Author's Note: It must be a few months since my last update on any of my fics. Three months or so, I believe. I have had a rather eventful autumn that's for sure. School has been taking up quite a bit of my time, I've been practicing for my end of basic flute studies concert I have on the first of December and I've practically been in and out of the doctor's office due to persistent health issues. Safe to say, this was a well deserved break from all that, even if this adventure is a sorry one. But enough talk about me and more about this story. This chapter continues from where we last left off, so go read the last chapter if you've forgotten what happened in it so you understand this chapter a bit better. There will be lots of yelling, regrets, some tears and a certain Mrs Patmore coming to the rescue. I hope you enjoy today's chapter and if I still may ask for them, reviews would be lovely and much appreciated. Anyways, enjoy!

"I can't believe you!"

Elsie stood before his desk in his pantry and Charles looked up at her from his chair, brows furrowed in confusion. He felt her eyes shooting daggers his way and heard the way she spit the words out of her mouth.

"Whatever's the matter?" He asked gently, unaware of the reason his wife was currently, all of a sudden, shouting at him.

Elsie closed her eyes for a moment, "What do you think? How come you've gone and told my secrets to his Lordship and her Ladyship?"

Charles simply stared at her, processing her words, "What?"

"What? Charlie—"

"How did you find out?"

She opened her mouth, unable to form any words. Really, that was his first thought on the matter, she thought, annoyed.

"If you must know, his Lordship is not very good at keeping secrets."

Charles grimaced.

"Well?"

"Well what, Elsie? What do you want me to say?" He sounded angry, didn't mean to and he regretted it right away.

"Charlie, you went against my wishes to talk to Lord and Lady Grantham after I had specifically told you not to do that! How could you?" her face was getting red as she kept on yelling, shouting the words into his face, "Why did you?"

"Because you keep working and pushing yourself way too hard, Elsie! You're not thinking clearly—"

"How dare you tell me I'm not thinking straight, Charles Carson? I know exactly what I'm doing—" Elsie shouted, her hands motioning in ways that, too, told him he was in big trouble.

"Well, it hasn't seemed like it lately! I'm worried sick, Elsie. You've not eaten properly, you barely sleep, how many times do I have to tell you to slow down until you finally do…"

She huffed, tears coming to her eyes but she refused to let any fall, "You have no idea what is going on in my head, Charlie. No idea! And instead of talking to me about it like a grown-up man, you go behind my back and shout my secrets from the rooftops as if you have no respect for me or what I want at all! And yet you've still the nerve to argue with me about it!"

When she was finished the room went quiet, she caught her breath and Charles just stared at her in disbelief, clearly regretful. Now, when she was able to gather her thoughts and properly even her quickened breathing, the tears fell. They felt hot on her cheeks, making marks on her soft skin with the pain and frustration they held.

"Oh Elsie—"

"Don't Elsie me now," her voice was harsh as she shook her head, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. He noticed.

Charles stood up from his desk and took a few steps towards his wife, who held up her hand to stop him from coming any closer. He stood a few steps away from her, hands resting awkwardly at his sides.

She continued on, "A part of me always knew it was a mistake to tell you about the lump. Only I managed to convince myself that you had the right to know…And if I'm honest, I didn't think I'd be able to go through it all again on my own."

"I only ever wanted to help, Elsie."

"Did you? Charlie, you broke my trust with what you've done. Can you imagine how it felt when His Lordship accidentally let it slip while I was attending to her Ladyship? I was so hurt! And even if I know they tried, they didn't manage to hide the pity in their eyes…Speaking to them made me feel like the sick woman I have fought so hard these past days to not become."

He opened his mouth to speak but she continued, her voice raising in volume again as her anger resurfaced again, "I will never get back the feeling of normalcy, Charlie, thanks to you! You didn't have the right, it was not your story to tell — I don't know what made you think this was the right route to take but I can tell you you've overstepped badly!"

Now he did look hurt and felt so too — Elsie hoped so, at least.

"I didn't mean to, I didn't think—"

"No, I suppose you didn't."

