A/N: HUGE thank you to all the reviewers. To the Guest who said this is your favorite fic - thanks so much for that! That's pretty much the best praise any of us can ever get. If I could have replied to you in a PM, I would have. :)

Thanks to brenna-louise for reading through this for me and to mistressdickens, once more, who gave me a little "suggestion" a while back that I kinda sorta managed to incorporate here - more safely, perhaps, than the way she suggested. ;) And even though she doesn't read this fic, a shout-out for my daughter, who came up with the reason for Mary's decision to marry Richard Carlisle.

Much love to you all. I often feel that all these characters are like balls I'm juggling - ones that are about to come crashing down around my head at any time. Time to start tying up a few of story lines, starting here. This chapter is a long one, and a lot happens. Enjoy!

xx

CSotA

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

4:05 p.m.

Charles pulled up in front of the newspaper office, noting with a sigh of relief that Richard's car was, indeed, absent from the lot. Not that he suspected otherwise, but the thought of Mary being caught in the middle of her little project was more than Charles could take at the moment.

He got out of the car and locked the doors and, just as he turned to walk into the office, he heard a shout.

"Mr. Carson!"

Charles whipped around to see Tommy Barrow approaching him, a broad smile on the young man's face.

"Tommy! Good to see you," he managed, extending his hand for a handshake.

"You, too. How's Ms. Hughes?" he asked. "I've not managed to see Daisy since she came back to school, but my Mum said she'd run into Anna Smith in the store the other day. Is it true they could use me to help out at the farm?"

"Yes, they mentioned that to me the other day, in fact. It would be wonderful if you could, Tommy. I'd never imagined how much really gets done at that place on a regular basis, I can tell you," Charles chuckled.

"Well, I'm definitely interested."

"Here," Charles said, heading back to the car. He opened the door and located a notepad and a pen, and jotted down his cell number. "This is my number. Discuss it with your mother and, if she's alright with you coming by a few times a week, call me and let me know what would work for you. Either I or Anna could pick you up - it's been much too cold and icy for you to be walking."

"Thanks, Mr. Carson. I didn't want to call Ms. Hughes and disturb her, and I wasn't sure how to get in touch with Anna." He pocketed the number and smiled.

"Thank you, Tommy. Do you need a lift somewhere?"

"No, thanks. I'm just running an errand for my Mum."

"Alright then, I'll look forward to hearing from you soon."

"Sure thing, Mr. Carson," Tommy smiled.

Charles watched the boy walk away, grateful he'd run into him. If Tommy could come three days a week as Elsie had hoped, it would free Charles and Anna up a bit. With the two adults, Tommy, and even Daisy helping out, things would be much easier, indeed.

He walked back to the newspaper office and reached for the knob, finding it locked.

That's odd. He pulled out his phone and texted Mary.

I'm here - door's locked.

He waited a minute or two for a reply, then heard Mary's quick footsteps descending the stairs behind the door. She unlocked and opened the door, and Charles was astounded by her appearance: disheveled hair, red-rimmed eyes, and a look of absolute fright on her face.

"Come on up," she whispered frantically, pulling him in the door. He complied, and she turned and shut the door behind him, locking it twice.

"Mary? What -"

"Just come up," she interrupted him. He waited for her to proceed up the stairs but she peeked through the window of the door to the newspaper office first, reassuring herself that the evening's workers had all arrived and were all occupied.

"Do you need to be in there?" he asked, but she shook her head.

"No, Dave's got it under control," she said absentmindedly as she scurried up the stairs.

Alright … whoever that is. Charles followed her swiftly then closed - and locked - her apartment door.

He turned to see she was not even still in the room. "Mary?" he called out.

"Just a moment," she replied from the direction of the kitchen. He heard glasses clinking and removed his coat, hanging it on the rack by the door.

Hands in his pockets, Charles glanced around the living room. He'd only been up here once, and he hadn't paid much attention to how it was decorated at the time. The walls were stark white, with expensive artwork hanging on two of them and a massive mirror on a third. There were no photos on the shelves, and a great deal of modern sculptures scattered about. The furniture was the one thing he did remember; it was contemporary, looked and felt uncomfortable, and was a shocking red in color.

He moved into the kitchen to see if she needed help. "Mary?" he said softly, reaching his hand out to touch her gently on the shoulder. She was standing at the counter with her back to him and she'd just finished pouring two double shots of Scotch, one of which she handed to Charles. They clinked glasses, and she took a rather large swig from hers.

