As always, my sincere thanks to chelsie fan.
"I'm glad you've come."
Mr. Carson relinquished his hat and coat into the waiting arms of Martha. She was a slight woman, taller and thinner than her cousin. Her eyes resembled Elsie's, but that was about it. She welcomed Mr. Carson warmly, genuinely quite pleased to see him. She was quite pleased to see anyone who might have some insight into her strange and quiet cousin. It had been an uncomfortable week settling her in, far more awkward than either would have liked. Perhaps this man might be able to lift her spirits or at least engage her in some semblance of real life.
"Thank you," said Mr. Carson, stepping further into the house. It had not been a difficult journey. After catching the morning train he'd managed to make it to Martha and David's farm just after luncheon.
"Come in, come in, Mr. Carson," Martha urged, ushering him into the living room.
"I take it you received my letter?" Surely she must have, if she knew his name.
"Just now," she said, indicating the opened envelope sitting on the living room table. "I was surprised that you came so soon. She didn't expect any visitors for a while. Or ever, so she said, but I figured she was just a little down in the mouth. You know, from the moving and everything. I'm sure she'll come round eventually. I can wait."
"Mmm," mumbled Mr. Carson noncommittally. "But you told her I was coming?" He resisted the urge to look around for her as Martha offered him a seat. He sank into the soft cushions of the chesterfield, trying to conceal how nervous he was. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. She was here, in this house.
"Told her?" said Martha, very surprised. "Why your letter arrived only about three minutes before you did, Mr. Carson! Post is never very reliable around here. I suppose you can just tell her yourself now. She hasn't even come down yet, though sometimes she don't unless you make her. I was saying to David just before he went to town that if she weren't down within the hour I was planning to bring some lunch to her. I've tried asking what she likes, but she don't like to request anything."
Mr. Carson fidgeted uncomfortably. "I see. Might I see her?" Sitting still was going to prove impossible while she was somewhere close by. He'd come all this way only to be separated by a few walls and her very talkative cousin.
"She's upstairs. Spends a lot of time in her room, she does. Doesn't speak much. Was she always shy?"
That didn't sound like the Elsie Hughes he knew. He shook his head slowly.
Martha barreled on. "Because it's impossible to get more than two words out of her, Mr. Carson. Believe me, I've tried. 'Yes' and 'No' and 'Please' and 'Thank you.' She don't want to talk about Downton, and she don't want to talk about Lorna, and there ain't much else for us to talk about, if you ask me. I just give her space. She's no trouble, not at all. Sits on her bed for hours at a time though. She's probably there now, if you'd like. First door on the left," said Martha motioning towards the stairs. Mr. Carson nodded and graciously excused himself.
Upstairs he found her sitting upright on the edge of her bed, just as Martha had told him he would. Quietly he stepped into the doorway, hoping to gauge for himself how she was before making his presence known.
She was too pale; that much was obvious. Unblinking, she stared at the wall, but what she saw there was anyone's guess. It was bizarre to see her hair down at all, let alone curling and tangled in such a madcap fashion. He noted that she was clad in only her dressing gown. It was almost two o' clock in the afternoon.
"Elsie?" he ventured.
At the sound of his voice she turned. She would know that voice anywhere.
"Charles?" She could hardly believe it; her mind must be playing tricks on her. Hearing her say his name brought him more joy than he thought possible. Being away from Downton meant there were no formalities between them anymore. No formalities and no hesitation. He crossed the room in an instant, gathering her up in his arms and lifting her clear off the bed, unable to stop himself from touching her for another miserable moment.
Suddenly he was there, enveloping her in a warm, desperate embrace. She gave a small cry of relief as she pressed her head to his chest. The scent of him was the most comforting thing she'd ever known. He was the ultimate reminder of her life, of who she was and how much she was loved.
His back protested, and gently he eased her down so that her toes touched the floor again. He had no intention of letting her go, not now and possibly not ever. She felt much the same, not caring how his arms were practically squeezing the air out of her. It didn't matter. She didn't know why he was there and she didn't question it, either. She was simply grateful that he was.
He pressed his face into her tangled hair and murmured reverently. "Please come back; please come home."
"Downton is not my home," she whispered sadly. That wasn't what he meant.
"Then come back to me. I'll be your home."
He was crying, she realized, or very close to it. But he was talking nonsense; she couldn't possibly go back with him. She didn't have a life there anymore. Isn't that what she'd spent the last week trying to come to terms with?
"I don't understand."
He didn't even know where to start. He'd practiced what he wanted to say over and over again on the train, never quite sure of the best combination of words.
"Sit down," he said after a time, "and we'll talk."
