A/N: Well … here we are. Funny, not a ONE of you reviewers (you wonderful, lovely reviewers with your oh-so-kind and supportive words that keep me going) asked for another chapter where the lovebirds wouldn't talk to each other. No one asked for me to avoid hugging, or kissing, or holding ... how strange … ;) I cannot believe we're almost at 100 reviews on this story - my undying gratitude to you all! I wish I could reply to the guest reviewers, for your words are just as important as the ones I CAN answer. xx
And thanks again to silhouettedswallow for beta services rendered! Her sense of sarcasm matches my own, something that makes reading her notes a fabulous experience!
Remember to check out the songs that inspired the story on Spotify; "ChelsieSouloftheAbbey" and "Music of the Heart" will get you there...
I come to you with strange fire; I make an offering of love.
The incense of my soul is burned by the fire in my blood.
I come with a softer answer to the questions that lie in your path.
I want to harbor you from the anger, find a refuge from the wrath.
This is a message, a message of love,
Love that moves from the inside out, love that never grows tired.
I come to you with strange fire…
~"Strange Fire," by The Indigo Girls
After her tumultuous journey of the past few days, Elsie could finally see the possibility of true joy in the days ahead. She knew she had returned to a house full of people that truly cared for her well-being and happiness. What was more, her new financial situation (thanks to a property that was soon to be for sale in Argyll) had her in wonderful spirits.
But those things paled in comparison to the future she envisioned with her butler. So used to keeping her feelings hidden deep inside, Elsie was shocked by a sensation of burning love that was threatening to encompass her entire being. More than love, lass … be honest … there IS a spark of something more … She rejoiced in the knowledge that the man she'd loved all these years loved her right back. Approaching the lake with a bursting excitement, she felt a strange and passionate fire running through her veins.
Elsie also acknowledged a remnant of trepidation lying under the excitement, but only because she still had to relive her story one more time. She knew she had to tell Mr. Carson (Charles…) about it, and while she wasn't really afraid he'd hate her for it, she feared it wouldn't sit well with that "one must follow the rules without question" part of his brain. If all went well he'd understand that she'd had no choice, that there had really been no alternate path. Hopefully he would be able to offer some comfort as she struggled through the memories once again. Remember that he loves you, and evidently he has for a great deal of time. Elsie held on to that thought with everything she had.
Getting closer to the lake, Elsie's eyes fell upon the calm water and … wait. What in the world? Where did that come from? She stopped short, taking in the scene before her. She'd expected to see Charles standing on the dock, waiting to welcome her home; instead, she was confused by the presence of … a bench? She'd spent enough time at the lake to know it had never been there before. It was beautifully crafted: strong, pale yellow sides made of stone that enclosed a wooden seat and back. The wood had a brilliant shine to it, with deep tones of brown that had a hint of red underneath. It was clearly brand new, and the wood gleamed in the afternoon sun. The reflection of the light off the water and the sight of the liveried man seated upon it took her breath away. His back was to her and for a brief moment Elsie thought he might asleep. But then she saw him straighten almost imperceptibly, and she knew that he was aware of her presence. Elsie took a moment to steady herself before moving down the gentle slope toward the water's edge, a shyness creeping in on her excitement and anticipation. She felt rather like a schoolgirl and took a moment to revel in it. Then, gathering herself one last time, she made her way purposefully toward her goal.
Charles had been sitting as patiently as he was able. He focused on the way the sunlight bounced off the ripples being carried to the shore on a gentle afternoon breeze. He had been lost in a daydream, one of beautiful days (and, hopefully, beautiful NIGHTS …) ahead with his love. Flipping through images in his mind – memories of quiet chats, heated disagreements and "atmospheres," splendid parties they'd pulled off seamlessly, and an infinite number of glasses filled with sherry or wine – he was suddenly brought back to reality by the presence he sensed behind him. She's here … she came.
Charles was almost bursting with anticipation. It was all he could do not to turn around to watch her approach. He felt as if it had been weeks instead of days since he'd laid eyes on her, and he wanted (needed) to be lost in the depths of her sparkling eyes, to feel the warmth of her hands in his, perhaps to feel the softness of her forehead against his lips. But he remained still, knowing instinctively that she needed to come to him at her own pace.