"But you must try to see it from my point of view, Elsie," he watched her roll her eyes but continued nevertheless, "Do you expect me to sit on the sidelines and watch you work yourself to your grave before the cancer has enough time to kill you?"

Charles could feel his blood boiling — both because of his own actions and the direction this conversation had taken — and barely registered his own words before they had already been heard by her. Elsie looked away from him, his words sinking in like an anchor to the depths of the ocean. Fast, hard…deep, leaving a mark. A new set of tears rolled down her cheeks.

She met his gaze again, fully crying this time, "You don't need to tell me I'm dying, Charlie. If you think it's not on my mind every second of the day, every one of the minutes I'm awake, haunting me as I try to sleep at night…Then you're wrong. I don't think of anything else."

"I—"

"Trust doesn't come easy, despite it being so easy to break. And I trusted you, Charlie…I love you, more than anyone else, and the fact that my trust barely matters to you…It hurts. I lost control over the very last thing there was to control because of you. I had my reasons for not wanting to tell anyone yet, did you not think about that? Do you really care about me so little?"

How can you ask that when there is nothing else in the world that matters to me more than you? Charles thought sadly. When he looked at her he could see the damage he had caused, how he had hurt her. Despite his heart already being broken for her before this conversation, their argument, he could feel it shatter into even smaller pieces inside his chest now. It was not right. He had been in the wrong, and he regretted it more than anything. She was right, as she so often was, he had broken her trust. How could one earn it back? His tears threatened to fall as he gazed at her, waiting and willing to receive another lashing if it would make her feel better. She didn't say anything and remained quiet, seemed to be thinking. Neither spoke for a moment, avoiding eye contact. They could hear the clock strike midnight in the servants' hall signaling the late hour despite the fact that neither felt tired right now.

"I'm going home," her eyes were red, her voice less than steady as she broke the silence.

"I'll—" he began, a peace offering, but she didn't let him utter another word.

"No. I don't think I can stand to look at you tonight, Charlie. I need time to think."

And he didn't argue. After all, he had earned that and a lot more. Despite that, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

—

Elsie left for the cottage, or so he thought, at least. It was late. He remained in his pantry and had moved to sit by the fire that still flickered in the fireplace from the embers. He was fidgeting with his wedding band, rolling it between his fingers. He wasn't crying now, but his eyes were filled with tears, his cheeks still a bit wet from the earlier droplets he had, against his will, shed when she left. The warmth from the fire made the wetness on his skin feel sticky, hot. It was the first time she had banished him from their marital bed. It was their first real fight. Of course, they had had a few misunderstandings during their marriage, though nothing that hadn't resolved itself by the time they would curl up in bed in each other's arms and get lulled to sleep by the other's calm heartbeat after nightfall.

He felt so stupid, so infuriatingly stupid. If he could take his words to Lord and Lady Grantham back, he would, with no hesitation. He couldn't bear the thought of her not trusting him. God, he would trust her with his life if it came to that. If only he had thought about it fully…He had no right to tell them, as she had said herself. How could he?

He was so lost in thought and didn't realize when Mrs Patmore entered the room, sticking her head inside first to see what state the room was in after the shouting and crying from earlier. She had been in the kitchen with Daisy, doing the last of the evening cleaning before heading to bed when the housekeeper had stormed through the hallway and burst into the butler's pantry. Not long later their raised voices sounded in the hallways, reaching both her and young Daisy's ears. A minute or two passed and when there seemed to be no end to the argument behind the wall, Mrs Patmore sent Daisy to bed and said she could finish the dishes in the morning when she got down. She had remained in the kitchen and had tried to listen to what the argument was about but could barely make out the words, simply voices so loud they breached through the door with their volume. She watched from afar as the housekeeper left the butler's pantry, face red and eyes misty, and headed down the corridor and then, with her coat and hat in hand, exited through the back door. Mrs Patmore stood in the kitchen motionless for a moment, listening, thinking…Five minutes of complete silence passed when she finally made her way to the butler's pantry. Now she took in Mr Carson's defeated form, his slumped shoulders, as he sat gazing at the fire. She stepped properly into the room and closed the door after her. It would grant them some privacy, though no one else remained downstairs at this point. Even Mrs Hughes had gone, to the cottage, she presumed…But still — the butler would appreciate it, no doubt.

