seeking her advice more, asking her for support, and their occasional sharing of a glass of sherry or port had become an almost-nightly event. He actually read books she found interesting, not because he was truly interested in romantic or scientific novels, but because she asked it of him. She felt that she was getting to know the real Charles Carson and this dance they were doing, the relationship they were gradually developing, warmed her soul.

Given those circumstances, and the fact that the man had begun to emerge, Elsie did what she did best: slowly, very slowly, she pushed. She prodded. She chipped away flake by flake at the immense wall that surrounded the butler. Her butler. And bit by bit, she thought she was succeeding. The wall was starting to crack, especially at night in her sitting room or his pantry, helped along by a bit of relaxing drink. She felt that he'd become more at ease when it was just the two of them, and while this could certainly be attributed to being in the presence of a close friend and nothing more, Charles Carson was not exactly known for having friends. Elsie did feel some guilt knowing that she was not the only thing attacking this enormous wall; war, illness and death had also taken their toll on the protective shield the man held over his feelings, allowing Elsie to penetrate it more easily. There had been days when she was able to take his arm in a supportive gesture (able to hold him up as he grieved for Lady Sybil …) and days that she could only offer kind words or a quick wit and a supportive glance, but they were things she knew he would not accept from anyone else. She was never able to offer her embrace, or a gentle caress as she would have liked, but it had been enough.

And the day they went to Brighton! Elsie wasn't sure herself what had gotten into her, but she was ever so glad it did! She actually held his hand, his massive hand, in her smaller one ('Go on, I dare ye!') and made him feel secure ('You can always hold my hand if you need to feel steady.'). He even admitted to needing her safe, guiding hand. But the instant he took her hand in his, she was shocked by the sensation she felt. Instead of just steadying him, as she'd intended, the action – the touching– had completely un-steadied her. Elsie had never experienced that feeling as an adult, that strong surge of love (... and passion? … Yes, that's what it was, no sense in shying away ... ), and Elsie truly would have fallen down in that water if not for his steadying presence. It was a life-altering event for her, and left her wanting more from a relationship that she'd been contented with just hours before. And judging from the look in his eye, the man she'd been trying desperately to find inside the butler was having a similar reaction. Maybe he'd felt steadied, but he seemed to also be … shocked.

The sun was coming steadily into her window now, and Elsie knew it was time to rise. She quickly washed and dressed, and headed out to begin her day. It promised to be a busy one, beginning with a meeting with Lady Grantham to discuss some quickly-upcoming travel plans. Since it was not quite time for breakfast, Elsie headed to the linen closet to gather some items for the maids' rooms and save one of her girls the trouble later on in the day. After that strange dream (strange, then WONDERFUL dream … ), she really needed to focus on the day ahead and not on the feelings spilling out of her heart.

Dreaming of the farm always made Elsie think of her sister. Oh, Becky, my dear lass, how I love you. Since revealing Becky's secret existence, the girl refused to hide in the back of Elsie's mind anymore. It was a strange feeling, having Becky somewhat out in the open, but there was none of the shame she had feared. Forty-five years of a secret, released to a new caretaker. And he would care for the secret, for if Elsie was sure of anything in her strange, wonderful relationship with Charles Carson, it was his quiet care, his respect for her privacy and for what it had cost her to tell him this secret. Elsie had taken the two people she cared for most in the world and brought them together. She had thought it would hurt her dearly to do that, that she would lose something of the man she'd tried so hard to find, and so she was surprised that the decision did not break her but rather opened her heart to more than she was willing to claim for herself. She could see in his beautiful, deep hazel eyes that he'd recognized the risk she was taking in sharing this bit of herself. Elsie also wondered if he realized what his proposal for the purchase of a property had sounded like. 'Invest in a property' indeed! Had it been a subtle wish for more? Or are you just grasping at straws? One step forward, two steps back. Maybe you don't have him as figured out as you think.

Lost in her thoughts once again, Elsie pulled the last items off the shelf, and two very strange things happened to her. She suddenly felt cold all over, as though a ghost had walked over her heart, and moments later her ears picked up on a soft, rumbling melody drifting toward her. The tune was familiar, and somehow spoke of … home. Curious, and still somewhat stunned by the strange mixture of feelings she was experiencing, Elsie approached the top of the servants' stairs, trying to trace the source of the sound. As she made her way further toward the staircase, arms loaded with linens, she listened more closely, and her heart stopped. No…there is NO WAY that is possible … but she knew it was. That song, how on earth … ?

She knew in an instant that this was a turning point in her life, one of those moments spoken of only in novels, a moment of true realization in the face of all she thought she knew, all she thought she had understood about the man she dared only to dream would be hers one day. Those soft notes, a trembling tune that somehow carried up the staircase on the crest of his great, humming baritone voice … Impossible, she thought again. In the cabinet glass, Elsie caught a glimpse of her own face, aged sometimes in ways she didn't even recognize. Today, with the shock and the trace of a smile, her face only gave testament to her uncharacteristic hope. The sound she was hearing shook the ground she stood on. But HOW? Did that buttoned-up source of the music – the music that was reverberating in that hidden corner of her heart – even realize what it meant? Elsie made a fast decision: while they had not met for an evening sherry all week, she needed to see Mr. Carson this evening. She had to get to the bottom of this strange, wonderful music. She had to know if he realized its significance.