Yes, and undoubtedly she is wondering about the bench … that will be a surprise for sure.
Charles knew for a fact that she'd never seen it before because he'd just had it delivered that afternoon. Spotting it in town months ago, he'd been struck by how the stonework matched the color of the Abbey … and how the reddish hue given off by the dark boards matched the housekeeper's hair when the sunlight bounced off of it in the summertime. After slipping the envelope into her book, he'd placed a call to the shop to arrange purchase and immediate delivery. Anna had thankfully agreed to meet the delivery men outside and show them to the lakeside. You owe a great debt of gratitude to both her and Mr. Bates for keeping your secrets, he thought, and he hoped the events of this past week signified the beginning of a true friendship with the younger couple, one that would help him maintain a connection with the house long after he retired.
Hearing her footsteps get nearer at last, Charles stood and turned to face her. He was grateful for the flowers in his hand, for their cool and steady presence, because the moment his eyes met hers it felt as if the entire world fell away from him. She came to him steadily, with a determined stride, her brilliant smile reflecting his own. As she got closer still, he noticed that her face told a tale of happiness, of calm mixed with a hint of trepidation, but most importantly of overwhelming love. He was happy that he knew her so very well and could see it all in a flash.
Elsie reached the bench, and Charles stepped around it to meet her. He extended the flowers and she accepted them slowly, her brilliant eyes shining up at him. "Thank you," she said softly.
Charles took a deep breath. "Welcome home, Mrs. Hughes. Forgive me for being rather forward, but I feel as though I've been waiting over half my life for this day." For the day you'd bring your love to me at last.
She closed her eyes briefly and nodded at his words, overwhelmed by emotion. Reaching over to place the flowers on the bench, she took that final step forward so that their bodies almost touched. That was all Charles needed. He wrapped his arms around her, enclosing her in a warm and loving embrace. He was so moved by the experience of holding her at last that he almost missed her slightly muffled words:
"I agree; I feel like I've truly come home at last." Then, she added with her trademark sass, "I'm glad I didn't have to travel all the way to Switzerland for this."*
Charles chuckled softly, very aware of the warmth that pervaded his body. He ran his hands slowly up and down her spine, caressing her with the utmost reverence. Despite years of seeing her every day, he'd somehow never realized just how small she was compared to him … just how delicate this strong, determined woman would feel in his arms.
After a few moments he could tell from the change in her breathing that she was crying. He imagined all of that sorrow flowing out of her own body and into him, into his very soul. He tried to pull it from her, wanting to care for it as he cared for her. But he also felt something besides the sorrow emanating from her. It's love. It's her love you feel. It's surrounding you, wrapping you in its tenderness. Charles had never experienced anything like this in his life. This was a sharing of emotions on an almost primal level, and he was amazed at the force of his body's response to it. You thought you loved Alice, but it was NOTHING like this. Nothing else could ever feel like this does right now.
He tightened his grip ever so slightly and delighted in how she appeared to be holding on to him for dear life. It made him feel honored, blessed to be the one to whom she would come when she was perhaps at her most vulnerable. He bent down and kissed the top of her head once, then again, and finally rested his face in her hair. Lemons and lavender, he thought. She smells of lemons and lavender. Willing himself to not lose control of every aspect of his physical self, Charles focused instead on his surroundings – lake, breeze, rustling leaves, lapping water, new bench – and managed to wrangle his thoughts back into a state of decency.
Elsie somehow realized they couldn't possibly stay embracing like that forever (as much as you'd like to …) and she loosened her grip around Charles's middle. Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed herself slightly back so that she could look him directly in the eyes. She noticed their darkened color and flushed slightly. She knew instinctively what it meant, and a small gasp escaped her lips as her heart started racing. You cannot have those thoughts now, Els … very, very bad timing … rein it in, lass.
Charles was smirking at her, eyes twinkling. She felt – knew – that he could pluck every thought right out of her just when she didn't think the moment could get any more intense, she both heard and felt the low, humming melody coming out of his body. The music! She'd completely forgotten. She fixed him with an astonished look. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you about that."
He stopped suddenly. "Yes, I wondered if that was the question on your mind … the night I so shamelessly interrupted you," Charles answered.