"Mr Carson," she said into the quiet, drawing the butler's attention to her. His face looked much the same as his wife's — eyes misty and tired (she wasn't entirely sure whether he'd been crying or if he was on the verge of tears right now — perhaps a bit of both).

"Mrs Patmore," Charles said, slowly standing up to face the cook, "what can I do for you?"

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand but looked at him pointedly, waiting for an explanation.

"Mrs Patmore?"

He really could be clueless at times, Beryl thought.

"What is going on with you and your wife? And what have you done?" Beryl asked him firmly, her hands coming to rest on her hips. She wasn't blind, she knew of the butler's ways and that it was more than likely the case once again. She has said it before — he was too old to be trained as a husband.

Charles glared at her but she didn't falter. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it before any words left his mouth. He paced around the room and it annoyed her thoroughly.

"Don't think I don't know, because I do. The doors are not soundproof around here, Mr Carson."

Charles stopped for a second, his back turned to her. Did she already know what they were arguing about?

"What was the argument about, Mr Carson?"

Relief washed over him. Seems not, he thought. He turned around to face her but avoided eye contact.

"We did argue."

She huffed, exasperated, "Oh, I see."

"Do not torment me, Mrs Patmore. I am miserable enough as it is."

She gave him a look and he met it with one of his own.

"As miserable as your wife, yes?" she wondered.

He took a deep breath, a moment to calm his thoughts, "No. I shouldn't think so."

"Well then."

She would take Elsie's side, Charles thought to himself, of course, she would. And he didn't mind it, not really.

"Because I just saw the woman, clearly hurt, storm out of this house. Whatever you've done or said, I think you best apologize."

He sighed, "The thing, Mrs Patmore, is I doubt if she'll forgive me even if I do. And for your information, I've already tried."

"Not hard enough then. She's not unfair."

"No…She's not," the very thought seemed to brighten up his mood ever so slightly. His darling, sweet Elsie…

"Then there you have it."

They both fell quiet after she said this — Beryl waiting for him to speak, Charles lost in thought. When she realized he wasn't going to say anything, she prompted him with a question.

"Can you tell me what the fight was about?"

He immediately shook his head, "I can't and won't."

"Very well," Beryl sighed, "I won't force you."

Charles let out a shuddering breath. "Thank you," he said then, genuine, and continued, "I've made quite a mess of things."

She smiled at him kindly, knowing that it wouldn't help matters to act angry with him — of course, she was mad at him but tried to hide it to her best ability.

"I'm sure she's well used to it by now, Mr Carson. You mustn't worry too much. She'll want to talk to you soon, and will force you to apologize properly."

Charles nodded, his eyes now filling with tears against his will. It didn't go past the cook. She wasn't used to seeing the formidable butler crying and she found it upset her quite a bit.

"I've ruined everything…"

"Oh, Mr Carson. I'm sure it's not quite as bad as that."'

He was now fully sobbing, gasping for air to fill his lungs as he cried. It was embarrassing but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Beryl felt bad for him. He seemed heartbroken, something she had never linked with the man before. She stepped forward, put her hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. He looked down at her and was met with her reassuring smile.

"I very much doubt you've ruined anything," Beryl said gently, "Whatever it is, she'll come around. Doesn't she always?"

—

The housekeeper's spot at the breakfast table remained empty the next morning. An excuse about a flu was made by Mrs Patmore when questioned about the senior servant's absence. It was almost foolproof since the entire house had been tormented by it lately. The housekeeper was just as likely to catch it as anyone else, Beryl had thought to herself as she came down that morning, only to find the housekeeper nowhere to see. Now she was stirring a pot of porridge for the upstairs breakfast in the kitchen with Daisy cutting bread next to her when she spotted Mr Carson hovering awkwardly in the doorway. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned to address Daisy.

"I'll be right back, Daisy. Make sure the porridge doesn't burn while I'm gone," Beryl said whilst walking away from the stove and into the hallway.

"Alright, Mrs Patmore."