"Come in here," she muttered. "But, before you look, I have to swear you to secrecy."

"About what?" he asked, a shiver running down his spine.

"All of it," she whispered.

He thought for a moment, unsure he even wanted to be involved in 'all of it'. But he saw the frightened look in her eyes and nodded reluctantly, and she led him into her office.

Charles stepped in and gasped at the array in front of him; her desk was covered with a variety of materials: envelopes, folders, papers of all shapes and sizes, computer CDs, a thumb drive, and many, many photographs.

"What the hell?" he whispered, approaching the desk and forcing his eyes to take it all in. After a few seconds, during which he spotted several faces in the photographs and names on the folders that he knew, the penny dropped.

"These are all people in Misty Cove?" he asked incredulously.

"Mostly, yes," Mary answered. She set her glass down and stood by his side, reaching over to remove a folder from one of the piles. "This one is the Barrow woman - that fisherman's wife." She tossed it aside, but Charles moved it closer to himself, thinking he might like to peek in that one later on if he mustered up the courage. "Here's one on the woman who runs the hair salon, Mrs. Bird." She selected a set of photos. "Here we have the postmaster cheating on his wife."

"This is insane!" Charles whispered frantically. He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging a bit at the ends. "How many are there?"

"Forty-two," she replied instantly, "and that's only what's not on this." She picked up the thumb drive and dangled it from its chain. "I haven't even tried to look at this yet, but I'm sure it's password protected - most likely I'd never be able to open it."

"My God." He sifted through the files, not really wanting to even read the names ... but looking for one in particular.

"Here," Mary said, handing him a large envelope. "It's this one."

He turned to her with a raised eyebrow, and she nodded. Taking the envelope from her, he glanced at the small, neatly-printed label: E. Hughes.

"Didn't you open it?" he asked, curious.

"No," she answered softly, shaking her head. "I didn't really want to know. There isn't one for any Becky Hughes, though, so I can't even begin to explain what's in your hand."

"Wait ... are these people all being blackmailed?" Oh, my God, he thought, if that bastard is blackmailing Elsie, I swear ...

Mary's answer came swiftly. "Some, I think, yes."

"Are you?" he asked bluntly. The way she closed her eyes and bowed her head was all the answer he needed. He saw her lip beginning to quiver, and he set aside Elsie's envelope for the moment to draw his niece into his arms.

"Mary, whatever could you possibly have done to deserve this life?" he asked softly.

"I can't tell you," she whispered.

"You can, and you must."

"It doesn't matter anyhow," she argued, "because it's too late."

"Too late for what? Look at this, Mary!" he practically shouted, waving his hand over her desk. "Do you want to be mixed up in this? And what if he finds ou that you know?"

"Oh, he can't find out," she said, pulling away and shaking her head furiously. "He'd kill me," she whispered.

"I believe that, which is why you must leave."

"Ha! And go where, precisely? The only home I actually own is five miles down the road, and he has a key!"

"You could go home, Mary."

She laughed. "To Mama and Papa? Are you absolutely crazy? That's the last place I could go! They were so happy to see the back of me, Uncle Charlie - finally married at thirty-two, and thank God! No. I know you love us all and you mean well, but I most certainly could not go home."

"Does Violet know?" he asked suddenly, changing his tactic.

Mary opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again as she considered something.

"She knows something's not right," she allowed. "So part of it, maybe, but I'm not sure which part."

"And surely you could tell her the rest, if it came down to it? If your life were in danger? Because this is a great deal more involved that what I expected you to find when last we spoke."

He waited until she met his gaze again, then added, "Mary, I'm frightened for you. If you don't leave him, I'll turn him in."

"You can't," she whispered.

"I can, and I will, if it'll help keep you safe." He turned away from her and reached once again for the envelope that, he hoped, contained information on how Richard Carlisle knew about Becky Hughes's existence.

"I need to see what's in here," he muttered, and she nodded.

Charles headed into the living room and sat on the sofa. He finished his drink and placed the empty tumbler on the table, then undid the string tie holding the envelope closed, thankful that it wasn't glued shut.

Reaching into the envelope, Charles found a thin manila folder. He extracted it, then double-checked to be sure nothing else was in the envelope before laying it aside. His hands were shaking, and he took a deep breath as he set the folder on his lap.

