A Chelsie Christmas
M - Music
December 13th, 1926
"I'm not an invalid," Charles grumbled as Elsie tucked him in on the sofa.
"Well, actually, you are." Elsie insisted, wrapping the blankets around his feet. "And I would prefer for you to be in bed."
"I can't just keep lying in there."
"You're an old grump at times."
He placed his hand on her back as she bent over him, "Thank you for taking care of me," he said softly, "I do appreciate it."
"You don't have to thank me," she smiled at him. "This is what you do, when you're married." Her hand slid down to his.
"Yes, but this isn't what you signed up for. Taking care of me."
"It won't be forever," she leant in to kiss his forehead. "I must go, it's Monday and I need to try and catch up and get on top of things."
"Go, go, I'll be fine."
"Someone will check in on you later."
"Oh tosh, don't be sending people here."
She was fastening up her coat, "You have no choice in the matter. Now, I've made your lunch, it's on a plate in the fridge. And the kettle is full and the fire stocked." She stood by the sofa again. "You are sure you're well enough for me to go?"
"If you ask again I may not be. Go. I only wish I was up to doing some work, the fundraiser will never get organised at this rate."
It had rained all night, and continued to do so as Elsie walked to work hiding beneath an umbrella. The one benefit was the paths were clear of ice and snow and she could walk relatively easily and, more importantly, quickly. She wouldn't admit it to Charles but his illness had not only put her back at work, but with her Christmas preparations too. She would have to find an hour or two at some point in the week to go into the village; she was usually quite adept at purchasing gifts but this Christmas she felt distracted and off-task.
When she arrived, her boots were sodden and her mood low. There was a pile of paperwork on her desk and she was in no mood for silly festive behaviour. She'd snapped at the hall boys after breakfast when she caught them wasting time in the yard, and sent them off to the cottage to refill their wood pile for the fire. Charles would hate it but at least the boys would get a good swift kick of Carson authority.
She had to admit to herself she was tired, and a couple of hours spent sitting at her desk wading through paperwork was probably in order anyway, so she hid herself away and worked.
Thomas tapped at her door after lunch and went in, sitting himself at the opposite side of the desk. She had to admit, he wore the butler role well, it had been the making of him.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Barrow?" she asked, removing her glasses.
"How is Mr. Carson?"
"Improving. Hopefully, we're over the worst of it now."
"Good. Her Ladyship would like to see you when you have a moment."
Elsie rolled her eyes, "I was meant to go through final preparations with her, I've been so distracted."
"Perfectly normal."
"Perhaps, but perfectly not like me." She gathered her things together. "Are you all ready for the ball?"
"Yes, everything's on task. Did you receive the information on guests, rooms and so forth?"
"I did, it seems quite in order but I will go through it again and make my final plans. If you'll excuse me, I will go and find her Ladyship."
"Of course."
He followed her out into the hallway and she had this odd stinging feeling of not being at all prepared; a feeling she was unaccustomed to.
"Lady Mary will arrive on Wednesday," Cora said, her diary open.
"Very good your Ladyship. And will Lady Edith be joining us too?"
"Probably not until Christmas Eve. Will we have the space do you think, Mrs. Hughes?"
"I'm sure we will, the rooms will be ready…" she paused, her head suddenly spinning and her equilibrium momentarily slipping.
"Are you quite alright?" Cora got up from her desk, helping Elsie to sit. "Rest for a moment, do you feel faint?"
"No I just, oh, I just lost my balance for a moment."
"Have you perhaps contracted Mr. Carson's chill?"
"No I," she shook her head clear of the fog. "I think I'm just tired, he didn't sleep well for the past two nights and I didn't want to leave him alone."
"I understand that. But he's better today?"
"He's complaining, that could mean he's better."
Cora laughed at that, "You know if there's anything you need, anything we can do we would be happy. He holds a dear, dear place in our hearts."
"Thank you, your Ladyship. It is very much appreciated." She gingerly got to her feet, convincing herself she must take an early night, not least so her eyes could focus. A thought suddenly occurred to her and she bit her lip, "There is one thing."
"Go on."
"Well, you see, Mr. Carson has quite taken to the idea of providing for the poor this Christmas by expanding on the hampers we distribute."
"I see."
"He has plans to hold a fundraising event in the village, a family event, of course we need a Father Christmas…"
The corners of Cora's mouth twitched into a smile, "Yes?"
"They had asked Cha –, Mr. Carson, but I really don't feel he can, he doesn't have a natural affinity with children." Elsie said quickly. "What he really needs is a draw, something to convince people to come along and purchase a ticket."
"And you're wondering if Lord Grantham might make an appearance?"
"Something like that. Forgive me if you think it impertinent."
"Not in the slightest. Leave it with me, Mrs. Hughes. Mr. Carson doesn't have to be the only hero in the village."