She could feel Daisy's eyes on her back but then she heard Andrew come into the kitchen to request baking soda and Daisy was forced to pull her attention away. Good, Beryl thought as she reached the butler and made her presence known to him, "Mr Carson, perhaps if you don't want to wear out the floor you should consider moving your hovering to your pantry."

She managed to get his attention and he glared at her, "Mrs Patmore."

She sighed as he made no move to speak or leave.

"What is it, Mr Carson? And don't try to pretend it is nothing, I can see right through you."

Not entirely, Charles thought.

"Because the fact that your wife is not at work currently and probably regretting various aspects of her marriage with you at home instead speaks volumes."

"Quieter, Mrs Patmore!", Charles hissed.

Daisy and Andrew both turned their heads towards the pair momentarily but then turned back to their conversation over a pot of porridge.

Beryl grimaced and lowered her voice, "Right, I'm sorry."

"The thing is, Mrs Patmore, I'm worried."

"I dare say it's quite justified."

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Patmore," Charles eyed her angrily.

"Have you tried talking to her?"

"I have not, not after our…ehm, conversation yesterday. She told me to stay away so I slept in my old room in the attic. And I've not seen her since."

When Beryl looked the butler in the eye, she saw his genuine worry surrounding this entire sorry business. She closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath in, and offered her help, "Would it make you feel better if I went and talked to her?"

The Carsons' cottage looked vacant when Beryl finally made her way there at luncheon, a cup of warm chicken soup and freshly baked bread with her for the housekeeper to eat and an umbrella to cover her from the light afternoon rain. When stepped under the small cover over the front door, she gently shook her umbrella to rid it of any excess water and then raised her hand to knock on the door. She stood there waiting for a while and was starting to worry when the housekeeper was not coming to the door — after she had knocked several times. When Beryl raised her hand for the fifth time and was about to knock again, the lock turned and the door was opened by the housekeeper, whose surprised face greeted her first.

"Mrs Patmore? Whatever's the matter?"

"Well hello to you too, Mrs Hughes," Beryl said mockingly, "May I come inside?"

"Well," Elsie stepped away from the door to let her friend enter the cottage.

"I've brought you lunch. Some soup, for your cold."

Elsie shut the door after her and turned to face her, "My cold?"

"Yes," the cook said with a sigh, "the reason you are not at the house today."

Elsie looked at her with confusion written all over her face. Beryl noticed this and began explaining the situation they were in, "The last time I checked, it is not your day off today…And yet you are not at work today because you and your husband are at odds."

Elsie rolled her eyes and made it to walk away but Beryl's extended hand stopped her in her tracks and she was forced to say something, "If you know that much, then I am sure you already know that my husband is an inconsiderate idiot."

"What I know is this: you come down from attending to her ladyship and proceed to shout and scream at the man as if you've found out he's committed a bloody crime. You storm out of the house and I find your husband on the brink of tears and blaming himself for ruining your marriage. And now I'm here trying to understand what is wrong between you two. So please, indulge me," when Beryl finished her rant, she was slightly out of breath and staring intently at the woman before her — who seemingly looked regretful.

"It's only right for him," Elsie said, looking away.

"Oh, stop it, please. You know it's not," Beryl scoffed.

"I do not-"

"You know it and I know it. One would think that after your good diagnosis, you wouldn't waste your time arguing, but enjoy this extra time you've been granted. Instead of doing that, you act as if something's seriously wrong. What happened?"

They both fell quiet as Beryl ended her tirade. She was adamant that the next words spoken would be Elsie's. And thus, she remained quiet as she waited for the housekeeper to speak. And eventually, she did.

"It's not that simple, Mrs Patmore," Elsie admitted, shaking her head.

"Then explain it to me. Please."

Elsie looked at her friend with regretful eyes. Perhaps it was time, she thought. Mrs Patmore would give her some of the strength she would need now that she feared she had lost her first and foremost supporter. Perhaps it would not be enough but it was something. And she knew Mrs Patmore had the right to know. It would only be right that she knows. At least that's what Elsie would keep telling herself after all is said and done.

"Perhaps I should start from the beginning."

"Please," Beryl urged her on.

Well then.

"I'm afraid I've not been entirely honest with you, Mrs Patmore."