What are you doing? This isn't your file, Charlie ol' boy. It is none of your business.

He left the front of it closed and pulled out his phone. He tapped in his code, then selected Elsie's picture and placed the call.

"Charlie? What is it?" she answered, breathless, before it had even rung on his end.

"Elsie? Are you alright?"

"I'd just picked the phone up to text you and it rang - it startled me. Daisy was asking when you'd be back, and I wasn't sure myself, so I was going to ask."

"Mm, I see," he said, and she could hear the worry in his voice. "I'm not sure, though."

"Charlie?" she asked again. "Love, what's wrong?"

He heaved a deep sigh. "Mary's found something, Elsie. In Richard's files - his secret files. It's … it's an envelope, with a folder inside, and it's got your name on it."

"What?!"

"I've not looked at it yet, but I can't take it home because if he discovers that it's gone -"

"Open it, Charlie. Please."

"Are you sure?"

"Am I sure? Yes, Charlie, I'm sure! What the fuck is that lowlife doing with a file on me?" Before he could answer, she gasped loudly. "Oh, my God ... Charlie, are there other such envelopes?" she asked in a whisper.

"There are," he acknowledged. "Elsie … I hate to even think this, love, but …"

"He's not blackmailing me, Charlie," Elsie said tersely. "Do you honestly think I'd stand for that?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly, "as I've not yet seen what is in this folder."

The line went silent for a moment as she digested his words, turning them over in her mind.

"Charlie," she finally said, her voice a barely-controlled waver, "what, precisely, do you think could be in that file that I've not already told you about myself?"

"I don't know," he repeated. "Most likely nothing."

She huffed. "You don't trust me!" she accused.

"I do," he insisted, "but … well, I wasn't sure you'd want me to see it, that's all."

"Open the bloody file, Charlie. Read it. Take pictures of it - seriously, please do that, so that we have them if we need them. Then put it all back and come home." And, with that, she hung up.

He looked disbelievingly at the phone in his hand - now back to the home screen, which showed a lovely picture of Daisy on the beach; he'd taken it the week they'd moved to Misty Cove, searching for a new place to call home.

Home. That's really what it's all about, isn't it? Protecting that.

He swiped the phone screen again and sent off a brief text.

I'm sorry. I DO trust you, Els. I'm just afraid.

He waited a moment, not really expecting a reply.

Me, too. Find out what's in there, and then hurry home to me. Please. xx

I will.

He placed the phone on the sofa beside him, then reached a finger under the folder's cover and slowly lifted it open.

"Elsie?" Daisy said from the open doorway of the bedroom. "What's the matter?"

Elsie smiled at her, but it was a halfhearted one and Daisy picked up on it immediately. She came into the room and curled up in the chair by the bed.

"Did you and Papa have a fight?" she whispered, but Elsie shook her head.

"No," she soothed the girl, reaching out to pat Daisy's knee. "Just a misunderstanding of sorts, but it's fine."

Daisy nodded. "I need help with my homework," she said.

"Sure," Elsie replied, smiling. "Bring it on in and we'll see what we can do."

"Alright," Daisy nodded. "Can I get you anything in the kitchen?"

"No, thank you. I'll be getting up in a little while and I'm fine until then. Go and get your maths."

"How'd you know it was maths?" Daisy asked, eyes wide. But Elsie just winked and smiled at her, causing Daisy to giggle.

Daisy came back in with a stack of cards. "Multiplication tables," she grumbled. "I can't get the eights and nines."

"You know all the rest?" Elsie asked, incredulous, and Daisy nodded. "I'm impressed!"

"Thank you." Daisy seemed frustrated and pleased in equal measure.

"Prop me up a bit, dear," Elsie said, and Daisy complied, tucking another pillow under Elsie's brace.

"How's that - does it hurt?"

"No, that's wonderful. And now I can see what we're doing. Alright, have you got a notebook and a pencil with you?"

Daisy shook her head. "No, hold on," and she ran to get them. When she returned, Elsie beckoned her up onto the bed.

"Alright - I've not got much to help you with the eights, but I let me show you something with the nines." She proceeded to write at the top of the paper: 9 x 1 = 09.

"Zero-nine?" Daisy asked. "Why the zero?"

"You'll see," Elsie said, handing her the notebook. "Now, what comes next? Put it here," she told Daisy, pointing to the next line down.

