A Chelsie Christmas
X – Xmas Eve
December 24th, 1926
She wakes extra early on Christmas Eve, it's a habit from childhood, one of the few things she brought with her into adulthood. She likes to be up and around whilst everyone is still sleeping. At the house she would dress silently, fluidly, like a ghost as she stole down the halls without disturbing a soul. She liked to open the drapes, enjoy the view on her own, the white over the lawns, the stillness of the morning. She's never been overly religious but she regards herself as Christian, Church of England (she's lived there long enough), and there's a time to be reverent at Christmas. So she prays. Just for a moment.
Waking in her own home, in their cottage, changes the shape of things. For one, there is no where she'd rather be than right there in their bed. For another, it is warm, soft, comfortable. And her husband is sleeping beside her, on his back, the sheets drawn across his broad chest, the buttons on his pyjama top stretching to accommodate his movement in the night.
She prays differently now, thankful for this. She can't say she fell in love, it isn't that simple, nor that she found it. It just happened. It just evolved. She can't even pinpoint when she knew, just that it was there and it grew until she couldn't deny it no longer, it was as natural as the building of the ocean or the coming of rain. That it continues to grow, that is the wonder, that she hadn't expected. She is so consumed with feelings for him now there is no way to tell where things start and end. She is his, completely, and, in turn, he is hers. She knows she has his heart and there's something religious in that.
When she senses he is starting to wake she scoots closer, one hand sliding over his belly beneath the sheets, the other reaching to his hair, fingers threading through the silver strands – thick before he styles it, soft, like feathers against her fingertips. She presses a kiss to his forehead, watches his eyes flutter, and then another to his nose, then his cheeks, all the time watching his reaction.
It is a big day for him, a potentially nerve-wracking day, and she has the slightest hint of a feeling that she could give him something to see him confident through the day. Something only a wife can give.
"Darling…" she whispers by his ear, the hand on his belly moving lowers, fingers toying with the band on his pyjama bottoms. "Charlie…" she says, and his breathing has deepened, though he's very much awake now.
She kisses the side of his mouth, smiling when he twists his head, his mouth meeting hers. She sinks down into the kiss, a hand on his chest, her body pressing against his and his mouth opens, a warm welcome embrace. When he groans her eyes flutter closed, though she usually has them open when they kiss, at times the feeling takes over – this is one of those times.
She can feel his arm moving, his hand sliding over her back, fingers curling into the material.
Oddly, she thinks of the new pyjamas she's bought him for Christmas, the thick blue dressing gown to replace the threadbare one he's worn for far too long. Matching slippers.
She gasps when his other hand closes around her breast, his thumb pressing her nightgown against her nipple. He is braver with this now, twenty-months in, he knows what he likes – and he's getting to learn what she likes though he's not always been super-quick on the uptake on personal matters. But he listens to her, notices how her breathing changes when he kisses her neck, he knows that spot now where she shudders when he touches her.
"Elsie," he whispers and she looks down at him, brushing his hair back as he blearily looks back at her, confused and half-asleep.
"Good morning," she kisses him again, "you slept deeply, eventually."
He stretched, his eyes closing again; he had worried in the early part of the night, gone over everything for the following day, made mental lists and for a long time lay there listening to Elsie sleep.
Her fingers work their way into his pyjama top, fiddling with the top two buttons until they're open and she can stroke his chest a little more freely. She wonders if she's being too forward, or if he appreciates the attention; the early-morning smile playing across his face seems to confirm the latter, so she forgoes any more conversation and settles her body on his chest, kissing him deeply.
Charles' hands moved quickly to her hips, these hips he's watched for a lifetime, following her up many a staircase, discreetly eyeing how the dress swung as she walked. He used to chastise himself over it, forced himself not to pay attention, but then it became obvious he couldn't steal his mind away from it, she was far too attractive, far too alluring. And what harm could it do? If it were just in his head?
He half lifts her on top of him, the position from the fireside, something they haven't repeated since. His fingers scrunch up her nightgown until its almost at her waist.
It is early morning, the sun not yet risen but the light is fair, milky, and she knows he can see more than he can in the deepest dark of night. He is flat on his back, the palms on his hands against the bare skin of her hips now, and his fingers stroking in small circles as he looks up at her.
She is strong, and beautiful, and fragile.
Shyly she looks down at him, one hand daring to reach to the top of his pyjama bottoms, untying the string with a shaky hand, pushing the material down just enough. She wants to make love to him, is not fearful of it now – how far they've come, she enjoys making love to him, with him.
Leaning forward he catches her face in one hand before their lips meet again, a deep searing kiss. And his free hand is fiddling with her nightgown, wanting to touch her skin, see her breasts.
Their bodies come together in that position, and he groans so loudly into her mouth she thinks she's given him the world.
Again her hips roll and she sits back, hands on his chest as she moves, watching his face. His eyes never leave hers, she holds him securely. When she opens her mouth her breath exhales in pleasure, she never would have dreamt they could do this. Her head tilts back, neck stretching, and she can feel his pelvis pushing beneath her, feel him moving inside her, and his hands on her hips, still eager to touch her.
Enveloped in passion she pushes at the shoulder of her nightgown, lets one arm down, then the other, and it slips down and over her breasts as they move, the tantalising movement of lovemaking.
The look he gives her is nothing more than unadulterated love.
The hat itches, as does the beard, and he feels a fool in both.
He can just about make out his reflection in the window and stares at himself, knowing its him but not really connecting nevertheless. He tugs on the beard, raises his shoulders to see how the jacket fits when he moves. Elsie had altered it a little the previous night and, to her credit, it's perfect.