"How? Where …" her voice trailed off, knowing he would understand. The sound of the music coming from him had absolutely stunned her, but Elsie was aware that it was a bridge of sorts. It was the final pathway that would connect his life to not only her present, but also her past.
Charles smirked. "Oh … do you recognize it?"
She laughed at that, pushing him away slightly with her hands. "You obviously know that I do, but I have not heard it for many, many years … almost too many to count."
"It took me countless hours of pondering before I realized when I'd first heard it," Charles said. "For weeks, it was only the background noise to my dreams: our day at the beach, walks back from town, days spent working side by side." He paused. "It must be very old … is it something from Scotland?"
Elsie looked away, tears slipping down her face again. She felt one of his hands leave her waist and was terrified at the sense of loss, only to be soothed a second later as he (oh, so gently) wiped those tears from her cheek with his thumb. She leaned into his hand and closed her eyes, basking in the intimacy of his simple gesture. She marveled at the softness of his fingertips, knowing very well how hard the man worked every day. Looking at him once again, she answered.
"Actually, the song itself is Welsh; it's a lullaby, which you may have gathered from the sound. It was the song I always sang to Becky. I would alter the words as the years went on and our lives changed, but the tune was always the same. I cannot remember the last time I sang or even heard it, except for last week. I must have been just a girl still, on the farm, but …" Elsie furrowed her brow and nibbled on her lip in concentration, searching her memory.
Charles smiled lovingly at her, eyebrows raised. "I can assure you that you were not on the farm."
He waited to see if it would come to her, and he noticed the very instant that the answer dawned in her eyes. "Oh, my … all that time ago?" she whispered.
"Yes. Once I remembered I almost didn't believe it myself – thought it might be a trick of my mind, a false memory – but then it came back to me clear as if it were happening today."
They stared into each other's eyes, sharing the memory. Her first day at Downton, feeling so homesick for Becky and guilty about having left her in a strange place. Seeing no one nearby but having the sensation she was being watched nonetheless … by a man who stood at the top of the field, his eyes on the new head housemaid sitting by the lake who seemed to be crying. Then, the soft lilt of her Scottish brogue, carried along the wind to him on the wings of a haunting, loving melody: "Though sad fate our lives may sever, parting will not last forever; there's a hope that leaves me never, all through the night."**
"I was so homesick, so sad to not have Becky beside me. All the strength I'd mustered to leave her, to come so far away for a good position at Downton … it all left me that evening and a deep sadness overtook me. I knew there was no turning back, knew I'd made the right decision, but the sorrow hit me so suddenly I thought I would shatter. The first moment I could find, I ran from the house. That was when I first stumbled upon this lake, and I've visited countless times since. It's always been my refuge."
She looked away, suddenly embarrassed at her frailty from all those years ago. "I felt you there, you know, on that day. I couldn't see you, but I knew you were there. You saw me at what may be one of the weakest moments of my life." She laughed suddenly and continued, "You seem to be making a habit of that."
Charles said nothing at all – he refused to interrupt her thoughts, and he was amazed that after all this time she remembered feeling his presence as he had watched her in silence. He let the hand that had fallen from her face rest at his side, but refused to remove the other from her waist just yet.
She continued speaking then, telling him more … about the song a Welsh salesman had taught her family the night he visited the farm. He was an old friend of her father's, brought home from the pub to spend the night before continuing on his travels. She told of the delight in Becky's eyes upon hearing a new song. "Becky was always so attuned to music," Elsie said. "She was simple-minded in many ways, but she was a genius when it came to remembering a tune, and she had the most beautiful voice." Elsie told of how she and Becky would spend hours upon hours in the fields by the farm, singing and dancing and reveling in the small joys of the nature that surrounded them, things like the birth of a calf or the bringing in of a bountiful crop. She told him how she'd insisted on teaching Becky her letters and numbers, how to write her name and those of their family and friends, and of how she'd bring home storybooks from the schoolhouse to read to her sister as they sat under their favorite tree.