Daisy scratched a 9 x 2 = on the paper, then said, "I know that's eighteen."

"Good - write it under the first answer," Elsie said, and Daisy did so. "Now, do you see?"

Daisy looked at the paper and frowned; she looked at the 09, then at the 18 written underneath it.

"Try the next one," Elsie encouraged, and Daisy complied. The answer column now read 09, then under that was the 18, and under that the 27.

"That's as far I know," Daisy admitted softly.

"What's happening here?" Elsie asked, pointing to the tens' column.

"They're going up?" Daisy said, and Elsie nodded.

"Exactly. And here?" she pointed to the ones' column.

"They're going - ohhh," Daisy said, smiling broadly. She hurriedly scratched in 9 x 4 = and asked, "Thirty-six?"

Elsie beamed. "You've got it. And the next will be …?"

"Forty-five, then … fifty-four!" Daisy shouted gleefully, and Elsie laughed.

"Exactly," she said, placing a kiss to Daisy's head. "You've got it! Go on up to twelve."

Daisy did so, scribbling the numbers in without error, pausing only when she got to 9 x 12 before writing down the 108.

"Brava!" Elsie praised her. "Alright. As I said, I've got nothing for the eights, I'm afraid. I always struggled with those myself. But we can make some flashcards and just study them, if you'd like. I presume that's what those are for?" she added, pointing to the cards Daisy had originally brought in.

Daisy nodded. "You would do that with me?" she asked. "You wouldn't mind?"

"Well," Elsie teased, "I've got loads of things to be doing while I'm stuck in this house for eight weeks … I'll try to squeeze you in."

Daisy giggled. "Okay." She tucked herself in with her notes sheet and some cards, and began filling them out to study with Elsie, thinking as she did so that it was rather nice having Elsie around to help her.

"I'm glad we're here," Daisy said quietly. She scribbled out an 8 x 9 card, the tip of her tongue poking out of her lip as she wrote.

"So am I, dear," Elsie replied, fluffing Daisy's hair with her fingers. "When you finish writing those out, I'm going to have you pop dinner in the oven, alright? Your Papa got it all in the pan already, you just need to slide it in and turn the oven on."

"Sounds good."

In Mary's living room, Charles stared at the first item in the collection marked E. Hughes. It was, of all things, a police report.

"Oh, my God," he whispered.

It told of an incident that happened three years ago, at the home where Becky resided, and it had been filed by the facilities manager. From what he could gather, Becky had allegedly attacked a nurse's aide who claimed to have just been in the room to administer Becky's medication. According to the report, the aide suffered a black eye, a broken jaw, and several scratches to his face and chest; he claimed all of the injuries were caused by Becky. Charles just shook his head in disbelief, but disbelief of what he wasn't sure. He knew Becky was strong, Elsie had said as much, but the woman he met didn't sync with the depiction he was reading in the file. Still, he reminded himself, adrenaline will do a lot, and Elsie did say Becky could be dangerous when she was having one of her angry spells.

He took a photo of each page of the report, knowing he could finish reading it thoroughly when he got home. He then moved on to the next items: a set of photographs of the victim in question. He was uneasy looking at them; he wasn't positive, but he thought he actually recognized the man from the day he and Elsie had visited Becky.

But surely he wouldn't have wanted to work with Becky any longer? Unless …

But he could come up with nothing. He took pictures of all the photos, knowing Elsie would know if the man still worked at the home; the staff wasn't large; she likely knew them all. He did think it odd that she'd never mentioned the incident but, then again, he hadn't told her about every little thing Robert had gotten into over the years, either. That caused him to smirk a bit, and he moved on.

The last item in the file gave him pause, though. He lifted it and looked for the other pages that should have been with it, but there was only the one: it was part of her checking account statement. He double-checked the folder and the envelope but, no, there was only this one of the five pages there should have been, according to the '2 of 5' notation in the upper right-hand corner.

He scanned the entries, noting that the amounts varied in number from just under twenty dollars to a couple over a thousand. He tried to make out what they were for, but the bank's coding of each entry made it difficult. The only thing he could tell from what was in front of him was that the two larger debits were identical amounts. He snapped a photo of that paper, too, and then replaced all of the items into the folder. He put the folder into the envelope and wrapped the string around the closure, winding it just as it had been when he found it. As an afterthought, he also snapped a picture of the E. Hughes label on the outside of the envelope.

