A/N Here is a nice, long chapter to put a lovely, plaid bow on this story. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 19: Tootles

The stage was struck and the professional band replaced the amateur players. Everyone enjoyed the light meal Mrs. Patmore and her girls had prepared. Mr. Carson and Lady Grantham opened the dancing. Lord Grantham and Mrs. Hughes joined them shortly and soon. The Ball was properly begun.

Having relinquished their partners after the first dance, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes retired to one side of the room, finding their way naturally to each other's side. He fetched them each a glass of wine, which they sipped as they surveyed the room. They stood shoulder to shoulder and spoke without looking at one another. It would be difficult for a casual observer to know whether they conversed together or merely stood in silence, but for the occasional smiles they exchanged.

"And are you enjoying your first Downton Servant's Ball, Mrs. Hughes?" He inquired formally.

"I am enjoying myself very much, Mr. Carson." She matched his professional tone. "Though it is not my first Downton Ball. I was present at several in my youth."

"Yes, of course, I do forget." He contemplated his wine glass seriously before saying. "I hope I will not be overstepping if I mention that you look particularly well this evening, Mrs. Hughes."

"Particularly well? Yes, I think you could make such a statement, Mr. Carson, without any risk of overstepping." She answered him archly.

He realized that he might have insulted her. "What I meant was, if I may say, Mrs. Hughes, you look lovely this evening. That color suits you."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I believe you may say that if you wish. And may I say that you look your usual dapper self. Though, I might add, you should have kept the mustache...and perhaps the wig." She smiled sideways at him as he struggled to look grim.

"Don't be cruel, Mrs. Hughes. It is going to take me months to reclaim my authority. The chambermaids will not stop giggling at me."

"But they still respect you, Mr. Carson. Never fear." She assured him. "You certainly delivered what you promised. The play was entertaining and incoherent. Your own performance tonight was excellent, Mr. Carson; the wig notwithstanding."

"I was nothing but set dressing." He said without false humility.

"I thought Captain Hook was rather wooden, but the Narrator was the heart of the show. You almost kept the thread of a plot alive."

"Almost?"

"Almost. Lady Edith did not take kindly to your improvisations. I take it she was the main author."

"She was. And I think she did an admirable job, considering her age."

"That is an excellent point. I noticed that she omitted Mr. and Mrs. Darling."

"We did not have enough actors as it was. Adding two more characters would have made matters even worse." Carson did not have to tell her that he felt uncomfortable portraying the girls' father, even in a play.

"Once Captain Hook made his entrance, things were rather a jumble. You were not off stage to explain to us what was happening on. Thankfully, Lord and Lady Grantham didn't notice. They were too busy admiring the three main actors, though I think they may have been biased."

"But, based on a completely unbiased opinion…?"

I would not say completely unbiased. "You may have missed your calling, Mr. Carson. A voice like that belongs on the stage." His ears flushed and, for a moment, she thought he might be about to confess his past to her. But he recovered so quickly that she could have imagined the whole thing. "And I will grudgingly admit that Miss Randall made a passable Michael. Though she was not a very good stagehand. She could have been more accurate with the splash of water when you fell to the crocodile."

He chuckled at this comment. "I think she may have been perfectly accurate, Mrs. Hughes. I suspect Lady Edith was paying the price for telling Miss Randall that she was the ideal choice to play dull Michael."

"Maybe I've been too quick to judge Miss Randall." They both looked across to where the Governess was dancing with Roger. "I hope you'll not retaliate against Roger for his vocal participation tonight. You promised."

"I did no such thing. The young ladies promised. But I think I will find reason enough to discipline Roger without blaming it on his enthusiastic jeering." As if to prove the point, Mr. Carson called out to the footman as he danced nearby. "Hands where I can see them, Roger."

"Aye, aye, Captain." The cheeky footman answered and danced away.

"I think it may be time for Roger to find a new situation." Carson said darkly.

"Just because he enjoyed the play?" Mrs. Hughes asked, surprised by Mr. Carson's apparent vindictiveness.

"No. Roger has learned all he can at Downton and he is getting too old to be a footman. He'll never be butler at Downton, nor any great house. His best shot for advancement here was to have become His Lordship's valet, but that is not going to happen. He should try to find a position as a valet or even butler in a much lesser household."

