She manages to bustle him out the front door, where he is violently sick in the rosebushes.
"There, there," she croons softly as she rubs his back, smooths his hair. There hadn't been time for a cool cloth, hadn't been time for anything except rushing him outside. He is finally finished and he leans against her heavily; she braces herself to absorb his weight.
"I'm sorry," he chokes. "So sorry, Els."
"Better out than in," she says crisply. "Let's get you inside and cleaned up a bit. Then we can go to bed."
He brightens at that. He is feeling a bit better now. If only he could get out of these stinking clothes and into bed with Elsie, the world would stop spinning and everything would be alright. He waits as she closes and locks the front door, extinguishes the light in the front room. She glides over to him, puts a soft hand on his arm and gestures toward the bathing room.
"The bathing room?" he rumbles.
"Shh," hisses Elsie. "They're all asleep, or at least trying to sleep. We have to be quiet."
"And quick," he grins, his voice slightly less booming. She glares at him, taking his elbow to move him along. This is no time to be having those kinds of thoughts. The bathing room is out beyond the kitchen. They'll have some privacy; at least, she thinks, they won't be able to hear him quite so clearly. And that's a blessing.
She eases him inside the bathing room and sends up a prayer of gratitude for her grandfather's eccentricity in insisting that a gas water heater be installed for the bathing water. This was the only thing she truly envied of Moira: being able to have a nice soak without having to heat the water yourself. She wonders briefly if she should put Charles in a warm bath or a cold. She studies him critically; his color looks better and he's a bit steadier on his feet. Warm, then, she decides, and goes to draw the bath water. As she bends over the tub, he comes to stand behind her, caresses her bottom and her thighs.
"Here, now. None of that," she says firmly. "You need a bath and a good night's sleep." She stands and motions for him to turn around. "Let me help you out of your coat."
"So you want to undress me, eh, lass?" He smirks at her lasciviously and she struggles to contain her laughter. Oh lord, he's still completely blotto. This will never do. It will take a firm hand to get him in and out of the tub. She can't be encouraging him in all this nonsense.
"I want you to get a bath so you can sober up, Charles Carson. I told you not to be drinking all that whisky."
He draws himself up regally, manages to waver only slightly. "I'm completely sober, madam, and completely at your service."
She snorts. "Well, then. Let's get you out of these clothes and into a warm bath, Mr. Carson."
He bows. "As you wish, Mrs. Carson." Elsie rolls her eyes and nudges him to turn around. She helps him out of his suit coat, turns to hang it on the hook behind the door. He unravels his tie and begins to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt. She takes each item of clothing as he removes it, folds it expertly and places it in a neat pile by the door. His clothes will need a good airing out tomorrow. There's no time to launder them before they return home. He's already unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall to the ground. He's forgotten about his shoes, and now his pants and shoes are in a tangle. Elsie gives an exasperated sigh.
"Slow down, Charles. Let me help you." She reaches out to steady him and colors only a bit at his mostly naked form. When would this never be new to her? When would she stop reacting so strongly to him? She shakes her head, then bends down to untie his shoes. "Here now. Lean against the wall and we'll get these shoes off."
"I am perfectly capable of standing upright while you remove my shoes."
"Humor me, Charles. We don't want you falling in the bath and getting your trousers soaked, do we?"
He grunts in agreement and leans against the wall, helps her toe one shoe off, then the other. She looks up at him, smiling. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?" His heart swells as he looks down at her beautiful, loving face and sends up a quick prayer of gratitude to the gods
"No, that wasn't too difficult. My trousers may present a problem, though. Care to help me remove them?"
"I think you can manage on your own, but I will help you into the bath."
Charles snorts dismissively. "I'm not a helpless old codger, Els. I can get into the bath by myself."
"Very well, then," she says briskly and raises an eyebrow at him in mute challenge. He nods, then steps out of his trousers precisely, almost daintily, one leg at a time. He holds them out for Elsie to fold and place with the rest of his clothes. His façade of the proud butler fades some as he stands before her in nothing but his shorts. He can tell she has grown uncomfortable as well.
"Come along, then," she snaps. "Into the tub with you." She edges closer, and he drops his shorts, stepping out of them and easing himself gingerly into the tub. She puts an arm around his back to steady him, and he sinks down into the steaming bath.
"That's good, then," he says and closes his eyes as he leans against the back of the tub. She retrieves a washcloth and soap and perches on the edge of the tub, fixing her eyes diligently on his face and chest. Only his face and chest.
"Shall I scrub your back?"
He smiles delightedly, almost like a child, and leans forward. She moistens the washcloth and rubs soap into it, then begins to wash his back and shoulders in strong, soothing circles. The steam has caused that one curl to become even more pronounced. There's something about that one curl, something that hints at a looser, less severe Charles Carson. It's a calling card for the man she's come to know. She scrubs his neck, then moves around to his chest. He's settled comfortably in the water, relaxed and smiling, so she isn't prepared when he quickly grabs her wrist and kisses the delicate skin there. He looks up at her, a wicked grin on his face.
"Join me, Els?"
She huffs indignantly. "Certainly not. Whatever are you on about, Charles? Of all things!"
He tugs more forcefully on her wrist.