Twenty-six:
A Breath of Fresh Air

March 1901

Fiona helped Elsie get dressed – her mum's ability to do her own buttons even with the aid of a hook was still negligible. She tried and usually got upset, so Fiona had taken to just helping with the baby and the buttons and everything that still needed doing. She was going to York in a few days to begin her classes, but she didn't mind working every possible moment up till then.

Elsie was out of breath and in pain by the time she was dressed, but at least she was still breathing – however quickly. "Thank you, my darling girl," she murmured, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. "I don't know how I'll manage without you – I really don't."

"Maybe Auntie Beryl will help you?" Fiona suggested. "I'll talk to her and see if she might. She wants to help more, but she's afraid to ask if there's anything she can do – she doesn't want to offend you by offering."

"Oh, love, the last thing in the world I would be is offended by an offer of assistance," Elsie sighed.

"How are your legs today, mum?"

"Unsteady," Elsie admitted, her voice low and worried. "My right leg is numb to an extent, so I must have pinched the nerve in my sleep again. Nothing to be done for it, though – so I suppose I must use the walking stick today."

"Do you need any pain injections?" Fiona asked, worried. She knew her mum was stubborn and would resist them if at all possible, but she would be utterly miserable within hours. Elsie was back on very light duties, mostly writing out rotas and doing bookkeeping, but she still had issues if she was sitting or standing for very long. Most afternoons, she didn't work at all, retreating to bed with a hot water bottle and a bottle of aspirin.

"No, love, I'll be fine," Elsie murmured. "How is your sister today?"

"She's doing very well," Fiona said with a smile. "Nanny said she rolled over in the cot all by herself this morning."

"I hate that Her Ladyship is employing a nanny for us," Elsie sighed. "I should be able to care for my own bairn and –"

"And you cannot, so you must be glad of the help," Fiona interjected gently. "We've had this fight before, mum."

"I don't want to fight with you," Elsie sighed, sinking onto the bed and looking very small. "I don't understand why you and your father don't get along better when it's me you should be cross with – I'm the one that's pulled him away from you, I'm the one who insisted on having another child… all of this is my fault."

Fiona shook her head, losing a few hairpins with the violence of the shaking. "No, mum, no – you're the only mum I've ever had," she said quietly. "I remember how sad and lonely and scared I was when I was younger and threw my tantrum. I… I guess I feel like dad doesn't really understand that I'm not a little girl anymore."

"No, you really aren't," Elsie murmured. "You're quite the young lady – and you'll be a wonderful teacher, my darling girl."

Fiona frowned for a moment, then she asked, "Mum… did you fall in love with dad because of me?"

Elsie laughed a little then; not a real laugh, just something quick and awkward. "What a ridiculous question, Fiona," she said softly. "I fell in love with your father because he was gentle and kind to me when he had no reason to be. That horrible Potter woman was hurting both you and me behind closed doors, but he flew in the face of reason and was sweet, loving, and ever so kind to me… that's why I fell in love with him. You were part of the bargain, but you weren't the reason, my love." Elsie reached up and took Fiona's hand. "I didn't expect anyone to love me ever again. Not you and especially not your da."

"Does he care that I'm leaving?" Fiona asked. It never seemed like her father cared at all, despite everyone's assurances that he did. She wanted more, needed more, craved more from him; an indefinable more that probably didn't exist.

"He's very sad about you going, even though it's only until May," Elsie said softly. "And when you come back, you'll be moving into the teacher's cottage in the village – things won't ever be the same again, will they?"

Fiona frowned. "What am I going to do when I'm scared of the world, mum? I won't be able to come crawl into bed with you anymore –"

"You're always welcome in my bed," Elsie whispered; she was near tears, just as Fiona was. "Just like, no matter how old you are, you'll always be my little girl."

"Oh, mum…"

"You could be fifty years old and surrounded by wee'uns and I'd still consider you to be my little girl," Elsie said, holding up a hand and smiling sadly. "I'm scared to send you off to York by yourself, but you came all the way to Scotland to find me – so I must believe you'll be all right. Mustn't I?"

"Do you want to go upstairs to the nursery and see Gracie?" Fiona asked.

Elsie paused and Fiona knew she was going over a list of everything she needed to accomplish before she was too tired to keep going. But then her mother surprised her by nodding and murmuring, "There's nothing in the world I want more than to see Gracie with you, Fiona."

And with that, they both smiled.

Charles hated the rail station. Someone was either leaving him behind, or else he was the one leaving someone – or something – behind.

In this case, he was standing on the platform with Fiona's suitcase – one of his old pieces of travel gear from the road with Alice – clutched in one hand, his heart beating frantically with worry about sending his eldest child out into the world with little in the way of a safety net. Fiona's hand was tightly held in his other hand, and they stood quietly, waiting.

"It's only till May," Fiona finally said.

"And then you'll be back to start teaching," he pointed out gruffly, determined not to let her see him breaking down. If she saw him emotionally distraught, she might stay, and he did not want that in the slightest – she needed to go, to take the chance, to bloom with Lady Grantham's aid into a brilliant, beautiful flower. "It feels like I'll never see you again."

