Her black boots, the sole of the right one very much in need of a cobbler she'd noted earlier, crunched on the gravel as she hurried away from the house. Its Gothic form rose up against the dusky sky and had she given it even the briefest of backward glances she'd have seen squares of light beginning to pepper its facade as the upper rooms came to life, the staff turning their thoughts to readying the family for bed. It had just been a small party for dinner for which she'd been grateful. The family tended to eat more simply these days, the tiniest nod to the changing times, except if the Dowager was there of course. Then it often felt as if it was 1908 all over again. But thoughts of this and other household matters couldn't have been further from Elsie's mind as she'd slipped quietly away.
Her departure had been frustratingly delayed by Miss Baxter, keen to discuss the arrangements for Lord and Lady Hexham's upcoming visit. They were a housemaid down as ever and she'd kindly offered to take on some of the extra work involved in opening Edith's old room and then during the stay itself. Elsie was grateful of course, 'many hands make light work' as she was fond of saying, but the timing had been unfortunate given she was anxious to leave, decorum preventing her from saying so for fear she'd have to explain why. And so instead she'd played her part, commenting that it was likely they'd never have a fourth housemaid again and then only half listened to Baxter's reflections on the matter. It was a pattern she guiltily acknowledged to herself that had characterised her afternoon, the attention bestowed on her by her husband earlier in the day a definite distraction. And having escaped the clutches of the Abbey she quickened her pace in anticipation of those attentions being resumed.
Their cottage was an easy distance, although she considered the long driveway down to the stone gatehouse almost the most challenging aspect. It didn't appear far but the reality was quite different when you were rushing, particularly the second section which curved majestically around the great cedar trees that frequented the landscape forcing those on foot to add twice the distance required had they been able to cut across the parkland. Elsie would confess to having taken such a shortcut on dry, summer mornings but never in the evening when a gloomy sky would risk turning an ankle in an unseen rabbit burrow. As she approached the outer boundary, she took a sharp turn to the right along the sheltered path that ran the length of the wrought iron fence that separated the Abbey from the village and wider estate. It was darker here under the trees but not for long as it turned again and exited onto the lane where their cottage sat. A couple more minutes and she knew she'd see the curl of smoke from the chimney rising up above the tree line and then the white painted gable of her home.
"Charlie!" she called as she lifted the latch on the front door and let herself in.
Dispensing her hat, the pin abandoned in the shallow china bowl she kept on the hall table solely for that purpose, she called out again. When no reply came, she frowned, the expression deepening as she realised the house was in darkness. Perhaps he was in the garden, she reasoned, enjoying the cooler air after the warm sun of the day. By now the owls would be swooping through the dense woodland that lay beyond their fence and tonight wouldn't be the first time she'd find him resting on the bench as he listened to them call to one another. But it quickly became clear that the garden was as quiet as the house and her husband was nowhere to be found.
Her first reaction was one of annoyance, her lips pursed into a hard thin line as she opened the oven door to determine if any attempt had been made to at least start on the supper. The sight of a heavy cast iron dish resting on the shelf, its contents already cooked and being kept warm placated her somewhat although not entirely. A few vegetables lay on the chopping board ready to be peeled and chopped and, she noticed now, the table had been laid. She felt herself softening at the sight of two placemats neatly set out, the salt cellar sitting alongside the vase of freshly cut flowers positioned as a centrepiece. But it was something else that dispelled any lingering crossness, the realisation that the cutlery had been polished as diligently as if it had been up at the Abbey itself.
She sighed as she sat down in the wooden rocking chair next to the fireplace, her nimble fingers making quick work of the laces on her boots as she went to remove them. Where was he, she wondered, confused at his absence given the effort that had clearly been made. But her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp stab of pain as the boning of her corset dug into her side. Suddenly desperate to be rid of the confines of her work attire she stood and began to make her way upstairs to change. She didn't usually but as dinner still seemed to be some time away she concluded that she may as well. Added to which, a blush of colour rising to her cheeks as a thought took hold, Charles often struggled with the fastenings so removing it now may aid their adventures later. As she reached the top of the stairs she heard the soft lilt of a voice singing as it made its way down the lane. She smiled as from the bedroom window she spied her husband walking up the path to the door, a basket swinging from each hand. Quickly removing the numerous layers of clothing, a huge sigh of relief as they fell to the floor one after another, she redressed in something lighter, its fabric hanging loose about her body without the structure of a corset to draw her in. She tripped down the stairs as a woman of her years could conceivably manage, excited anticipation building as she went. She found Charles with his back to her, unloading bottle after bottle onto the dresser. She watched and listened for a while, enjoying as his tune danced its way across to her, his actions mimicking the melody as he stopped every now and then to recall a lyric before taking up again.
