A/N: I don't suppose I've mentioned all the feels associated with Charles using Elsie's full name. The feels. Ugh.

She's surprised by the force of his grasp, which causes her to lose her balance and nearly fall into the tub. She panics briefly, wondering how she can free herself.

"Charles!" she exclaims sharply.

"There's room for us both, don't you think?" He grins slyly and tightens his grip on her wrist, tries to pull her forward for a kiss. He's sloshing water out of the tub with each movement.

"Charles Edward Carson, let go of me, you daft man! I can't be in the tub with you and I don't want my clothes all wet. Let me go!"

"You know, it used to frighten me when you got angry with me? Did you know that? Then I came to enjoy your anger." He looks off into the distance dreamily. "You sound different when you're angry, more real. More like your real self, Elisabeth. And when you walked away from me," he trails off, sighing happily.

"Whatever are you talking about, Mr. Carson?" she says crisply. She's fallen back into housekeeper mode: stern, unyielding. She finds herself very aggravated with Charles; very aggravated indeed. She hadn't anticipated his physical strength being used against her. At least he's not an angry drunk, she thinks. At least he's not trying to force himself. He's just strong, perhaps too strong for her to handle alone. She doesn't want to call for Moira or Donal, but she may yet have to. She wants to leave him with some dignity, at least. She knows her family (their family now) won't hold any of this against him, but she knows that he will hold it against himself. Particularly if he remembers this. He'll not like to think of frightening her, even for a moment, even for a second. Surely she can chivvy him out of the tub and into bed. She only has to resurrect Mrs. Hughes; he always obeyed Mrs. Hughes (and in truth he obeys Mrs. Carson, but their physical relationship complicates this whole situation).

"Did you know that, Elisabeth? Did you ever know how I truly felt?" He's still got hold of her wrist; she doesn't want to lean forward to break the hold, not yet. If she can avoid getting her dress soaked, she will.

"I didn't, Mr. Carson."

He scoffs at that. "I'll never believe that. You suspected it. You must have done. You knew everything that went on in that house. Everything." He's becoming angry now; she feels his hold tighten. She begins to panic in earnest, but she must remain calm. It won't do to upset him further. He is a good man, he's just had to much to drink, and when I find out who is responsible for that, he'll get a tongue lashing and worse.

"You're right, Mr. Carson," and she drops her head demurely. "I did suspect, but I couldn't be sure, could I, so we just went along, didn't we, went along through the years very friendly, very cordial. And that was good, wasn't it?"

"No. No, that was not good. Don't you have regrets, Elisabeth? Don't you regret all the wasted time between us? Wouldn't you have wanted all this sooner? Don't you want more time? Children, perhaps?" And at this admission his voice breaks and he loosens his grasp on her wrist just enough for her to break free. She scuttles back quickly, gets a towel from the cupboard. He looks at her, and his eyes are sparkling with unshed tears. Oh lord, she thinks. Now he's getting maudlin. Will we never get a moment's peace tonight? And she thinks again of those lads in the village. When I get my hands on them… but it doesn't do to think on them just this moment. Now she must think how to get him out of the tub and into their bed. There is one way, of course there is.

*CE*

"Alright, Donal. You'll tell me what happened down at the pub tonight." Moira fixes him with a piercing glare. "The man's not used to strong drink; that much is certain. Whyever didn't you keep a closer eye on him?"

Donal shakes his head. "It weren't bad, until it was, you ken? He was holding steady, but the lads were giving him a bit. There's being English, o' course, but then there's Els, too."

Moira's eyes narrow dangerously. "How d'you mean?"

"Well," Donal drags it out. He doesn't want to say.

"Well?"

"Well, Andrew were there."

"Andrew?" For a moment, Moira is puzzled, but then her memory returns. "Andrew Drummond?" She sits heavily for a moment. She'd not wanted to tell Elsie, not thought it would matter at this late stage. She'd thought, as well, that they'd both stay on the farm, not venture into the village. Of course with Donal there, a trip to the pub didn't seem like such a bad thing for the menfolk, but she hadn't counted on Mr. Drummond. Stupid, Moira thinks. That were stupid of you, lass. She sighs.

"Aye, it were him. And he were egging the lads on, egging Charles on, making sly comments about the village, about our Els."

"About Els?" Moira shrieks, indignant. "And what did you lot do?"

"Well, we hustled him out of there as quick as we could. Before things got too much, you ken. O' course, by that time, Charles'd had as much whisky as a right proper drinking man could stand." Donal scrubs the back of his neck. "I'd best go and have a talk with him in the morning."

"With who? With Andrew?"

"Aye, lass. He'll need a good talking to after tonight. It were wrong of him to stir things up."

"Does Charles know, do you think?"

Donal ponders for a moment. "He's a thinking man, is Charles. He'll know that something's not right, but as to how much he knows, you'd have to ask him. Or Els," he adds thoughtfully.

"She'll want to know, Donnie. You saw the look in her eye when you lot came stumbling up the path."

"Aye, she will." He sighs. "Shall you tell her, or shall I?"

"I'll tell her in the morning, love. Well. This visit is turning out more exciting than we planned, isn't it?"

"It is that, lass. It might be good to get back to our regular life, but truth be told, I'll miss 'em when they're gone."

"So will I love. So will I."