He got up and headed back into the office, from which Mary had not exited. He spotted her seated at the desk, and was fairly sure she was crying again. He peeked over her shoulder, and saw that she held a newspaper article in her hand.

"Mary?"

She didn't even acknowledge him, and so he pulled up a chair and sat beside her. He held out his hand, and she handed him the article.

"I found it mixed in with everything else," she wept. "I know he has other copies, but this must be the original."

Charles took the clipping from her. The photo showed an automobile practically wrapped around a small tree, with what looked to be broken glass scattered all over the road. He read the article quickly, then went back and reread it more carefully.

"I don't understand," he muttered. "This says something about a hit and run … one fatality, which was the driver, with the passenger critically injured. The driver of the other car drove off - unbelievable - and was never identified. How positively awful." He handed the clipping back to her, a look of confusion on his face.

Mary looked him in the eyes, but couldn't maintain it; she dropped hers to the article now clutched in her shaking fingers.

"Mary?"

"It was Richard," she whispered. "The survivor … in the automobile. He was the passenger."

"My God," Charles breathed. "That explains the small scars …?"

She nodded. "On his shoulders, yes."

"He's lucky to be alive! Was it a drunk driver? I can't imagine any other reason for someone to leave that type of scene."

"It was," she nodded, swallowing, and she looked up at him again. "And she left because she was terrified. And stupid."

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped a bit. "No." He started shaking his head. "No. It couldn't have been."

"I'm afraid so," she replied with a scoff, her tears falling anew.

"But … How did he know?"

"I'd been with them," she said, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief he gave her. "We were coming back from a party. I'd met Richard a few times; he came on kind of strong but could be charming, too. Big-shot newspaper man and all. We had a decent time. He was there with Tony, the man who died - they were cousins. Tony had been an acquaintance of mine back home, from Uni; he was the one who introduced me to Richard in the first place.

"We'd all had too much to drink and none of us should have been driving, but we were stupid. We had five miles to go - five miles, Uncle Charlie."

"But it was raining," he mumbled, remembering the photo in the article as another detail from it clicked in his mind: the car in the photograph was wet.

"Yes," she nodded. "I was following them, too closely, and hit a puddle - hydroplaned right into them, bumped their car off the road. I barely touched it - there wasn't a scratch on my car, even, but it was enough for Tony to lose control. The rest … well," she pointed to the article, and he nodded.

"And you … left?" He still couldn't understand that.

"I did," she said, sobbing by this point. "God help me, I drove straight home. I parked the car, locked it, went into my apartment, and passed out. I woke thirteen hours later, but the details of it all were a bit hazy."

Charles took another deep breath and said, "And, once he was released from the hospital, Richard contacted you?"

She nodded.

"And forced you into marriage, threatening to bring what he knew to the police if you refused?"

"Yes. I'd just moved here, Mama and Papa had pushed for it, to see if a change of scenery made me … I don't know, really … happier? Running into Tony was a strange coincidence; I had no idea he was in the area. We met up in Portland when I was down there shopping, and went out a few times afterwards."

"Mary," he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"I know," she whispered. "But I made my choice. I couldn't go to prison, Charlie, couldn't let Mama and especially Papa know what I'd done, what I was responsible for. Granny knows Richard has some hold over me, but not what it is. I think she might even suspect, because she knew Tony's family and knows how he died, but to my knowledge she has not put it all together."

"And she bought the beach house to give you an alternative, a place to go if you needed it?"

"Yes. She didn't put his name on it, only mine. Not that it matters now that we're married."

"Don't be so sure of that," he mused. "If she owns fifty-one percent of it, then it's a moot point."

"Regardless," she said, turning to face him as she took his hands in hers, "absolutely no one can know about this. Not Elsie, certainly not my parents, and most definitely not Richard. No one can know I've told you."

"I can't promise that, Mary, but I will try," he said. "That's the best I can do." He handed her Elsie's envelope, and she laid it on the desk.

"I've got photos of all of the contents," he said, pointing at the envelope, "but none of it makes sense to me. All I know is that he's not blackmailing her ... so why does he even have a file on her?"

"I think that a lot of them are potential blackmail things," she said.

"But how would he even have known Elsie had a sister?"