"I'd have thought you'd be pleased I'm going away," Fiona said. "Leaves you alone with mum and Gracie – and she can't talk back or disappoint you too badly or… or get in the way all the time like I do." Her voice was incredibly sad and small.

His heart ached for all the pain he'd managed to inflict on her over the years; and he squeezed her hand. "You aren't in the way," Charles said. "And I've never been so very proud of you as I am right now – you're beginning a new life, Fiona. A new life that will be wonderful. I just wish I could come with you to York and protect you like a father should."

"I'll be all right," Fiona murmured. "It's only till May. And then I'll be home. You'll watch out for mum, right? You know she doesn't get enough rest and she's working too hard already."

"I know, but that woman is far more stubborn than I am –"

"Just get nanny to bring Gracie down whenever she's behaving badly," Fiona advised. "She always stops for the baby."

"What are we going to do without you, my darling girl?" he asked, not daring to look at her for fear of breaking down completely.

She sighed and squeezed his hand. "You haven't called me that since I was ten," Fiona murmured.

"I should have called you that every day of your life," Charles said. "I've been a dreadful father, and there is nothing I can do to apologize enough for –"

"Daddy, it's going to be all right," Fiona said. "I'm sorry I was such a disappointing child –"

"You never have been," he said with a sad sigh. "You're my beautiful, brilliant daughter, and I am so proud of you, Fiona Carson."

The train pulled into the station and he toyed with the idea of keeping her there, not allowing her to leave, begging her to stay… but instead, he helped her into her cabin and watched the train pulling away from him, taking a piece of his heart with it.

The walk back to the big house was a lonely one.

Elsie watched Charles walking around the room with Gracie in his arms, cooing at her in his big rumbling voice and decided that she could not possibly love the man anymore than she did in that moment. Gracie was watching him with delight, her little head lifted up from his shoulder as she fought sleep.

The arrangement was for a nanny during the day, and as soon as Charles was done for the day – about nine, since they were not entertaining with Lord Grantham away at war – he would collect Gracie from the nursery and bring her home for the night if Elsie had not already rung for nanny to do it. Tonight, the tiny girl was overexcited and fighting rest like a fiendish wee beastie.

"Oh, bring her here," Elsie sighed. "She's never going to go to bed at this rate, you daft man."

Charles raised an eyebrow, then said, "I'm certain you can do better, Mrs. Carson, but she will settle in a few moments' time –"

Gracie let out a shrieking giggle and Elsie gave him a dirty look from their bed. "Da means playtime," Elsie pointed out dryly. "She thinks you're playing with her. Bring her here, Charlie." She didn't give him an option to say no; lord knows the man would argue with her over the smallest things just to avoid giving their daughter up for a moment.

Once the baby was safely and snugly in her mother's arms, she settled a bit and yawned. "Aye, there's mammy's little girl," Elsie soothed. "Mammy's good, tired girl, aye?" She rubbed the baby's back and held her close, humming. It wasn't five minutes before she drifted off, and another ten before Elsie was letting Charles put her back into her cot.

"I didn't want to upset you," Charles said. "You've been in a lot of pain today and I would have gotten her off to Nod eventually anyway –"

"Not like that you wouldn't have," Elsie scoffed. "Besides, she's not heavy enough yet to make things worse. It's fine." She smiled up at him bravely, but she knew he'd see through the dark circles under her eyes and realize that she'd been flopping about in their bed like a dying fish while he slept on the sofa in the main room. It was just so difficult to be comfortable and stay asleep at the same time; bits of her would ache, then throb, then she would move into a new position and sleep for a few minutes before the cycle started anew.

"Are you all right, my love?" Charles asked gently. "Do we need to do an injection or –"

She bit her lip. He'd been so good after her surgery, seeing her up to her eyeballs in morphine to keep her still and sedated so her body could heal. Now that she was up and about and in pain again, he wanted to do anything to make that pain stop. She was back on the occasional shot of opium, but never enough to do anything more than take the pain away temporarily. Elsie swallowed hard, wanting to take him up on his offer but at the same time knowing that it was a slippery slope and every time she dosed, her tolerance for the drug went up, so each subsequent dosage must be higher. Suffering in silence might be better.

"Elsie?"

"I'll be all right," she said, biting her lip. "Have you been comfortable on the sofa?"

"No," he admitted, "but I will be all right, so long as you are."

"Well, then I have to be, don't I?" she asked with a tiny smile. He didn't smile back, so she faltered a bit in her bravado. Almost enough to tell him the truth: she didn't sleep well without him, and she never had done. "Thank you for your help today, Charlie. I don't know why Her Ladyship keeps me on when I'm not in any shape to be working like I should be –"

"Because you have done more for this household than even she will acknowledge," Charles said softly. "Now budge up, love, and take the covers down for a minute." She did as he ordered, wondering briefly what he was up to before he put one of her feet in its heavy striped sock (that she had originally knitted for Fiona but had kept for herself) in his lap. He gently massaged it, and she felt some of the tension in her spine and legs begin to lessen. She couldn't hold back a moan, though if it was of torture or pleasure, she didn't know.