He turns, eyeing his profile; the beard makes him look older and he immediately dismisses the idea of ever growing one. For a second, he smiles, he's been whistling Christmas tunes all day, jostled by the wonderful start to it. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day and he had never been more excited about giving a gift.
"Mr. Carson," Molesley said, peeping his head around the door and then coming into the room. "Think we're about ready, Mrs. Hughes has got the children all seated on the carpet."
"Er right, well then, I suppose we best get on with it." He turned to look at Molesley, unable to resist champing out an order to his old footman despite his role as teacher to these young children. "And do make sure the presents are ready, you know their names too, it would help if I can refer to each one individually."
"Yes, Mr. Carson, of course. I'll stand right behind you."
He was sure he saw the hint of a smile on the man's face as he left the room, he was shaking his head as Elsie came in.
"Oh very impressive," she said, fussing over his coat.
"He was sniggering at me."
"He was doing nothing of the sort, now, are you quite ready?"
"I do not wish to be a laughing stock."
"Charles," she laid her hands on his chest. "Nobody in this village is held in higher regard at the moment. Especially by the people in this building, now," she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "are you quite ready to bring joy and happiness to a group of children?"
He raised his eyebrows, "There's a statement I never thought I'd hear."
She couldn't help but chuckle, "No, me neither. After I thought you could disappear back here and change again, slip into the celebrations, and eat something, you've been a bag of nerves all day."
"You do fuss."
"I'm your wife, it's part of my job."
"Yes well," he rested his hands on her shoulders, "I was thinking of something."
"Go on."
"Tomorrow, whilst you're working, I thought I might pop to the hospital, if we have gifts left you see. I could keep the suit another day."
She smiled again, "You really are the most wonderful, kindest man I've ever known."
"No need to get sentimental about, Mrs. Hughes."
She laughed at that, the amusement in his eyes evident as he teased.
"Come on then, ho ho ho and all that."
"Your grotto awaits." She said.
"Mr. Carson, I never knew you had it in you," Beryl laughed, a glass of sherry sloshing in her hand. "Quite the entertainer. But then, that's your background isn't it, we often forget."
"I don't think we need to bring any of that up, Mrs. Patmore," Charles said gruffly.
"What stuff is this?" Mr. Mason asked, draining the last of his beer.
"Another career where –," Beryl started.
"Nothing of note," Charles said quickly. "And don't dwell on my role, I don't wish for the children to be any the wiser." He glanced around watching as groups of them sat playing pass the parcel or pin the tail on the donkey, only Jack had tried to draw a reindeer instead and it looked quite the sight. Children don't mind these things, Elsie had pointed out. "You think it's going well?"
"I'd say so," Mr. Mason said broadly, "a right good night it's been, dancing and presents and the like. A good slice of pork pie and a pint of ale, what more could you need?"
The old Charles would have found the common focus of the man tasteless, but the new Charles, the one who was learning to appreciate the other human beings in his home village, was glad of his obvious enjoyment.
"Another sherry, Mrs. Patmore?" Mr. Mason asked, and Charles noted the slight twinkle in her eye as she shrugged.
"Why ever not, it's Christmas Eve."
"And you, Mr. Carson? A pint?"
Charles had never really been one for ale but his new friendship with Jack had introduced him to the local flavours, "That would be very nice," he found himself saying diplomatically.
He turned when there was a round of applause and realised Lord and Lady Grantham had risen from their seats by the fire and were approaching him.
"Very well done, Carson, splendid job," Robert said, shaking his hand.
"I must say Carson, only you could pull something off this quickly and with such style," Cora said sweetly. "And the grandchildren have loved it."
"I'm very glad." Charles eyed Lady Mary as she remained by the fire, George and little Sybbie playing with the other village children, running trains over the floor and lining up dolls along the rug. "And I thank you so much for coming, it really does raise the spirits."
"We just hope you've raised enough for the hospital," Robert said, "which reminds me, didn't you need a word, Cora?"
She took Carson's arm and led him to a quiet corner of the pub, away from prying ears.
"We were lucky to have him all these years," Robert observed to Beryl.
"They don't many like him your Lordship and that's a truer word as there is," she finished her sherry. "Now, I best be heading back myself, a busy day tomorrow."
"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Patmore."
"And a Merry Christmas to you, my Lord, and all the family."
"I'll walk with you," Mason suggested, leaving his half-drunk beer on a table.
"Isn't it a beautiful evening," Elsie said, gripping Charles' arm and looking up to the clear night sky. "The stars look extra bright."
"It is, it'll be frosty tomorrow mind, a clear night."
"Don't ruin it. Shall you come to the house for breakfast before you go to the hospital?"
"I thought I might. And that we could save our presents for the evening, if that suits you."
"Of course. I might give you one in the morning, just because I can't wait."
He glanced over at her, "Not like you to be so excited over Christmas presents."
"I'm married now, things are different. It went well tonight, you should be proud. All those hampers for the poor."
"I know, I do feel proud I suppose, proud of what we can achieve together."
"We always were a formidable pair when we put our minds to it."
He laughed at that, lifting her hand to kiss it. "Very true, my love. I think her Ladyship would like part of the money to go to the hospital."
"Well, see what's left. But they do receive quite a few charitable donations."
"Mmm…"
"It's because of her role, never you mind, you have your plans."
"Yes but, there's other things to consider too now."
"Oh? Such as?"
He took a deep breath, "She asked me to become a board member at the hospital."