She started gathering the files and putting them back in the drawer. "I have no idea, but I'll find out." She looked up at him. "Go home, Uncle Charlie. Give Daisy a hug, make Elsie dinner. Talk to her, and let me know if you need more from me."

"And what are you going to do about all of this?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I need to think about it. But I'm going through this tonight," she added, holding up a ledger. "There are notations with pretty large dollar amounts in here. It only contains initials, no full names, but I can compare them to the files and try to match them up."

"Good. That will tell you to whom he is sending blackmail demands. But why? I don't understand - do you need the money that badly?"

She grimaced and blushed. "Actually, we do," she admitted. "Richard seemed to think that marrying me would provide him with an instant access to my family's fortune. He was, as I'm sure you can imagine, wrong. Once he got on Papa's bad side, which happened by the end of the wedding reception, if you remember, that was it. Papa has a trust for me, but Richard knows nothing about it."

"So he's used this money he's making off of others to support your paper?" he asked, incredulous that she'd allow that to happen.

"I guess so. I honestly had no idea where the money was coming from until tonight, though. He just said he'd made some successful investments. I never even questioned it … I feel so stupid now."

"Don't," Charles insisted. "The man is a master manipulator, Mary. Don't beat yourself up for this, you couldn't have known."

"But now I do," she said, and he nodded.

"Yes, now you do. And you have to decide what happens next. But we'll be here to support you, Mary, whatever you decide. You know that. All of us - your family, me, Elsie, everyone. Remember that."

She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I shall. Now go home, Uncle Charlie," she said, glancing at the clock. "Go make dinner for your family. Give Daisy a kiss from me, alright?"

"Alright," he said, heading over to get his coat. "Call me if you need anything, no matter the time."

"I will."

"Mary?" he asked, turning toward her once again, his and on the doorknob. "I must ask. If you're no use to him financially, and he's keeping all these secrets from you … why hasn't he divorced you?"

She half-smiled, a sneer of sorts. "Because he wants a baby."

His eyes widened in horror. "And do you?"

"Ha! Hell, no … Not with him, anyhow. Don't worry, though. Of all the strange bits of this mess, that one is the thing I'm in complete control of."

"And he doesn't suspect?"

"Not yet."

He nodded, then turned and left.

Charles pulled in next to Elsie's truck. He sat in the car for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. His entire opinion of his niece had shifted a bit, and he wasn't sure what to do about that. Mary, the one who had always been so cool, calm, collected, the one who was always so self-assured and determined, had practically broken down in front of him. He was disappointed to hear her story, he couldn't deny it, but he was also a bit in awe of her. She'd married a man she clearly despised in order to protect herself from prison, but he knew her well enough to realize she also feared the scandal it would bring down upon the family. He knew that the typical statute of limitations for vehicular manslaughter - which he assumed this case would be deemed - was six years; Mary and Richard hadn't been married that long yet, though.

He took a few cleansing breaths and decided to push it aside for now. As he got out of the car he noted that someone (likely Daisy) had left the light on for him. The warm glow of the lights from inside made him smile and put a spring in his step as he made his way to the door.

"I'm home!" he called, and Daisy came running from Elsie's room.

"Papa! I put dinner in the oven!" She reached up and he lifted her, groaning excessively as he did so.

"You are getting too big for this, petal," he said, and she giggled. "When you're nine, we're done."

"Aww," she pouted, but she knew he was right. "Okay, but I still get to sit on your lap."

"Deal. How'd the afternoon go?"

"Fine. Elsie taught me a trick for my multiplication tables, for the nines," she said. "I already know them!"

Charles beamed and kissed Daisy's cheek. "Excellent. And is our patient in bed?"

"Mm-hm. And she said dinner should be ready in a half hour."

"Perfect," he replied, carrying her to Elsie's room. He deposited her on the floor just inside the doorway and made his way to Elsie's bed.

"There you are," she smiled, and he leaned over to kiss her sweetly, lingering for just a moment. He broke away and she asked softly, "Is everything alright?"

"I think so. I missed you two, though, and I'm glad I'm home."

Daisy sniffed and he turned to look at her. He saw a strange look on her face, and went over to her, squatting down to face her.

"Is this home now, Papa? I mean, are we staying here? You know … for always?" Her brow was furrowed and he wasn't sure what answer she was looking for. He turned to look at Elsie, who gave him a smile and a slight nod.

Go ahead - tell her.