"What have you got there?" she asked at last, bemused as he jumped at the sound of her voice and swung round.
"Elsie! You nearly stopped my heart creeping up on me like that," he admonished, looking at the items in each hand and placing them down on the table next to him.
She expected him to step forward and welcome her with a kiss, perhaps a warm embrace of arms as they picked up where they'd been forced to stop hours earlier. But instead he turned back to his task, shifting the baskets to one side to create enough space that he could better examine his haul. Disappointed but not discouraged, she moved herself to stand next to him.
"That's quite a selection," she commented at the ten or so beer bottles now nearly lined up in her kitchen. "Are you planning a party?" Her Scottish inflection caused the last word to ring out slightly as she brushed her hand across his lower back.
His brow furrowed, he turned to her. "No, not a party," he stated with a seriousness that shrugged off her frivolous suggestion. "These are for the snails," adding emphatically, "And the slugs."
Elsie cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her inevitable enlightenment as she let her hand quietly find its way under his jacket to the soft shirt beneath. Her fingers began to trail upwards, tracing the path of his spine in a way he'd previously expressed that he enjoyed immensely. But her attempts to entice him with a delicious distraction from the matter at hand were in vain as he proceeded to embark on a full explanation.
"After you left, I thought some more about the threat to the new vegetable bed and decided to consult Mr Brooks. Now," his finger pointing decisively in the air to emphasise his discovery, "He had some very interesting ideas on the use of beer to halt the little fellows in their progress and so after tea I wandered down to the pub to procure these," his words now accompanied by a sweeping gesture to accentuate his point.
She sighed. It was clear his and her thoughts were not at all in the same place and so, as he drabbled on about the various options for ensnaring the slimy beasts, she moved to see what else needed to be done by way of the supper. And by the time it was served he'd talked himself out and finally enquired as to her day.
"Well, afternoon tea went off quite well, by all accounts," she summarised, "Daisy was trusted with the macaroons and seemed to pass the test." She hesitated before continuing, "Mr Mason was up again."
"Was he now?" Charles bristled, reaching for his half pint of beer, the glass of red he usually paired with beef stew replaced with the tipple he'd partaken of earlier in the evening.
"Now, don't be like that," she soothed, reaching out to caress the rough skin of the back of his hand, "Love can strike at any age, Charlie."
"Mmm, that's as maybe, but he should consider how…" his words cut off as a yawn overtook them and he pulled his hand from hers to suppress it. He looked at her apologetically, "One too many at the pub."
"An early night, perhaps," she said suggestively, a little flutter in her stomach as he nodded and stretched over to kiss her cheek warmly before standing.
Letting him go up first, she could hear his shuffles on the floorboards above as she gathered the plates and deposited them in the sink to soak, reasoning they'd be as easy to finish off in the morning as now. Tidying a few items and giving the surfaces the quickest of wipes for fear of flies, she turned down the gas lamp in the dining room and let the flicker of light from the room above guide her to its door. She took a deep breath, nervous excitement pulsing through her for the man that was to be found beyond it, changed and waiting for her.
She open the door just a crack. As she'd thought the room was gently lit creating a welcoming aura around their bed, the plain walls disappearing into the darkness so she could half imagine herself anywhere, an exotic location far away from the servitude and routine of the Abbey. She dared to push it open further and as the tantalising form of her husband revealed itself she entered the room properly, able to hold back no longer. It took a half a heartbeat for her fantasies of a night of passion to dwindle and disappear as the full vision of her husband was revealed to her. As lovely as he looked there was no denying that he was snuggled under the sheets and snoring softly.
"Oh, Mr Carson," she sighed, resigning herself to the somewhat lonely task of unbuttoning her dress for herself.
I know! You all gave me so much encouragement and I did this to you. I'm sorry! But fear not, it's Chelsie and so things are bound to come together…eventually ;-) Can I placate you with another little chapter on what Charlie might be thinking? Ok, here we go then…