Elsie pulled away from Charles suddenly, clasping her hands together and turning to face the lake. Shocked by her movement, but realizing she must need her space, he remained where he was. He knew instantly that this would be the telling of her most difficult feelings, of the reason her voice was so shaken and splintered when she'd phoned, and of the dark circles under her eyes that spoke volumes of how little sleep she'd had over the course of her journey back to Argyll.
"You need to understand how it was, how hard I have tried to … escape. To hide myself in this life, this precious life here at Downton that I carefully built for myself from the ground up. I suspect that, in your mind, growing up on a farm meant I had some sort of stable life, but that couldn't be further from the truth." She paused, weighing her words, now furiously wringing her hands. "I'm not from what you'd call a respectable background, Mr. Carson, and you need to know all of it before this … well, whatever we have here … moves any further forward." Taking a breath, she forged ahead, grateful that Charles was still standing there behind her, that he hadn't abandoned her upon hearing that proclamation.
"Becky was the highlight of my life in those childhood years. My father was not a kind or caring man, and our house was never full of joy or happiness. When Becky came along I was eight years old. But in many ways I was already grown, no longer an innocent girl without responsibility … without secrets to hide from the neighbors. We knew after a couple of years that Becky wasn't quite right. She had difficulty learning to walk and to speak, and the doctor said she would never be able to manage on her own. But she was the light of Da's eye. No one ever knew why, but it was such a blessing. He would never raise a hand to her, like he would … well …" She paused, collecting herself. Charles took a step towards her and gently laid his left hand on her shoulder. She fully understood the words behind the gesture: I am still here.
With a deep breath, she continued, telling him of that awful night that her Da had died, describing down to the minutest details the weather, the darkness, the horror at the thought of being married off against her will, and the shocking feel of the back of Da's hand across her face. She kept talking, about the sounds and the feelings and, perhaps worst of all, how she'd covered up a sinful crime without thinking twice, and how she'd hidden the shame and the fear of it all these years.
"I never expected anything to change in my life, but Mam had finally had enough. The thought of my being forced to leave made something inside of her snap. She had always depended on me, you see, to fetch him from the pub … to manage Becky's fits and outbursts … to do the shopping when she couldn't present her own face in town. If I left, everyone would know our secrets. Mam would have to go into town on her own and be seen, evidence of his cruelty all over her face. Becky would be with her, no longer hidden away on the farm, and everyone would know how she was." Elsie realized she was sobbing at this point. "I couldn't let Mam go to jail, to be hanged. Our community was small, and in many ways it held its secrets well, but no one would have excused her from having done what she did that night. It had to look like an accident. Before God, I made a vow to never speak of it again, and I made Mam promise as well. And then I left to go into service, because we needed the money." Withdrawing a handkerchief from her coat pocket, Elsie dried her face and blew her nose. Charles was standing there, hand still resting on her shoulder. He hadn't said a word.
"I've no idea what you must think of me now, truly, having covered up so heinous a crime all those years ago. But I've faced it these past few days, and I know now that I'll never be that scared young girl again. I've left that part of me behind, buried at last," she whispered. "But I understand if this is something that you cannot bear to be a part of … if it is a secret you cannot … live with."
Charles couldn't stop the tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks, but he had managed by some divine miracle to control his breathing. He squeezed her shoulder gently. "Oh, Elsie love," he started, not even realizing his use of her first name but fully intending the endearment that followed. "What an unbearable burden to have carried all of these years."
She placed her right hand over his left, feeling a tremor in his hand and realizing that he was weeping for her. She said nothing, knowing he had more to say.
"You took a chance with your freedom that day, but how could you not? You had absolutely no choice, not if you wanted to survive, to have an actual life for yourself – for your family." He paused, finally managing to quell the flow of tears. "How difficult it must have been for you to leave them on top of everything else," he continued. He was struggling to find the words to express his horror and sorrow at what she'd just laid before him, to find the words that would express his answer to her innermost question about just how far he would go to protect her. He found, in that instant, that he didn't care about the crime of it, the sin of it, at all. He only cared that she'd escaped, and had most likely saved the very lives of not only herself but her mother and sister as well.
"I am touched that you would share this with me and allow me to shoulder some of that weight." Other words he left unspoken, of times he wished she had shared her troubles, her worries and fears, with him … of the time she'd thought she might be gravely ill, or of times she missed her sister and had no one to talk to. No, those words will never pass your lips again.