"But if he is not qualified to be valet, how can he be qualified to be butler?"

"It is not that he is unqualified, Mrs. Hughes. Geoffrey is unqualified, but Geoffrey can learn. His Lordship just can't stand Roger." Carson scowled at the footman who was now dancing with Marjorie. "I profess I do not like him much myself. Miss Randal and Marjorie know their own minds and can handle themselves, but I do not want him spending any time with the younger girls."

"I have been watching for that, Mr. Carson. I assure you."

"Of course. I should not have doubted you, Mrs. Hughes. But enough talk of house matters." Mr. Carson dropped his professional demeanor somewhat and remembered that they were at a ball. "Just because I have made the decision not to dance, does not mean that you must follow suit, Mrs. Hughes. This is the one night where it is permissible to let one's hair down."

"Which you have already done." She reminded him.

"Yes, well." He blushed, but smiled. "You should have seen the wig without the hat. I looked like a Spaniel."

Elsie laughed with surprise at his self deprecating confession. There was no response she could possibly offer to this, so she took another sip of her wine.

"There is precedent for you to dance all you like, Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Pearson used to enjoy dancing at the ball very much. She would dance with anyone; footmen, hall boys, maids…one year, legend says, she even danced with the Dowager Countess."

"I am not nearly so brave as that, Mr. Carson. Anyway, I much prefer a reel to a waltz or a two-step."

"I fear you'll not find many reels at a Downton Ball, Mrs. Hughes."

"No, I don't think this band knows many. They don't seem to have much of a repertoire."

"Yes, it seems they only know the obscure composers, like Mozart and Strauss." He chided her.

She chose to ignore his taunt. "Speaking of Mrs. Pearson, have you heard from her? I wrote to her in December, but have not heard back."

"I received a letter from her only last week. Apparently she has been under the weather. She has a cough she cannot shake off. I wish I could visit her, but, it is unlikely that I will find the time until after the Season. So long as I am acting valet, it will be impossible for me to take a full day."

"No one could understand that better than Mrs. Pearson." She reminded him.

"Still, I cannot help but feel that I have neglected her since she left."

"You'll find the time this summer; I've no doubt, Mr. Carson." She had finished her wine, but declined another glass when he offered. She felt she'd had enough wine for the night. Elsie did not want to forget herself again. However, she was feeling the small effects of the two glasses she had already drunk. Whether it was this liquid courage or some other daring that led her to open the next topic, she could never say. "I've finished The Little White Bird. I enjoyed it very much."

"I am glad to hear it. I know it would not appeal to everyone, but I found it a fascinating diversion."

"Yes. The gentleman was very funny to me. Imagine not being able to admit how much he enjoyed helping all those people."

"I imagine he just did not like people making a big to do over it. True charity does not require an audience."

She wanted to tease him for defending the grumpy philanthropist. To Elsie, Sybil's story about Paul had exposed Mr. Carson's true nature; one which she had long suspected. Did he have any idea how much he was like the gentleman in the book? Why did they both feel the need to hide their kind hearts behind masks of stern propriety?

"Now I understand what you meant about the thimble and Lady Sybil, Mr. Carson. It was very sweet; so like her. But now I am quite embarrassed that I accidentally left that thimble on your desk."

"Think nothing of it, Mrs. Hughes. You had no way of knowing." He noticed again that her glass was empty. "Are you sure you would not like for me to fetch us some more wine?"

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Carson?"

He looked flustered. "The thought had not even occurred to me, I assure you. I had not considered such a thing possible…until you mentioned it."

"Oh, it's possible." She chuckled.

"There's a story there."

"And perhaps, one day, you shall hear it. But not today."

He opened his mouth to retort, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Lord Grantham and Lady Mary approaching the two heads of house from across the room.

"Mr. Carson, I should like to present my daughter, Lady Mary Crawley. She would like the honor of dancing the next with you."

"The honor would be entirely mine, My Lord; My Lady."

Robert smiled at Mrs. Hughes, whom he noted was looking very contented this evening. Her face was flushed with wine and excitement. Robert had to admit that she had a certain charm about her when she was not dressed in black. Fleetingly, Lord Grantham worried again that he might lose his butler to this interloper, but the thought passed quickly. He watched Mr. Carson lead Lady Mary to the dance floor.

