A Chelsie Christmas

V – Velvet

December 22nd, 1926

Like most men, Charles was not a particularly good shopper. It wasn't that he lacked the desire to be, indeed he wanted to purchase things Elsie would love. Over the years he had mainly bought her books, or bookmarks, or little trinkets for her office. He had never truly been inspired.

Now they were married his gifts could have a more intimate touch. A brooch for her coat. A scarf and gloves. And the chair. She would adore them all, he was sure.

With only a couple of days left, he had taken the early morning bus into town, it was busy and he loathed that but there were a few things he still needed. Elsie had asked him to pick up a few orders too, gifts for others he assumed, she handled all those things – Mrs. Patmore, Daisy, Anna and John – and he was so very glad for she had a much better eye for things than he did.

He was passing a store front when he noted the blanket. Deep red velvet. It made him stop and he backed up, getting closer to the glass. The blanket was edged with gold, embroidered, beautifully so. And beside it a red and gold striped cushion. He immediately wanted them, though this was coloured with the guilty memory of asking Anna to make two red cushions for the chair. He debated what to do, fussed over it as he took tea in Betty's and purchased a few sweet treats for Elsie: chocolate mice for her stocking, sugared almonds and the like.

In the end, both the velvet blanket and cushion accompanied him on the bus ride back to the village. One could never have too many cushions, after all.

Late in the afternoon he made his way to the house, lingering in the staff dining room for a while, listening to the goings on. He sat at the head of the table, recalling the sound of William on the piano, every morning breakfast with Elsie at his side. Laughter. He remembered that.

"Hello," that voice. "Were you looking for someone?" she teased, an armful of napkins.

"I have my monthly appointment."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten." She laid the napkins on the table, "Would you like some tea before you go up?"

"No, I'm fine." He briefly rested his hand on her arm, "Came for some morale support."

"You're nervous?" Her body blocked the door, blocked the way he looked up to her face from view of others.

"No. We just need to discuss the Father Christmas business. And I haven't seen him since before the accident."

"Surely that won't affect things." She brushed his shoulder, "You look good, sitting there again."

"You know what I was thinking? That I don't miss it. Does that surprise you?"

She shook her head, "No. I know you. I watch you."

"I surprised me, never thought I'd get used to it."

"Life changes, you told me that once. It's changed both of us, more so this past year, for the better. I'm happy you're settling, happy that you're happy."

He squeezed her hand on the table, reflecting on how her skin always felt like velvet against his. How he'd like to wrap himself up in her.

"Mr. Carson," Daisy exclaimed.

He let go of her hand, adopted his Carson persona and got to his feet.

"Nice to see you, Daisy."

"I read about you," she started and Elsie smiled at him, "Were you afraid?" Daisy babbled. Elsie collected the napkins and left him to it.

"Not particularly Daisy, but then I didn't consider my actions until after the event."

"It's exciting though isn't it, dead exciting…"

Charles took his seat again, preparing for the girl's silly questions.

There was something still a little odd about sitting in Lord Grantham's office, even though these monthly meetings had been going on for almost a year now. He wasn't there to report on the running of the household, not really, he was there to give a run down on aspects of it – like the wine cellar, or how he thought Barrow was performing, although that too had stopped six or seven months in.

"Quite the accomplishment," Robert said. "And you're looking well, fit as a fiddle."

Carson sipped his tea, returning it to its saucer. "I am feeling much better, my Lord."

"Mrs. Hughes looking after you, no doubt."

"She is. There have been other acquaintances popping over too, surprising really, how the villagers have been kind."

"You're rather respected old chap, you must know that."

"I do not dwell on such things, it does no good."

"A wise choice." Robert smiled knowingly. "Lady Grantham informs me you have a request."

Charles felt his chest tighten a little, he wasn't used to such conversations, he would never dream of making demands of his Lordship and now he felt quite foolish for even considering it.

"The thing is, Carson, I am more than happy to make an appearance at the event – it's a very worthy cause."

He dropped his head, staring at the carpet.

"Yet as for playing Father Christmas, the thing is –,"

"You don't have to explain, my Lord."

"– I believe they would much rather have you. You're the bigger draw, see."

He opened his mouth to speak, his mind suddenly blank as he stared at Robert.

"You really are, my good man. I believe the children would love it. If you're up to it, of course." He took a sip of his tea. "But by all means I'm happy to donate and pop by for an hour; Lady Grantham suggested we might purchase gifts for the children, for Father Christmas to distribute."

"That's a very generous offer, very generous. Thank you."

"You're more than welcome." He finished his tea and got to his feet, signalling the end of the meeting. "We always knew how valuable you were, Carson, it's about time the rest of them did too."

"I appreciate that. Thank you."

