A Chelsie Christmas
W – Weather
December 23rd, 1926
They left that morning together, the weather had been brutal in the night – plunging temperatures added to already treacherous walkways, and, as a result, her husband had offered to escort her into work.
"Like I always say, it's good to have more than one string to your bow." Elsie said as she stood and waited for Charles to lock the cottage door.
"And playing Father Christmas is a skill?"
"Absolutely it is," she paused, reaching for Charles' arm and holding tight as they navigated the icy path. "And besides, it's far too late now to go searching for somebody else. I think you should do it. Nobody has to know it's you, though of course they will."
"How, if we don't tell them?"
"Your voice, my dear, it will be a giveaway."
He grumbled beneath his breath, and she slid her hand into his, wrapping her fingers around his.
"You can do anything," she said in her no-nonsense tone. "Now, I have a lot to do today."
"As do I," he said, the snow settling on his hat. "I will not be in your way."
"I didn't mean that. All I meant was you have a lot to do too, and I can't spare time to help. But if –,"
"I'll be fine."
"I was going to say, but if you need somebody I can spare someone to assist you, it's a good cause after all. And I spoke with her Ladyship, I'm sure she won't mind."
He shook his head, "I wish you hadn't. I don't wish them to see me as a burden."
"As if they could." She sneaked a look at him, a half smile on her face. "You're not worried, are you?"
"Why in heaven's name would I be?"
She smirked, "No reason." She swung his hand a little, glancing to the sky. "I bet this clears."
"Mm, anymore and there'll be no party tomorrow. Even the weather is against me."
She rolled her eyes, "Mr. doom and gloom. Why don't you sit with us for breakfast? After you've discussed delivery times with Mrs. Patmore."
"I couldn't possibly."
"Of course you could, it's Christmas. And you should take your rightful spot."
"Elsie, that would not be fair on Barrow. No, no, I shall leave as soon as I have what I need."
"We'll see."
Not long after he sat beside her at the breakfast table, watching as she poured him tea and remembering the days of long ago where she'd done this, when his primary focus would have been his staff and not her. His mind would have been drilling through his jobs for the day. He would have been annoyed by the jovial chatter at breakfast, the high festive spirits. Back then he wouldn't have known what it meant to say her name, whisper it, as she lay beside him in their bed, comfortable and safe. Or how it felt to have her bring him a cup of tea as he sat in his chair by the fire. To read to her. To hold her and love her. Endlessly.
Life had always been good to him, the way he figured anyhow, but he never really knew he was alive until they'd married.
"Mr. Carson," Barrow said, entering the room and moving to take his seat at the head of the table. He stopped himself though, paused with his hand on the back of the chair and drew it out. "Your seat, I believe."
"Oh really, Mr. Barrow, there is no need."
"You are the elder statesman here, I insist."
Elsie passed a cup of tea across to Thomas, grateful when he took the chair on the end across from hers. It took a second or two but eventually Charles rose and moved back to his former position, his hands flat upon the surface of the table as if taking in the very texture of the wood.
"Now then…" he started, looking up.
"Good to have you back, Mr. Carson," Bates said and there were a few mumbles of response before Elsie sat down.
"Not too much jam on your porridge," she warned as they were served, her voice barely a whisper.
He cast her a half-smile, his eyes glowing. She pursed her lips, shared a brief second with him, an intimacy in full view, before she turned her attention to the table.
"How did little John sleep, Anna, any better?"
"Much, Mrs. Hughes. And we're quite looking forward to bringing him to see Father Christmas this year," she said knowingly. "I have a feeling he will be quite comfortable."
"Which reminds me," she turned her attention back to him, "do you have time to come back later, we need to look at something, this afternoon?"
"I can. If that's your wish."
"It is. Eat up, busy day ahead."
Charles would never presume anything, not when it came to the family. Outside of his role he was never entirely sure how to be around them; he missed them, which he knew was fairly ridiculous, but they'd been his family for so very long that not being involved in their day-to-day lives was odd. He kept in touch through Elsie most of the time, caught hold of news from her, and that helped somewhat.
He knew Lady Mary was happy, and in some ways, that was all he needed to know; that she was pregnant again, which was something he chose not to discuss. In one of their moments, tucked up together in warmth and silence, Elsie had whispered that he saw her as being the closest thing he'd ever get to a daughter. He understood what she meant, though of course he would never make the claim himself, he wouldn't never even dare to think it, she being a class above.
It was whilst returning to the estate late that afternoon that he saw her again. That tall willowy figure, the dark cap of hair, the pale, pale skin. He had been walking the long path to the house, the frost of the morning long since melted away, and he heard the noise of Master George as he clambered out of the car and Mary was standing just inside the door, welcoming her son.
It made him smile and he felt happy, joyful to see her.
She noticed him, raised an arm and he awkwardly waved back and altered his course, heading for the main entrance instead.
"Mr. Carson," her voice was almost jovial, "it's so good to see you." she held his arm, "I've heard all about your escapades, come inside, do."
"I wouldn't presume to use this entrance, my Lady, I was going to the servants' entrance."
"Nonsense, come in." She led him inside, "Father spoke of what a hero you have become. Of course, I wasn't surprised."
He found himself smiling, "I was."