They made a comical pairing; the tall and broad butler and the small and lithe young Lady. As the dance began, they both wore serious and grave expressions. Carson was afraid his strides would be too long for her and Mary's only experience was dancing with her father, who counted aloud to her when they danced. Both dancers were pleasantly surprised by their partner's proficiency. Soon, Carson guided her confidently through the dance and Lady Mary was able to speak rather than count off the dance steps in her head.

"I need to thank you, Carson."

"I doubt that very much, My Lady."

"No. I really must thank you. My sisters do not understand, but I do. We have asked more of you than we ought; especially in the last few months."

"It is my pleasure to serve, My Lady."

"But you must be relieved that you can return to your normal duties, now that Papa is home."

"I cannot lie, My Lady, I will be glad to be simply a butler again."

"Though, Mama said that, should you decide to apply for governess, she would write you an excellent letter of recommendation." They both laughed at her mother's joke.

"I appreciate that, My Lady." Carson focused his gaze on her tiny hand in his. "If I might be allowed to point out, just as I am now able to focus on being a butler again, you are now free to be just a child."

"But Papa may still need my help."

"The best help you can offer him is to be his little girl, My Lady. Do not be in such a hurry to grow up. The problems you imagine will be there waiting for you when you do. For now, you should enjoy your childhood with your father and mother and your sisters."

"Even Edith?"

"Even Lady Edith."

"I shall try, Carson. And, Carson…"

"Yes, My Lady?"

"You are still very welcome to visit the nursery, when your duties allow. Papa cannot sing a note and Mama only knows those dreadful American songs. And no one reads a book like you do, Carson."

"Thank you for saying so, My Lady. I believe I can carve time out of my schedule to read the odd story and sing the odd tune."

Mary beamed up at him and Mr. Carson smiled back as the dance came to a close. "Thank you for a delightful dance, My Lady." He led her back to her father, bowed and turned away, a lump lodged solidly in his throat.

After leaving Lady Mary, Mr. Carson returned to stand beside Mrs. Hughes with a smug look on his face.

"Am I to take it young Lady Mary has won your heart anew?"

"Someday, you'll see what I see, Mrs. Hughes."

"That is highly doubtful, Mr. Carson. I shall always contend that she will never be as sweet as Lady Sybil."

"Perhaps not, but Lady Mary has something more."

"And what is that?"

"I shouldn't like to say. I fear you will mock me."

"Most likely, I will, but I should dearly like to know."

"She has what I can only describe as…nobility."

"Because she is an Earl's daughter?"

"Not all that are titled deserve to be called noble, Mrs. Hughes. But I do believe Lady Mary and her father merit the appellation. It is one of the reasons I am proud to serve the Crawley family."

"Am I to understand that you ascribe to the notion of the noble savage, Mr. Carson?"

"I do, Mrs. Hughes. But I believe that true nobility, be it hereditary or spontaneous, is very rare."

"Why, Mr. Carson, you may have found something upon which we can agree."

"Well then, we should celebrate. Would you not care for more wine?"

She gave him an exasperated look and then shrugged, "Why not?" And that is how Mrs. Hughes began her Servant's Ball tradition of having exactly one more glass of wine than she ought.

-00-

February 1922- Kingston upon Hull

Elsie Carson thought she was very much beginning to see the appeal of weekends; two full days with Charles during which they could do whatever they liked, though Sunday mornings were spent with the extended Carson family at church and then lunch at Fredrick and Emily's.

Today started as all their Hull Saturdays did; breakfast in bed, consisting of coffee and the pastries the newsboy left them with the morning paper. Now, Elsie was unpacking the last of her boxes from Downton. This final act was all that was needed to formally recognize Hull as their home.

Charles was on the roof, arranging pots of soil that he hoped would soon become an urban herb garden. "For all the soups we cook." He had teased.

She extracted a small but heavy box from the larger crate. "There you are." She smiled. It looked like a box for ladies gloves and was stamped with the Harrods logo. Opening it, she saw that the silver was slightly tarnished after only a few months of disuse. That was easily fixed as she rubbed the clasp with the cloth she had packed it in.