"You're getting him an apron?" Beryl laughed. "That's hilarious."

"You think he'll appreciate the humour and not take offence?"

"I suppose it depends."

"On what?"

"On what he gets you, or on how happy he is that morning."

Elsie's eyes widened in shock but Beryl wasn't looking at her and she realised she'd misunderstood the comment.

"If you serve him bacon it won't matter what's in the gift."

Elsie laughed self-consciously, "Yes, of course, I hadn't thought of that." She thought of kissing him beneath the mistletoe again; it still did something strange to the depths of her belly. "How many of those have you made today?"

"Hundred or more I reckon. And do tell your Mr. Carson that his mince pies and sausage rolls will be ready."

"My Mr. Carson," she smiled, leaning against the counter across from Beryl. "Thank you so much for doing this, he's been working so hard on it, it's been good to see, actually."

"I can appreciate that."

"Oh?"

"None of us are blind, and even if we were it would take somebody of supreme stupidity not to realise that leaving a lifetime's job would be difficult."

Elsie bit down on her bottom lip, rubbing it hard against her teeth. "I was thinking I might…" She stopped herself and Beryl paused what she was doing and looked up sharply. Elsie shrugged, "Maybe. I don't know. Maybe it's time."

"Well… that's a turn up. Not completely unexpected I suppose, when you think on it." She scattered flour onto the work surface, "Still, things won't be the same."

"I suppose not," she suddenly felt nervous and glanced around the kitchen with a sense of loss. "Nothing's been decided," she said, snapping her heels. "I best get on."

"So, guess what I brought you." Elsie said, putting her basket on the dining table that evening.

"Treacle pudding?"

"Ha, no, not yet." She took out a round package, wrapped in brown paper, and heard him gasp.

"Pork pie?"

"Specially for you, Mrs. Patmore said." She handed it across to him, "And she also said your food for the party will be ready."

"Oh thank her very much, very very much. It's shaping up to be quite the event. Shall we have a slice of this now?"

"Why not?" She slipped her coat off, hanging it over the back of a dining chair. "What are you doing, it smells divine?"

"Mulled wine," he said proudly, "a gift from Jack and you know," he waved his wooden spoon at her. "If there's one thing I know, it's wine."

"Oh I know," she took plates from the cupboard, sliced the pork pie and put it out. "How did things go with his Lordship?"

He paused stirring the wine, "It was fine. He was happy to help."

"As Father Christmas?" She gasped, "Well, I never."

"No, no. Not in that way. Presents. Things like that." He returned to stirring the wine, breathing in the rich, delicious scents of it. "Rather ridiculous actually."

"What was? Onion chutney with this?"

"Please."

He left the wine, turned around to watch her as she set the table, now sitting beside him at one end without even asking. It was nicer that way. More intimate. She put out their plates, a bowl of chutney, cutlery, two glasses of water.

"Shall I light the candles?" He said, admiring how the light from the tree caught in her hair. "Might be nice."

"Romantic for pork pie."

He gave her a look – dark eyes, soft face and she smiled. "Pour the wine, I'll light them. And tell me, what was ridiculous?"

"He thinks I should play Father Christmas," he said. "As I said, silly."

She pursed her lips but didn't say anything, taking her seat and putting her napkin in her lap.

"Thank you," she said as he carried across two glasses of mulled wine. "This smells wonderful. And thank you also, I forget to say this, for waiting for me, to eat."

"It isn't an issue."

"No, but now you're outside of the regime you could eat at a more reasonable hour."

"Perhaps, but then I wouldn't eat with you." He rested his hand on hers on the table. "Highlight of my day." He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. "Velvet."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. An old man's foolishness. Tell me honestly, what do you think about me dressing up?"

She squeezed his hand, "I think the children would love it, and I think you have the physique."

"I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"Wears velvet, doesn't he? Father Christmas?"

Charles' eyebrows rose, "Not sure. Depends on the quality of the suit one would suggest."

She sipped her wine, closing her eyes as she savoured the warm richness pooling on her tongue, "I like the feel of velvet against my skin."

His throat suddenly went dry and he coughed, "Mrs. Hughes!" he spluttered, reaching for his water.

She laughed, "Eat your pork pie."

He did as she said, letting go of her hand. "Today Jack told me a joke. I've remembered it for you."

Her face registered shock, "You're going to tell me a joke?"

"Yes."

"You. Charles Carson. Are going to tell me a joke?"

"It's a Christmas one."

She smiled, "Go on then, entertain me."

"What did the Christmas card envelope say to the stamp?"

"No idea."

"Stick with me, we're going places."

It took her a second, his deadpan delivery adding to the amusement, but then she laughed heartily and he joined in. Content and happy in their little cottage.