"You're up and around," Elsie observed, surprised to find Charles in the kitchen when she came in.
"Ah, hello. I was just going to make cocoa. Thought you might be staying at the house."
"Sorry, I had to get things done."
"I understand, you know that."
She hung her coat and removed her shoes, sinking with relief into the warm rug by the fire.
"How have you been?" She asked.
"Fine, slept, tried to read by my eyes still won't work." Having put the milk to warm he came back to the lounge, returning to his chair by the fire.
"Is this cake?" Elsie noted the tin on the table.
"Fruit cake, gift from Mrs. Greenwood. And before you ask, no she did not walk all the way out here. But she did send it with Jack."
"Oh," Elsie suppressed a smirk. "He is becoming quite the regular visitor."
"We have things to arrange," Charles insisted, "It makes sense, whilst I can't do very much –,"
"I am not complaining. It's nice for you to have a friend, good for you too. I'll go finish that cocoa. Did you eat?"
"Yes, I had the leftover potatoes. Did you?"
"A little."
"You look tired."
"I am. Oh and I spoke to her Ladyship, she said she will mention the fundraiser to Lord Grantham."
"Elsie, you didn't?"
"I did, it's time we got on if you want to do this. Unless of course, you've changed your mind."
He shook his head, "No."
She set the cocoa down on the table, watching as he got up to poke at the fire.
"Are you quite sure you should be doing so much?"
"It's hardly much, and besides, I've rested all day again. Couple more days and Dr. Clarkson said I should be up to a visit to the hospital to see the little lad."
"Oh?" Elsie's eyes flashed.
"Yes. Which leads me to ask, why did you not mention they're travellers?"
She bit her lip, sinking into his empty chair – it was bigger, softer and warmer than hers. "It didn't cross my mind."
"You may be a plotter Elsie Hughes, but not to me."
"I didn't want it changing your opinion, clouding it. What you did was a kind, wonderful act regardless of religion or creed."
"I know. But I cannot deny it hasn't bothered me some, you know how I feel about all that business."
"I know. But it is their choice to live that way."
"Who knows if it didn't contribute to events."
"Charles really, don't say such things. It could have been anyone, any child in the village, they all play there."
He grumbled in the back of his throat and she got up from his chair, allowing him to sit down.
"I must go and change, we can talk some more when I come down."
"We don't need to, I have said what I feel."
She longed to say 'but maybe I haven't' but she didn't wish to upset him when he was still recovering. So instead she kept her opinions to herself and went to change.
There was an odd sound when she returned downstairs, something she was very much unaccustomed to in the home but delighted to hear. His singing. His throat was still sore so it was nothing more than a light grumble but it carried through the cottage like the heat from the fires.
She hovered at the bottom of the stairs, watching him lying on the sofa and dancing one hand around in the air as he tripped over the words.
"What's this?" She said, joining him.
He coughed, flustered and shy at being caught out, but when he saw the warmth and affection in her eyes he smiled. "Just popped into my head."
"It is easy to forget sometimes, Mr. Carson, that music was a part of your past. Quite a large part I might imagine."
"Indeed it was, we sang on stage almost every day. Though it's preposterous to think of it now."
"Is it?" She busied herself tidying away the newspapers he'd had that day, his book, his mug.
"I am far too old to even remember."
"Clearly you do, you recall the words quite easily." She took the chair opposite him. "Do you remember other things, tricks or the steps to a dance, perhaps?"
"Some things don't leave you."
"You know, we haven't danced together since our wedding day. I do hope you'll attend the ball, if only so I can steal a dance with my husband."
"That alone is reason enough to attend."
"That is, if you're well enough."
"Oh what a burden I have become."
"I would never use such terms." She got up from her chair, pouring two glasses of sherry. "Goodness I am tired tonight, I think I might drink this and be off to bed."
"Yes."
She handed him the glass then paused, "Are you allowed this with medication?"
"This is medication."
She sank into her chair again, sipping her sherry and closing her eyes.
He watched her for a long time, relaxing, exhausted but so fair, so pretty to him. He wanted to recover just so he could help her again, take on his share of tasks. She was only one woman, and despite her numerous skills, she couldn't do everything.
He too closed his eyes, melting into the warm relaxation of the room; it was rare to find somebody you could be quiet with, he knew that, yet they could be silent and enraptured. His brain wandered through memories and he soon found himself returning to the song he had been mumbling when she'd come downstairs. Only this time his half-sung words had an intended audience.
"I care not what the world may say, or if it mock and jeer. I'd care not for its smiles and frowns, if you were always near. You are my very all in all, beneath the heaven's blue. And all else is as naught to me, the breath of life is you. All that I ask is love. All that I want is you. And I swear by all the stars, I'll be forever true."