When Charles came down from the roof, he heard a familiar sound coming from the kitchen. He found her by the sink, washing tomatoes. He kissed her on the cheek as he leaned around her to wash the soil from his hands. "You found it!" He dried his hands on her dress, particularly around her bottom.

Pushing him lovingly away, she laughed. "I thought I would wear it for old times' sake. I think I shall hang it by the front door as a spare set of keys. I've put our extra key and the Downton cottage key on it already."

"Whatever you wish, love. I am just glad it is back in our lives. I have missed the musical accompaniment to your lovely walk. You should feel free to wear it whenever you like." He leaned in for another kiss. Hearing those keys had unlocked something in him that he had been planning to keep locked up at least until after lunch. "You know, I'd follow that sound anywhere, El."

"I do know." She allowed him to kiss her more fully now, but when she realized that he was about to smash a tomato between them, she broke off the kiss, pushing him away again. "There were some other items in the box, from that Christmas."

"Other items?" He did not glance at the table to which she had pointed. He wasn't really interested in anything but his wife at the moment.

"The letter that I sent you in London. The first letter I ever wrote to you."

"But I have the first letter you wrote to me; in my cigar box." Charles was perplexed now.

"No, that is the first letter you ever received from me. This is the letter I sent to you on Christmas, when you were in London welcoming Robert home."

"But that letter was lost in the mail. Mr. Anders swore he forwarded it on, but it never reached Downton." They had not discussed that letter in almost twenty years.

Elsie considered the tomato in her hands seriously as she rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet and back again. "It was not so much lost as reclaimed by a repentant writer. I stole it back from the post."

"Why would you do that, love?"

"I wrote the letter after drinking an entire bottle of wine. It was a very improper letter, describing my early fantasies of us being together. Most of it is downright explicit."

"Explicit how?"

"I can hardly remember now, but I know enough to be ashamed. It is there, at your place, if you would like to read it now. I am sure it is still rather embarrassing, but at least now I know it will not destroy our lives."

"And would it have done back then?" He asked as he picked up the battered and aged paper.

"Possibly. It certainly would have changed things." She answered truthfully.

Lunch and lust forgotten, Charles sat that the table and opened the letter, finally delivered after nineteen years.

"You were drunk?" He asked, noticing that the handwriting was still distinctly hers, only neater, more meticulous.

"Very much so." She admitted.

He laughed as he began to read. "That was a nice afternoon, teaching you to ride that bicycle. Do you know, I thought you had broken my toe?"

Elsie watched as he read.

"Goodness, El. I didn't know you knew some of these words. I've certainly never heard you use them. And you should feel free to use them whenever you like, so long as it is just the two of us." He teased. She turned back to the tomatoes, her face almost matching their red color. After a few moments of silence, she dared look back at him. His expression had changed from amused to cheerless. As she watched, it sunk even further to downright despondent.

"Charles? Whatever is the matter, love?" She left the sink and approached the table.

"I know you, El. You were more than drunk when you wrote this, you were miserable."

"Well, I didn't drink a bottle of wine because I was happy."

He could not laugh at her joke, but continued reading, his expression growing even sadder.

"I was missing you, Charles." She tried to explain. "It was the first time you'd been away since I realized how we felt about each other. I was still accepting how things had to be between us."

Finally, he looked up at her with tears gathering in his eyes. "You knew about the thimble all along? You didn't accidentally leave it on my desk." It was not a question.

"No."

He placed the letter back on the table and looked at her as though contemplating an alien being. He looked back down at his hand spread over the letter. "Elsie," he asked quietly, "How can you not despise me?"

"Despise you?" His question had caught her unprepared.

"For all the times I must have carelessly hurt you over the years. If this is how you felt, all that time…" He waved the letter limply.

"Yes. But didn't I hurt you? Didn't you feel the same?"

"Yes, but I was able to fool myself into thinking otherwise most of the time. If I'd ever written it down, the illusion would have been shattered. God, Elsie, it was my ignorance that kept us apart."

"It must be lovely to be the only person in this situation with freewill." She shot at him.

Her sarcasm almost reached him, but he shook his head. "You've the freest will I know, lass, but if I had read this…even if it was a drunken confession…if I had known…"

"What? What would we have done?" She took the letter from him, forcing him to look at her.