By the time he finished with her other foot, giving it the same tender treatment as the first, she knew. It was pure pleasure that was escaping her lips, the torment of having someone so close after an enforced separation…

He, of course, was amused by her – bloody daft man. She whimpered when he withdrew his hands, leaving her feet propped up on one of his thighs. "Charlie," she murmured. She'd been cleared to resume 'marital activities' weeks before. He knew that: he'd been in the bloody room when the doctor had done it, making her blush and him stammer and cough at the inappropriateness of the conversation. But all the time since, she'd been terrified of letting him see her. She didn't want to frighten him away completely; her belly was a mass of scars and her legs were almost always swollen from the pressure of standing on them with damaged nerves. She wasn't anything like she had been before Gracie, and the thought that he could still want her in spite of all that was laughable.

"Yes, my love?" he said softly.

"Stop. Please."

"Am I hurting you?"

"No," she breathed, "quite the opposite –"

"Why do you want me to stop? If it feels lovely…"

"It feels divine," she confessed. "But we need to stop before we go too far and I offend you –"

"Elsie, what are you on about? I'm not going to be offended by you –"

She looked away from him and said, "I'm not pretty anymore, Charles. Everything's messed up below my breasts and it'll never be the way it was again –"

"Battle scars," Charles said, his hand gently slipping below her nightdress and stroking her thigh, just above her knee. "You're my brave warrior, Elsie Carson – fearless and beautiful…"

"You are such a daft beggar," she sighed. "You don't know what you're asking, love."

"I am just asking you to let me love you," Charles said, a sad smile on his lips. "Let me help take the pain away for a few minutes, Elsie. Please."

She knew, deep in her gut, that her fears were irrational, that he wouldn't leave her just because she had a few scars, but they were still crippling fears that gripped her and held tightly, not letting her go. Why else was she still keeping him on the sofa at night when they so desperately needed one another even to sleep soundly? Why was she holding him at arm's length when he was offering himself to her in the most gentle, loving way possible? Why did she feel so much abject terror and want in the same space in her heart?

Biting her lip nervously, hands quaking with the struggle of holding those terrifying fears at bay, Elsie held out her hand to him. When he took it, she whispered, "Just promise me that if it doesn't help, you won't be upset with yourself or me for it – all right?"

"Why on earth would I be upset with you?" Charles asked, gently caressing her knee.

She took a deep, shaky breath, trying not to show him that she was already feeling his effect on her. "The doctor said I might never recover all the feeling, well… down there," Elsie admitted, blushing.

Charles smiled and said cheerfully, "That just means I must work more diligently to please my lovely lady wife."

She reached down and stilled his hand beneath her nightdress. "Charles, I mean it," Elsie said, worriedly. "I'm damaged goods and I'm afraid that you'll be very disappointed in what I can offer you –"

"Elsie," he said with exaggerated patience, drawing the syllables out from two into a nearly drawling three, "I am not taking anything you have up on offer." He leaned and gently kissed the tip of her nose. "I am offering to please you and nothing more, my love."

Her voice wavered and she whispered, "I don't know if you'll be able to."

"Then I shall try my best," Charles promised. "And if I hurt you in any way, just tell me and I will stop."

She bit her lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, but she nodded her assent. For the longest time, he just gently rubbed circles around her knee, knowing it was the one that was swollen worst and hurt the worst when it bore weight. Then his hand moved further up her leg, tangling in the cotton of her nightdress.

"May I?" he asked in that sweet, reverent tone of his.

She nodded and he gently pushed the hem of her nightdress up around her hips. She closed her eyes tightly, determined not to watch his face if he became upset or disgusted with her in any way. But closing her eyes made all the soft touches, the gentleness, the bliss of his fingers dancing across swollen skin and muscle raising gooseflesh in their wake, so much more intense. She could feel everything from the lightest touch to the heavy pressure of his tongue against her most intimate parts as he drank her in.

If anything, her sensation was heightened rather than the deadened the doctor had warned her against. The constant pain made the pleasure incredibly intense, blinding, and she tangled her fingers in his hair as his lips and tongue brought relief from the agony, leaving only bliss in his wake. "Oh god!" she cried, the blasphemy falling from her lips as he tugged on the little bud at the apex of her sex, making her convulse and sob as her body clenched and released. "Charlie – oh –"

He didn't stop until she screamed, her climax so forceful that she could not hold back a pain-mingled cry of pleasure that shook the walls. And then she went limp, her body like aspic or weak jelly that could not hold itself together.

She panted and tried to catch her breath, eyes still tightly closed, until Charles murmured, "Open your eyes, Elsie." She did, blinking him back into blurry focus. "You have never been more beautiful to me," he whispered, cradling her face in his hands and kissing her gently. She deepened the kiss, tasting herself on his lips, his tongue, in his heart and soul…

And she knew his words to be truth.

She wept with relief; relief that her Charlie still loved her, temporary relief from the constant pain, relief that she was still capable of physically loving him…

He held her long after she fell asleep.

END PART TWENTY-SIX