Elsie nodded, feeling lighter than she had before. Every time she lived through the horror she felt the burden lessen even more. Taking a chance she turned to face him once again. Charles took both her hands in his, gently caressing the backs of them with his thumbs.
Elsie marveled at the love she still felt emanating from this strong, steady man before her. She'd expected something … less … after releasing her story, but realized as soon as she looked into his eyes that his love had only grown. Remembering the song that had brought them both to this moment, she said, "I'm ever so glad you followed an unsuspecting Scottish lass to the lake, Mr. Carson. Otherwise, you'd never have heard my song."
He smiled, and whispered, "I'm ever so glad I did, Mrs. Hughes."
He leaned forward and brushed his lips softly against hers, hearing her gasp in surprise.
"Ever since that day, your song has been the music of my heart."
Elsie's own heart sang its reply. She was sure he heard it.
Several minutes – and gentle, wordless kisses – later, Charles and Elsie moved apart. Elsie finally remembered the mysterious appearance of the bench, and asked Charles about it.
"I bought it today ... for you," he told her.
"Charles, it's beautiful! But … why?" she asked.
"Well, to sit upon," he replied cheekily. "I know you come here often, and I thought it would be comfortable." And it reminded me of you.
"I'm sorry? It reminded you of me how, exactly?" she asked.
Charles blushed, furious with himself at speaking aloud without realizing it. Not that it matters much, she can read your mind anyhow …
"I'd rather not say," he said sheepishly.
Elsie laughed. "Well, now you have to tell me!"
He rolled his eyes, knowing there was no escape. "You'll think it's silly … you'll tease me for being a sentimental old fool."
"I won't. I promise," she replied patiently.
"Yes … well … um … the bench is sort of … brown, with some red …" he stammered, " … and it shines … "
"Yes? And what, precisely, has that to do with me?"
Charles sighed, embarrassed. "Like your hair, in the sunlight," he answered quietly, looking anywhere but at her face now. "The stone sides match the Abbey in color. The bench sort of … called to me. It's representative of the things that are important to me." Wishing he could completely disappear by this point, he forged ahead. "It visually represents you … inside the house, you see … to me. I couldn't get the idea of it out of my head."
Elsie shook her head, smiling at the gentle (daft) man before her. "Well, then … there's no arguing with that. Shall I try it out?"
Charles had forgotten she had not yet even sat on the bench, and quickly pulled something from underneath, setting it on the seat for her.
A blanket … of course he brought a blanket. This is a day full of surprises, apparently.
They both sat, sides touching, neither the least bit uncomfortable with the new-found closeness.
"Charles," she began after a while, then stopped herself as she realized she'd used his first name, pulling it from her tender thoughts without thinking. Damn, woman, you must control your feelings!
"Yes … Elsie?" He smiled at the flush that crept up her neck. "I must admit, I like the way my name sounds when you say it, and the way yours feels on my tongue. Shall we attempt to use our given names from this point forward? Only when we're alone, of course." Which, God willing, will be more often now, he thought – not aloud, thankfully.
"Yes, I think I'd like that very much." She paused, then said, "Charles, Lady Mary was quite … generous … with both her words to me and her financial contributions to my trip. It was … surprising. I must say, I wasn't sure what to make of it at first. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, because I'm anything but, it's just … odd. Had you spoken with her about it?"
"Actually, Anna did," he replied, "but Lady Mary did ask me to fill in some details. I told her very basic information: that you had, indeed, just lost your only sister, and that you'd have to travel home to take care of arrangements. She asked why no one knew about Becky, and I gave her as few details as possible."
"Well then …" Elsie started, but was unable to finish her thoughts aloud: perhaps she is kinder than I gave her credit for. Or perhaps she saw something in HIS feelings and it was her caring for HIM that made her want to care for me. Elsie realized it didn't matter. She wouldn't begrudge Lady Mary's kindness regardless of where it had been directed. "The sentiment is truly a credit to her," was all she said.
"I won't attempt to say 'I told you so.'"
"Wise man!" she laughed.
Just then, a rumbling sound came from somewhere on the middle of the bench. "Is someone hungry?" Charles asked with a smile.