"We would have had more time together, for one." He declared, agitated.

"Would we? I am not so sure of that, Charles. We spent twenty very good years together before becoming man and wife. I won't let you discount those years." She placed the letter back on the table, out of his reach.

"But, Elsie, they could have been so much more. They could have been richer."

"Perhaps. Ask Tom or Mary about the time that they've lost with those they loved. Ask them what they miss most and they'll tell you it's the little moments." She stood before him. "What wouldn't they give for one more meal together or one more argument or a quiet glass of wine in the evening or simply knowing every moment that there is someone in this world who loves you?"

He closed his eyes as she brushed his hair back from his forehead. The act caused his eyes to overflow. Two heavy tears rolled down his face. Seeing this added to Elsie's determination to make him see reason. "Charles, we've had all of that, and more, for over twenty years. We've lived the intimacy, if not the passion. And now, we have that too. We're the lucky ones. Perhaps we've lived our life together backwards, but we have lived it together. And twenty years is more than either Mary or Tom can ever have with the people they've lost."

He had opened his eyes and was watching her now, fascinated. She smiled, hoping he could reach him with a bit of humor. "Look at the silver lining, Charles. Our passion for each other is not likely to die out before we do."

"That is the most depressing silver lining I have ever heard." But he managed a small smile, trying to please her.

She chuckled sadly and sat upon his lap, still stroking his hair. "Yes, well, you take my meaning, love. Were there days when I thought my heart would break being so close to you and unable to say what I felt? When I could almost cry out in frustration that I could not simply reach out and touch you? Of course there were. And there were days like that for you; I know there were. But it wasn't every day. It wasn't even most days. Most days were absolutely lovely and I would wake up knowing I was about to spend the day with the man I loved. And every time we almost broke, it just brought us closer together."

She took his face in her hands and made him look her squarely in the eye. "We made our choices, Charles, and it's too late to change anything about the past. So I won't listen to your regrets. I could match each of them with one of my own, but I don't want to play that game. The world only spins in one direction, Charles. Either you spin with it or you fall off."

His sad, brown eyes locked on hers; earnest and blue. Slowly, a smile spread from his lips to his eyes. "Elsie Carson, have I mentioned today how very much I love you?"

"Once or twice, but it's one of those things a girl can never hear too often."

"Well, I do love you, my girl, even if I haven't earned the right to do so. It took me all those years to believe I could be worthy of you and I'm still not sure that I am."

"Then it's lucky for you, that I believe you are." She wrapped her arms around his neck, crossing her wrists behind his head.

"Elsie, you are my ideal; a sprite hovering round, 'like a dear heart willing to give me a thousand chances to regain your love.'"

"That's lovely, where have I heard that?" She struggled to remember.

"From The Little White Bird, the book you were reading when you wrote that letter."

"You cannot still have that memorized." He had a sharp mind for quotes, but this was impressive, even by his standards.

"I found my copy of the book in one of the boxes we emptied last weekend. It was easy to find my favorite page. I'd underlined that bit, thinking of you."

"When I read it, I had hoped you thought of me when you read it."

"Elsie, ever since I met you, everything makes me think of you. You were my little white bird and my Tinkerbell." He kissed the tip of her nose and ran her chains through his fingers, making the keys twinkle and chime.

"And you were my boy who would not grow up." She kissed his forehead sweetly.

"But I did grow up." He raised his chin and kissed her lips softly.

"Yes, you did."

"I'd like to show you how grownup I can be." He whispered.

She shifted playfully on his lap. "I think you might be growing right now."

"I'd like to show you that too." He growled low into her ear.

She giggled as his lips tickled her earlobe. He kissed tenderly down the side of her neck. When she stood up, he smiled wickedly, assuming she was only doing so to reposition herself on his lap. He was very surprised and disappointed when she remained standing. "I believe my letter said something about you chasing me." And with that, she darted out of the kitchen. He heard her keys jingle as she ran down the hall to the drawing room, where they fell silent.

Chuckling, he rose, tenderly. He walked slowly and deliberately, following her into the drawing room. She was not there, but her dress was. Charles shed his vest and shirt as he listened. He heard a faint jingle in their office, the door of which was hidden from his view.

