A Chelsie Christmas
H – Holly and Ivy
December 8th, 1926
"Well, good morning Mr. Robin," Elsie said, catching sight of the young bird that perched on the back of the bench in the yard. "You look comfortable there." She shifted her basket up one arm, holding out a leather gloved hand towards the little creature. "Will you let me say hello, hmm?"
The bird lifted its beak, chirped and scuttled down the bench a little as Elsie got closer.
"Shy? Oh well, if I remember I'll throw the toast crumbs out later."
She left the bird behind and unlocked the back door, making her way to her parlour, turning on the lights and setting about her usual morning routine. Her coat and hat put away, her tasks for the order of the day laid out in a list on the desk, diligently prepared every night before she went home.
Her heels clattered down the cobbled hallway and she shivered, there was a chill inside, she would send someone to check all the windows and doors were fastened tight.
"Good morning," she said to those in the kitchen. "How are we all today?"
"Fancy free, not as happy as you are clearly." Beryl replied, kneading bread in one smooth sweeping motion. "What happened?"
"Nothing, I'm just glad to see the sunshine this morning, perhaps the snow will melt away."
"If we're lucky. Need to talk to you later, trouble getting decent spices at the moment."
"Can we not source them elsewhere?"
"Happen we can but you need to sign off on it."
Elsie waved a hand, "Oh alright, we'll discuss it after breakfast." She glanced to the clock, "They'll be ringing soon, I best get on."
"Unfortunately, there's not much we can do, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Wigan said, taking the pile of neatly addressed envelopes from his hand and putting stamps on. "There is no money in the kitty."
Charles wrung his hands together, feeling the chill in the ends of his fingers and the familiar tingling sensation starting. "It seems a wretched business," he said. "That as a village we aren't doing more."
"This is something you're interested in?"
He lifted his chin, frowning, "Why? Should I not be?"
"Not something I associated with you. Sympathy for the poor and needy."
"Yes well," he cleared his throat, looked away from her accusatory glance, "circumstances change. I have recently had experience with it, that is all."
"Perhaps you could talk to his Lordship, that is, if you still have his ear."
Charles snatched his letters back, she really was a most disagreeable woman at times. "I'll post these outside, thank you."
"Right you are. Good day Mr. Carson, pass on my regards to your wife."
He tipped his hat, "Good day."
Reluctantly, he walked back home, the scheduled meeting of the committee had been cancelled due to the weather – a decision he wouldn't have made and certainly hadn't been informed of until he got there – so there was little else to do.
He had planned to work on the chair anyhow and with an extra hour or two now he might as well get a head start. There was green paint in the shed and, after mulling it over, he decided Elsie liked that colour, he knew she had a dark green coat anyhow. It would look wonderful if he could purchase a red cushion for the seat.
There hadn't been a tool in his hand for many a year but somehow he managed to find his way around the shed and tighten the mechanisms; he gingerly perched on the edge of the rocking chair and it took his weight, thankfully, so all seemed to be progressing. An old apron was donned for the first coat, the floor covered in newspaper, and he prayed Elsie wouldn't ask questions or venture down the garden. It would take three coverings he reckoned, plenty of time to get it looking attractive enough for their parlour. And to find a pillow, that was a more difficult task.
"Where is Mr. Carson today?" Beryl asked, sitting across from Elsie at her small table and sipping tea.
"I believe he has his meeting, the committee."
"He's enjoying that, isn't he?" Beryl smiled knowingly.
"I'll say. A chance to keep himself prominent." She felt a stab of guilt for that. "I don't blame him, he has found it difficult, stepping back. Especially with my still working."
Beryl sighed, "There comes a time when we all have to step back. Can't drop dead on the job."
"You have many bookings, this time of year?"
"Christmas, yes. Then it'll be quiet no doubt til this weather picks up again, springtime."
"I long for it."
"And you, a Scottish lass."
Elsie wrinkled her nose, "Never was one for the cold. It has its benefits I suppose," she smiled wistfully into her teacup, remembering the blazing fire and becoming a woman all over again in front of it two nights since.
"That was an odd look," Beryl chuckled, finishing her tea and getting to her feet. "Right, must get on."
"Right you are. How is Daisy, by the way, still rebutting Andy?"
"She is. Not that I'm one to chide her having spent my life as a single woman, but really, he is a lovely young man who seems to dote on her."
"You can't really ask for anything more," Elsie admitted getting to her feet.
On her desk was a photo of their wedding day and she took a few seconds to look and remember before continuing with her day's work.
"Oh goodness!" Elsie jumped when she opened the door, almost dropping the bag in her hand. "I didn't realise you were here."
Charles put aside the book he'd been reading, "Didn't want to disturb. Thought I'd just tuck myself away."