"It seems I am! We'd better get back to the house for dinner," she said, knowing she had no desire to leave that bench.
"Perhaps not," Charles answered mysteriously. He stood, and held out his hand to Elsie. Taking it, she gave him a questioning look, but said nothing.
"Come with me," said Charles. "I've something to show you."
"Surely not another surprise," she said. "I'm not sure how many more of those my old body can take this week."
"Less of the old, thank you very much," he said. "This one is not quite a surprise, however."
Placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, Charles began to lead Elsie around the lake. The whispers of their steps in the soft grass mixed in their ears with the lapping of tiny waves against the shore, but those were the only sounds to be heard. They walked slowly and wordlessly, taking in their surroundings: the beauty and coolness of the changing season, the yellows and greens of the surrounding vegetation. Elsie noted that, as usual, Charles effortlessly matched his stride to hers so that she wouldn't struggle to keep up. It kept their sides pressed together, and both realized as they were walking that being physically separated in the future was going to be immensely difficult.
Eventually they climbed a small hill and approached a copse of foliage … and, behind it, a cottage.
"I never knew this was here!" Elsie exclaimed, startling a bird that was nesting nearby.
Charles laughed as he felt the jump of her hand, knowing the little bird had startled her. "Yes, well, it is fairly well hidden. Shall we have a look?"
Elsie looked at him, crinkling her brow once again. "But … does no one live in it? It seems so well kept …" Her voice trailed off, and she was suddenly very suspicious of who, exactly, lived in this lovely home.
"Well, no one resides in it at present, but the current owner – owners, I think – are planning to rent it out for a time … as an investment, perhaps? At this exact moment, though, it is empty."
She looked at him, stunned. "But … I thought … what about Brouncker Road?"
"I never did say exactly which cottage I purchased, if you recall. Actually, you probably don't, because a great deal of things happened immediately following that conversation."
"But Charles, why this one?" Elsie was utterly confused. It didn't look big enough for a bed and breakfast like they'd discussed.
"Well … turn around," he said.
Elsie did as he asked, and gasped softly. "The lake …" She couldn't believe the beauty of the view surrounding her. The lake lay at the bottom of the little hill, veiled by the leaves of the small trees but … yes, if I walk just over here a bit … it was completely visible from the little table at the side of the cottage. From the patio, it's a most serene view indeed. Elsie just looked at Charles in astonishment.
"Shall we?" he asked, motioning to the door.
"Oh, why not?" she laughed.
Charles opened the door, and moved aside for Elsie to enter. When she did, she had to reach out for something hold herself up once again … but this time, Charles was there to grasp her from behind, placing his hands on her waist and resting his chin on her head. "Surprise," he whispered.
As she'd entered the front door Elsie found herself facing the kitchen, where her eyes had fallen on a lovely table lit only by candlelight. There were two place settings (two perfectly laid out place settings, of course), wine, and several dishes covered with food. All she could do was shake her head as tears once again filled her eyes.
"How … ?" she asked yet again.
"Mrs. Patmore was most helpful," came Charles's reply. "Shall we?"
A hand at the small of her back, he led her to the table. He pulled out her chair and made sure she was comfortably seated. As he poured the wine, Elsie asked again, "Why this particular cottage, Charles? Besides the lake?"
He paused, and took his seat. "Well, you see, that's my confession, I suppose." He waited, seeing the puzzled look upon her face. "Other than the Abbey proper … this is the only real house I've ever known."
Elsie's eyes widened, but she said nothing. Well, well … it seems that you're not the only one with secrets, Els. But first … we eat.
Bonus track is "Seven Years" by Norah Jones. I think of it as "Becky's Song." :) When I started this little fanfic voyage, it stemmed from that song along with "One Flight Down" and "The Long Day Is Over." (They multiplied, evidently …) But "Strange Fire" is really more appropriate for where I've gotten. I also added the song Charles is humming - see below.
*Refer to Chapter 9, and the quote Charles leaves in the book for Elsie, which speaks of Geneva.
**The actual lullaby is called "All Through the Night," or, alternatively in my Unitarian Universalist church hymnal, "Sleep, My Child." It is of Welsh origin, indeed, and is just lovely.