He walked with measured steps to the office door. He entered the office, knowing she would not be there. Instead, he found a small pile of stockings, shoes and a corset. Charles left his own shoes, socks and pants on the floor beside them.

A brief ringing of chains told him she had doubled back to the kitchen. But here, he found only her thin shift laying over the back of his chair. He left his undershirt folded neatly on her chair.

Now the keys sounded from the bedroom. They rang softly; beckoning him. Wearing only his undershorts, Charles stopped outside the closed bedroom door. He heard the chimes and knew she was ready to be caught. A mischievous thought occurred to him. She probably thought he was dashing around the flat trying to catch her. And so he had been. But instead of going through the door, he leaned against the wall beside it, determined to play a waiting game with her. He wondered how long would it take her to grow tired of waiting for him.

One minute passed. The keys continued to jingle intermittently. Another minute passed. The keys began to sound impatient. They jangled as she shook them harder, perhaps thinking that he could not hear them. He smiled. It would not be the first time his hearing had been questioned.

Finally, he heard her bare feet padding across the floor towards him. Charles pressed himself flat against the wall. She opened the door and looked down the hall towards the kitchen, as he had known she would. He allowed himself a moment to admire her, standing there with her back to him, in her knickers and lace bra. One hand was pressed to her hip in a posture of exasperation. "Daft man," he heard her mutter, before she raised the chatelaine in her other hand and shook it noisily.

He quickly slipped his arms around her and kissed her neck. The noise she emitted was between a shriek and a squeal. If he had not been holding her, she would have bolted away from him in fright. Laughing, Charles kissed her shoulder.

She panted and gasped, "Lord, Charles, you nearly scared the devil out of me!"

"I thought we were playing a game." He teased as his hands roamed her body, feeling where her soft skin met the silk and lace of her undergarments.

"We were. But, apparently, we were not playing the game I thought we were playing." She laughed. Her heart was still racing.

"I hope I did not frighten you too much, my lass."

"Frighten? No. But I must say, Charles Carson, you always manage to surprise me." She turned to face him.

He took the keys from her and led her into their bedroom by the hand. "I shall take that as a challenge, my love."

THE END

A/N FYI, Tootles is one of the Lost Boys, and also a lovely way to say adieu.

That's all for 1903 for the moment, I am off to focus on the 'present day' 1923, in Perpetual Motion but I am loving this era of Chelsie so much, I am certain there will be more. I love young Chelsie and I love the young Ladies Crawley, so, it's a good bet that I'll be visiting them again.

Public Service Announcement: Every comment is an affirmation that we writers are not just sending our words out into the cold abyss of cyberspace. Even if you've been lurking until now, I would appreciate a note to know if you would like more. Who am I kidding? I'll keep writing even if it is just for the same dozen or so, awesome people who review so faithfully and help inflate my ego (quite unnecessarily).

I know lots of Yanks are staying clear of the fanfics until series 4 has run on PBS. If you are a late comer, I still appreciate the reviews and they will shape future stories, I am sure. Even if you read this in 2023, I'd appreciate a note.

If you've any comments on this or any of my other stories, feel free to PM me. My friends and family have heard all my Downton theories and rambles. New blood is always welcome.

I will be back soon…until then, support your local Chelsie,

Chelsie Dagger

Acknowledgements::

Speaking of reviews, many thanks to those of you who have taken the time to comment, many of whom you will recognize as some of our amazing Chelsie authors. [GraysonSteele, GeordieLass, Happyheart2, Tammy333, Lmc443, BrittanyLS, LC, 713, sammiSTRICK, Mona Love, evitamockingbird, spokethewind, KC, Ilzzell,alwaysaGryffindor AND, of course, my chemistry loving pal, chelsiefan]

Shoutout to folks who have favorited this story [Faithful Magewhisper, Ilzzell, Lady Eleanor Boleyn, Lmc445, alwaysaGryffindor and fairyp80], all of whom also followed the story.

Shoutout to the followers who will not be receiving a daily note from me for a little while, [ContraryAiryFairy, DowntonIsMyLife, Happyheart2, InOrderToLiveLife, Linds Lizard, Nicki2094, Tammy333, Tarafru, entreelamoryelodio, klswhite, sammiSTRICK and spokethewind]

Thanks, gang!