She laughed, "Oh dear, Carson." She turned to face him, "It's so very good to see you again. I do wish you'd visit more often."
"I wouldn't want to step on anyone's toes, if I were Barrow I wouldn't appreciate it."
"Well, it's your role. Don't forget that." She patted his arm and he thought how settled she looked, big with child, her eyes soft.
"Thank you, milady, it's lovely to see you too. And to hear how well you're doing."
"Thanks in part to you, your recommendations and the household is running smoothly. Stevenson isn't you, but he is good."
"A respected butler, milady."
"I appreciate you bringing him to our attention. I'm told there is an event tomorrow, a visit from Father Christmas."
He felt his cheeks redden, "There is…. Only a small event, fundraising."
"It sounds quite lovely, I think George would enjoy it."
"So, we might see you there?"
"I believe so, we might drop by at the start if there's room for us."
"That would be most wonderful, and of course, yes, I shall make sure there is.
"Then we shall see you then, take care, Carson."
There's a smile on his face that surprises her when he comes down the stairs and meets her at the bottom.
"What's that look for?" She asks, she usually only witnesses such a look of complete wonder and excitement when they've shared their love physically.
"Nothing. Just…" he gives a little shrug and reaches to her upper arms, moving to bring her body to his and kiss her but she raises her eyebrows and he remembers where they are and stops himself.
"I take it everything went well, decorations up?"
"It all looks wonderful, I think you'll be pleased."
"As long as you are, that's all that matters. Would you like tea first or to go straight up?"
"Where are we going?"
"Storage. I have something to show you."
"Tea after then, I think, I'll need it."
Apart from the fact he sometimes dreams of them, he'd almost forgotten the endless stairs. In his dreams, he was always going somewhere and never getting there, and climbing the stairs was easy though repetitive. Now, at his age and after such an illness, climbing them was like tackling Everest without oxygen.
"Shall we pause?" Elsie asked, slowing to accommodate him. "We can have a moment."
He shook his hand at her, "No, no…" and she understood he meant no because if some young maid came down they'd see him struggling.
So, they pressed on, only she'd deliberately slowed the pace.
Two floors up there was a window porch and she stopped there, giving him a few seconds to catch up with her. She sat back on the ledge, the tiniest view of the east gardens visible, the setting sun and everything bathed in orangey light.
"You're alright?" She asked as he stopped beside her, one hand pressing against the wall. "Silly of me, I never thought, I should've had it brought down to my room."
"It's fine, good for me." He puffed out his chest, drawing in a full breath and casting his eyes over the view. "Beautiful spot. How have I missed this?"
"It's not a route you would usually take, I only do it to get to the attic and the storage rooms."
"It's been here all this time."
She reached to push back a lock of his hair that had fallen down in his exertions, "Some things have always been here, just waiting to be found."
He cast her a look, deep dark eyes raking over her soul, but he did not touch her, merely enjoyed the moment – the way the light caught in her hair.
"I told you the sun would come out," she said.
"Yes. And it did."
"Brighter weather, no worries about your big day." She looked at him again, "I'm very proud of you, you know."
He moved a little closer to where she sat, pressing a hand to the top of her knee, "I love you so very much, Mrs. Carson."
She smiled, lips pursed, eyes shining, "And I you. Mr. Carson."
The rest of the way up seemed a little easier and he kept close behind her. It was colder up there, and the air stiller, sharper, because of it.
She unlocked the attic room, and he stood for a moment looking around at the many piles of boxes, old toys, books.
"Watch your step," she said, "some of the floorboards can be wobbly."
He followed her inside, eyes adjusting to the dusty light. "I didn't realise it was quite this full."
"I've been telling her ladyship for years we ought to sort some of it. However, I am quite glad I remembered this particular item."
"Oh?" He stood in the middle of the room, an imposing figure, watching as she bent to dig something out of an old trunk. "Elsie…" he said lowly, his mind racing as her bottom stuck up in the air.
"Mm, just a second."
"Whatever are you searching for?"
"Found it," she pulled out a large red coat and carried it across. "See what quality this is, real fur."
"What in heaven's name… is this…?"
"Father Christmas, you need to look the part."
He pulled a face, "I really can't."
"Of course you can, you need to try it." She shook it out. "I'll have the girls clean it of course."
"It isn't mine."
"Oh goodness, I checked with her ladyship, don't fuss." She held the coat out, "Come on, arms up."
"I will look a fool."
"Stop your flannelling." She draped the coat over his shoulders, guiding his arms into place and then standing back. "Now then… my, quite impressive."
"You think it fits?"
"I think it looks marvellous," she stepped closer again, brushing her hands down the front of the coat. "Very impressive."
Charles mumbled and dug around in the pockets, "What's this then?" He pulled out and unrolled the hat. "I can't wear this."
"You need a beard too," she said, taking it from him and shaking it out.
"Where will I get a beard from?"
"I'll think on it, don't worry, we'll have it sorted by tomorrow afternoon."
"Foolish idea."
"Wonderful idea," she pecked his cheek before putting the hat on her head. "What do you think?"
"Very festive." His hands circled her waist, pulling her to him and leaning in to kiss her.
"Now, now, Santa… is this quite appropriate?"
"There's a Mrs. Claus, isn't there?"