"Well," he said, turning back to Daisy. "We could, if you think that would be a good idea. You see … Elsie and I have been talking …"

A slight smile came to the corners of Daisy's mouth. "About what?"

"Well," he said, leaning over as though he had a secret to share. "I think I'd like to marry her," he whispered.

Daisy's eyes grew wide as saucers. "Really?" she whispered hopefully, and he smiled and nodded.

"Really," he said.

"And does she want to? Really?"

He turned to see Elsie looking at them tearfully.

"She does," she answered, "but only if it's alright with you, love."

Daisy walked over to the bed and climbed in. "Could I be in the wedding?" she asked softly.

Elsie laughed. "You could!"

Charles just looked on in awe as his entire future unfolded before his eyes.

"You're sure?" Daisy asked hesitantly. "You'd be … like my new Mummy, sort of. Like Bertie is Marigold's new Papa."

Elsie gave her a watery smile. "I would," she confirmed. "Are you okay with that, Daisy?"

"Oh, yes," Daisy gushed, nodding furiously. "Yes!"

Charles joined them on the bed and kissed them both.

"We're getting married," he chuckled.

"We're getting married!" Daisy shouted gleefully, and she leaned over and gave Elsie a kiss on the cheek.

"She's all tucked in and already fast asleep," Charles said softly, coming back into the bedroom. "How did your afternoon go?"

"Well," Elsie said. "I need a shower, though."

"We can do that," he smiled. "But after."

"Yes. Sit, Charlie. Tell me what happened."

He joined her on the bed, lying on his side and facing her, draping his arm over her abdomen. He squeezed gently and placed a kiss to her temple, and she hummed.

"This is nice," she said. "I feel like you're bracing me for what's to come, though."

"I am, I suppose." He sat up and pulled his phone from his pocket, swiping open the Photos section and handing it to her.

Elsie took it and flipped through it rapidly, then went back and focused on the police report. Brow furrowed, she scanned the entire thing as Charles looked on. When she got to the end, she gasped.

"Elsie? What is it? Is this true?"

"It is," she said absentmindedly. "But hold on." She flipped to the photos, clicking on one and zooming in.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "Holy shit … no wonder …"

"What? He still works there, doesn't he? I thought he looked familiar, but …"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. She flicked back to the police report and zoomed in on the end, then handed the phone back to him.

"Read," she instructed, and he did so. Details about the report, the injuries, how Becky had to be sedated, and the name of the aide who'd been attacked ...

Timothy O'Brien.

"What?" he gasped, looking at Elsie. "Her brother?"

Elsie nodded. "Must be. I had no idea, though. I'm not sure I could have come up with his name on my own, not without seeing this. It was a few years ago."

"This is why she hates you? I don't understand - you didn't do this to him!"

"I know. But I paid for all of his medical bills, his treatment, whatever the facility's insurance wouldn't cover. Although, knowing Sarah, that is a very good reason to hate me."

"Because you did her a kindness?" he asked, incredulous.

"You don't know Sarah O'Brien," she scoffed. "But I had no idea it was her brother until just now. Seeing those photos, though, it's clear. I mean, I suppose he could be a cousin or something, but I doubt it. And it's why you recognized him, too. He's not employed there any longer, but you saw Sarah the day you brought Daisy in, and also at parents' night."

"And you never figured it out?"

She shook her head again. "No. This happened just over three years ago, and it was another year before Sarah came to work at my school; she'd been working the next town over for years before that. I met her at the orientation day for new hires, and I see the her at monthly staff meetings. She's never been kind to me, but I had no idea why. Figured it was just something odd with her."

"Does Phyllis know?" he asked suddenly. "Because she seemed to know why Sarah hates you, but she wouldn't say at the meeting."

"Phyllis knows about the incident, yes. She might have put it all together, I suppose, but not without knowing his name I don't think."

"And Sarah gave this information to Carlisle. Why?"

"I've no idea," she said. "Maybe she knows him from before?"

"Maybe," he said, thinking back to what Mary had said. Carlisle was fairly new in town when Mary moved here; it's possible that he knew the O'Briens from years past. Stranger things had happened, he knew.

"What's with the bank statement?" he asked suddenly.

Elsie flicked to it and zoomed in. "See these two payments?" she asked, and he nodded. "They're two of the ones for the medical bills. They're coded to the facility, but the amounts are different than what I pay for Becky's care."

"Two of them? How many were there?" he asked.