He let her go so that she might sit on her bed, and he took a seat beside her. She looked so different. It didn't seem possible for a person to have changed so much in such a short time. It reminded him of her earlier insistence that Mrs. Hughes was gone. The dresses, the carefully pinned up hair, and way she always schooled her features. Now, in her slightly too large dressing gown with her tangled hair, she had a much softer, more fragile appearance, and her expression was one of equal parts elation and confusion.
"Charles?" She was so relieved that he was here, for she had missed him so, but she didn't know where to begin with his insistence that she return home. His hands reached out to squeeze hers as he fumbled for the words.
"I suppose I should start with the fact that I have retired-"
"You never did!" she interjected, stunned. Retired? Just like that? Why on earth would he retire?
"Yes. Retired," he said. She thought he sounded almost proud.
"I see," she said, trying to regain some composure. "And what brought on this desire for retirement?"
"I am getting on, Elsie, as you once pointed out."
"Yes, but I wasn't suggesting leaving service, for goodness sakes! What's happened? Are you unwell?" Like Lady Grantham, her mind had jumped to his health. It couldn't be his heart; could it? She thought of the ferocious way he'd hugged her and was sure it wasn't his knees or his back, but then what-
"I'm fine," he reassured her.
Despite his words, her distress continued to build. He couldn't possibly be fine; the Charles Carson she knew would never have just left the Crawleys for no good reason. What did he fear telling her? Had he come all this way to tell her he was ill? Dying?
"Oh, Charles, please be honest with me. What's happened?" She was close to tears at the mere idea of his being ill.
"Elsie! I'm not unwell, I promise you. I was just…not content."
She cocked her head at him. "Not content?" she repeated, calming down some.
"No. Not content at all. I found myself unwilling to continue that way of life, and as such, I have retired. The Crawleys were generous; I've a cottage on the estate to live in. Anna has already helped me to furnish it somewhat. Now the only matter that remains is you."
"Me?" she said weakly.
"Yes," he said softly. "I've come to ask you, if you would consider coming back to stay will me. We could spend our retirement together, you and I. Like…like it was supposed to be."
He waited patiently for her to absorb this piece of information, stroking her hand affectionately. Eventually she found her words again. "You did this for me?"
The truth of the matter really was that he'd done it for him, but he didn't know how to explain that exactly. "I did it…I did it because it was right, Elsie."
"You want me to leave here and come to live with you?" her voice was unreadable. Perhaps it was the shock. "But, how would we even…?"
"You would return with me to Downton. The cottage has two bedrooms. There's plenty of space for us both." His words were tumbling out in a rush now. "We would be married of course. It would be nothing improper. I could care for you, do whatever you needed, and you'd be closer to the people that you know. Please, Elsie. I'm asking you to consider it."
He was so warm and so generous, but he couldn't possibly understand the magnitude of what he was offering. Downton was everything to him; she knew he could never be happy playing caregiver to her. And to give up so much to do so!
"Charles…" she started sadly.
"Elsie, please. Just think about it."
But she was already sure. Her mind had already run this scenario, albeit with Mrs. Patmore in his place instead. "I can't let you do this for me," she insisted. "If I did, you would come to resent me, I'm sure of it. You would wake up one morning and hate me, Charles, and I couldn't bear that."
"I would thank you not to presume to tell me how I will feel about you," he said as evenly as possible.
She remained unmoved, almost angry that he would ask this when she had to turn him down. "I cannot let you give up your life in this way!"
"Elsie, I already have."
That rendered her silent.
"I've left Downton, and I've a little cottage of my own that I'm going home to. So I'm sitting here, asking you to please come back with me."
Emotion threatened to overwhelm her. There was nothing more she wanted than to say yes, but she couldn't bring herself to. He had done all this, thinking of her; someone had to think of him. "You could ask for your job back," she pointed out.
Mr. Carson took a deep breath. "But I don't want it back. I want to be with you."
As if to illustrate his point, he wrapped his arms around her, gratified when she sank into the embrace. She buried her face in his shirt, trying to process everything he'd said. They held on to each other for some time, and Mrs. Hughes felt herself torn in two very different directions.
"So I would go back with you?" she mumbled.
"That's right."
"And we would be married."
"That's right."
Her face crumpled up in frustration. "Charles, I have nothing to offer you. My life is nothing now."
He ran his free hand through her hair, smoothing away her distress. "But it doesn't have to be nothing," he told her. "Please Elsie, won't you please come home?"
It took an eternity for her to answer, as far as Mr. Carson was concerned. He stroked her hair absently as he waited, praying that it wouldn't be for the last time.
"Yes," she whispered finally. "Yes, I will."
TBC...