"You couldn't 'tuck away' anywhere." She placed the bag on her desk. "How has your day been?"
"Reflective."
"Oh?"
"Yes," he pointed with his glasses, "What have you got there?"
"It was just on the buggy when he delivered the flowers," she opened the bag, "thought I'd get some for above the fireplace in the cottage."
"Holly?" He said, glancing up. "It'll look well."
"I'll do it tonight after dinner." She put the bag aside, hanging it by her coat. "What are you reading?"
"One from your shelf, Bleak House."
Her eyes widened, "You don't usually like Dickens. Not an uplifting one for a winter's night."
"No, but as I said, I've been thinking."
"Go on, or should I get tea first? Are you cold from the walk?" She touched his forehead.
"A sherry might be nice."
She poured two glasses and sat beside him, reminded of their long drawn out years of conversations just like this; having to part and going to bed alone with a strange feeling of not quite finishing what needed to be said.
"Mrs. Greenwood got me thinking about how we live in this small village, we believe we know everyone and everything in it."
She sucked the sherry from her tongue, "Yes?"
"And, well, it seems a damned way of things Elsie that people are in a position such as she. Starving and cold, waiting to die and for somebody to notice they aren't in church one Sunday."
"This social caring Carson is a side I haven't oft seen before."
He sat upright, puffing out his chest as if he still wore the starched shirt and tails. "I'm involved in the village now, leading a lot of the new initiatives, as old and past it as I might be."
She touched his hand where it rested on the arm of the chair, "Nobody thinks that."
"I might be able to do a good job, have an impact, in some small way."
"You have always done a good job," she assured him, "and you have had impact. Not least upon my life."
He moved his head to closer to hers, their knees touching. "Do you know, holly remains green the year through."
"Yes, I did."
"One of my favourites for that reason, and the elegant shape of the leaves. It never bends, never breaks despite the storms it weathers."
"Perhaps," she said softly, "like a long-cherished love."
"Perhaps."
She dared to rest her hand on his knee, "What shall you do then, for those less fortunate?"
"I was thinking of your hampers –,"
" –Oh, I only send three or four a year."
"I know. What I thought was, what if we could make more, distribute more?"
"We don't have the funds."
"No, but could we? Mightn't we?"
She shrugged, "A fundraiser?"
"I don't know. You know how I feel about begging for money, it isn't right." He slapped one leg with his free hand, "Forget the whole notion."
"No, don't. It's a lovely idea and you are good at bringing people together, I know you don't like to think it. But the memorial for one, that worked so well, I was so very proud."
"You never said."
"One doesn't." She got to her feet. "Shall I get my coat, we can walk home?"
He nodded, pondering what to do.
"Did you manage to speak to Tommy in the village about our light?"
"I forgot," he admitted, "I will tomorrow. It's a nuisance without it at the front door."
"I know."
"I feel the cold in my bones tonight," she admitted and he held her closer. "Mrs. Patmore said something interesting today."
He doubted that very much but listened anyway.
"About there coming a time when we all need to retire. When we're ready for it."
"And, are you ready for it?"
"I'm not sure," she said gently, waiting as he pushed open the gate and helped her through. "I have worked all my life, what would I do without it?" She reflected on the absurdity of her statement considering who she was with. "Also, and don't take this… don't get how you do."
"What does that mean?"
"I wouldn't want to be a burden, what with my financial situation and yours."
"Now you can stop that, we are married. All my worldly goods."
"Yes, only I don't seem to have very many."
"Being you is enough."
She smiled at that, her eyes feeling warm with tears at his occasional sentimental statement.
"The question is, I suppose, whether you're ready. I don't think I would have ever left had it not been for my hands."
"No…" And in a way perhaps it was good he had to, because there was an entirely new side of Charles Carson emerging as time went on.
"But you don't have to. Of course, if you did we would be fine, financially, we have the income from the rental. Our pensions."
"Yes," trust Charles to think practically. She would change the subject, come back to it another time. "I had a thought about your fundraising."
"Yes?"
"This ball his lordship is holding," she slipped a little and Charles caught her arm and held her tighter, keeping her upright. "They'll all be rich folk there."
"I can't ask them for donations!" He exclaimed.
"No, you can't. But his Lordship could, a small donation, or perhaps sell tickets for the ball."
He shook his head, "You're spending too much time with Barrow. Honestly."
"Well, you never know."
"Ow," he snapped when the bag she was carrying caught his leg. "That holly."
She laughed to herself, moving the bag to the other arm and humming as they walked in the moonlight.
"The holly and the ivy," Charles started to sing along in his grumbling voice. "When they are both full grown."
"Of all the trees that are in the wood the holly bears the crown." They sang together, enjoying the solitude of a winter night and an easy walk together.