"Four in total, but the other two were made from my personal account, and this is the account for the farm. But it's enough to prove I paid them."

"Even if he wanted to, he could never blackmail you with this, Elsie. You did what you were legally obligated to do."

But she shook her head. "No, not quite. There's a stipulation in the paperwork for the facility that states someone in Becky's condition - when proper precautions are not taken - cannot be held responsible for injury to any of the staff."

"Then why did you pay for it?"

She just looked at him. "Because it was the right thing to do? Charlie, I felt horrible about it! It could have been down to some fault of his, but I had no idea really. I knew what she could be like."

"Only now it looks like you paid for everything to keep him from suing you."

"I'm afraid so."

They sat and looked at one another for a moment, and Charles made a decision.

"Let's go," he said, standing up and taking Elsie's hand.

"What?"

"Shower. Wash it all away, so to speak. We can't do anything about this tonight, and you said you need one. I'm guessing you feel worse now."

She smiled. "I do, as it happens. And I'm sure you're no better."

"Not really."

She cocked her head and looked at him, seeing something odd in his demeanor.

"Charlie? Did you find out something else tonight? Something you're not telling me?"

He licked his lips and helped her out of the bed. "I did, but I can't talk about it. Not now, anyhow."

"Alright." She offered a supportive smile, and he bent down to kiss her.

"Join me in there?" she suggested, and he raised an eyebrow. "Please," she added. "I think it would be good for both of us after all this."

"Perhaps you're right."

"You're sure Daisy's asleep?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Oh, yes - I sat in with her for a bit, thinking she'd have questions about wedding plans, but she just fell off to sleep immediately."

"Good," she said with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

They went into the bathroom and Charles reached to unstrap Elsie's brace.

"I can do that, you know," she murmured, reaching for the strap herself, but he put his hands on hers to stop her.

"Let me. Please."

He undressed her completely, placing gentle kisses to her face, her shoulders, her breasts … anything he could reach easily. A few soft gasps escaped her mouth, but neither spoke.

She stepped just inside the door and reached her arms out to him, unbuckling and removing his belt and undoing the button on his trousers. He backed away and removed the rest of his clothing, then stepped in the shower and got the water set.

"Come here," he whispered. "I'll do your hair."

She smiled and complied, relishing the feeling of his hands in her hair, rubbing her scalp, massaging away the tension in her shoulders.

"Thank you. Now … you come here," she beckoned, moving over to the wall.

"Els?" he asked, unsure of what she was asking. "What …"

"Shh," she said. She rubbed her hands over his chest and shoulders, down his arms and back up again, then down his chest … and lower.

"We can't," he groaned, responding instantly to her touch.

"We can't do that," she amended, "but I can do this." She continued rubbing her hands all over him and smiled as his breaths came shorter and more frequent.

"Wait," he said, pushing her hands away. "Turn around - and hold on to that handle."

She smiled as a flush crept over her chest. "Charlie, you don't have to -"

"Turn around," he insisted, grabbing at her waist and encouraging her to do so.

"But you've not …"

"After," he said, cutting her off.

"You know I can't really move," she reminded him, and he nodded.

"I know - just hold on to steady yourself, and you can lean back against me. Trust me, I've got you."

She did so, and felt him pressing into her lower back. "Oh, my God, Charlie …" she whispered, as his hand slid down her body and quickly found its warm destination. "Please …" She gripped the handle tightly and got lost in his embrace.

Charles reached down and kissed her neck, closing his eyes and keeping a firm grip on her waist, holding her upright as his touch made her cry out in delight. When she came back to Earth, she turned around ... and returned to her original plan, relishing in how he gasped and moaned her name as he came undone in her hands.

Later, curled in bed, Elsie turned her head to look at her man. She reached out and cupped his cheek, and he opened his tired eyes to look at her.

"You won't tell me, will you?" she whispered, having seen that something was still on his mind.

"No. Not yet," he said honestly. "But eventually, yes. Once I'm sure of how everything will go. We're having Becky over tomorrow, then I have Daisy's meeting the day after that, and then you've got your afternoon with Isobel on Saturday. Between that and the farm, I just need to get through the next week."

"Alright," she said, yawning.

He reached his hand over and caressed her hip. "I love you, you know."

She smiled at him. "I know. I love you, too … like no one has ever loved you before."

He leaned over to kiss her. "You've got that right."