Author's note: My dearest readers, new acquaintances and everyone in between, I have returned from my long hiatus from the world of fanfiction — finally! It seems that that's how I work as a writer — I write passionately for a few months at a time and then go away to charge my batteries for an equally long time. But all of us do it our own way, I suppose! I've wanted to come back to this story many times over the gone spring but only now I have managed to find the time and motivation. I've had quite the beginning of the year and returning to this another world was a welcome change for sure. Therefore, I hope you enjoy this emotionally charged 14th chapter of "Till Death Do Us Part". I had originally planned more things to happen in this chapter, but I just felt like it was right to end it where I did, so the next chapter will be the second part of this chapter! I've poured almost every ounce of evil in me into this by making it one heck of an emotional roller coaster, but I've made sure to leave something for the next chapter because I have a lot planned for that as well! But now, without beating about the bush, I will let you get to reading because you've certainly waited long enough. You know the drill by now: please leave me a review to let me know your thoughts on the chapter! Thanks and I'll be back on another sunny day!

"Cancer?"

The word burned on her tongue, and Beryl felt almost panicked to get rid of it. Her gaze bore into her friend's who, biting her lip, nodded once — a nod barely noticeable if you weren't specifically looking for one.

"I'm so sorry, Elsie."

The woman in question gulped down her tears and forced a hurtful smile, "Me too, Mrs Patmore."

Looking like she, like the cook herself, was about to cry, Beryl extended her hand across the table. Elsie took it gladly and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I wish you would've told me earlier when you found out," Beryl said quietly.

"I thought it would be comforting to be able to enjoy you not knowing the truth for a while longer. I told myself if no one knew, things would stay the same. Rather silly, I know, and terribly unlike me."

Beryl offered a weak, comforting smile, "The world will keep on moving whether we want it or not."

Despite the irony, both remained quiet until after a moment Elsie finally spoke;

"I'm sorry I lied to you."

Beryl rushed to shake her head, "Hush now, you've had your own worries. And besides, you've told me now. So that's alright."

Elsie forced herself to smile then, "I promise you'll be the first one to know should something change from now on."

Beryl was thankful, she was. She knew Elsie would keep that promise, "And what about your Mr Carson?"

She would not let this go, not until she was told what the problem truly was.

Elsie frowned, "Don't you start too. I don't want to have to be fighting with you as well."

"What he did was wrong but you must try to understand that he only ever had your best interest at heart," Beryl said gently, trying to coax her to be more open about what had happened.

Elsie pulled her hand out of the other woman's grasp and looked away, batting her eyes a few times before turning back to face her friend.

Despite clearly upsetting her, Beryl pushed on, "From what you've told me, the only things on his mind seemed to be your needs and your happiness. Perhaps the way he went about it all could've been more thought out, yes. But it doesn't mean what he did wasn't for your best. He's a good man."

"If all you're going to do is take his side in all this, I don't know why you've bothered to come here at all, Mrs Patmore," Elsie said and stood up, stepping away from the table to calm herself. She didn't want to say something she would come to regret later.

A short silence followed after Elsie's outburst as they both quietened to think. The housekeeper was not quite herself, Beryl knew that, but she was being unreasonable even so. Beryl watched her closely before speaking up again, "You do know that if I didn't know you so well, I'd say you're being quite selfish, don't you?"

She was instantly met with piercing blue eyes, "I beg your pardon?"

Despite walking on extremely thin ice, Beryl was determined to say what she had in mind. She took a deep breath, wringing her hands on the table, and pushed on again, "Have you ever thought of how miserable that man is? He is heartbroken because you are sick and there is absolutely nothing he can do to make things better. You being sick is not something that affects only you."

"Do you not think I know that, Mrs Patmore?" Elsie's gaze never left Beryl's as she spoke — it bore into her and made the cook's stance waver ever so slightly.

Beryl watched as the other woman bit into her lip, trying to keep herself from lashing out, no doubt. The question of whether she was going to succeed was soon answered as Elsie spoke again, "Every time I look at him, I'm reminded of how much he must be hurting because of me. Because I am going to die. Do you know how much that alone hurts me, Mrs Patmore? If I were given the chance to take away all the pain this brings him, I wouldn't hesitate to do so for a moment. So don't you dare accuse me of selfishness when all I can think of is him," she paused to catch her breath, hoping she wouldn't be interrupted — to her surprise, Beryl remained quiet and let her continue — the cook simply did not know what to say to her in return.

"I'm scared of dying, it terrifies me. It does. Still, most of the time it's only the second thing that comes to mind when I lay in bed at night, unable to sleep because I cannot bear the thought that I am going to have to leave him. When I'm gone, who will sit next to him in church every Sunday or walk with him to work every single day? Who is he going to have a glass of wine with every night if I'm not there? Who will he read his favourite books to or sing songs to if his only listener is gone? I just- I am angry at him because I am furious at myself for falling ill, for the fact that he will have to see me die. It is all just so wrong! I am so angry at God and Dr Clarkson and everything and everyone else! This was not supposed to happen!" by the time she finished her tirade, she was yelling out her anger and her eyes once more filled with tears of frustration and heartbreak, "It's not supposed to be like this…"

Elsie brought a hand to cover her mouth and muffle her cries as she completely broke down in front of the teary-eyed cook. Beryl instinctively stepped closer and wrapped her arms around her friend. She did not know what to say but held tightly onto the shaking woman.

They're both hurting for each other, she conceded as she truly digested the words spoken. To know you would lose your person, your companion in life, to such a horrible disease would without a doubt cast a shadow over everything. It would and it did. Both the husband and wife were cocooned in their bubble, their feelings hidden from the other, when all they could do to help the other was let them in. For two strong characters, such as themselves, it would not be easy. Even if at the end of the day it would be what's best for them both.

She rocked her friend gently from side to side — like a mother her child who had just woken up crying from a nightmare — and waited for her cries to finally fall silent. Eventually, Elsie was the first to pull away. She wiped at her tear-stained face with her handkerchief and took a deep, shaky breath. Seeing her closest and dearest friend like this broke Beryl's heart but she brushed her feelings aside for the moment and instead helped Elsie sit back down in her chair.

"You think I've gone completely soft," it was all Elsie could think to say at the moment so it would have to do.

Beryl shook her head and reached for Elsie's hand resting on the table, "I do not. And I'm sorry for saying what I did," she paused to think for a moment, " Well, some parts of it anyway."

Elsie let out a restrained chuckle — while some parts of Beryl's accusations might have been a bit overboard, there was truth in them too. Beryl watched her in silence as they held onto the other's hand over the table before speaking, "Talk to him, please. If that's how you're feeling then he deserves to hear it. And you deserve to hear what he has to say. I beg you, don't waste your time arguing."

Elsie met her gaze and knew Beryl had meant what she had said. After a moment the housekeeper nodded her head. Then, smiling gratefully, she continued more steadily, "I sometimes wonder whether anything would come of this marriage if it wasn't for you."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd figure it out yourselves soon enough. I'm just happy to be able to speed things along a bit."

"Nonetheless, I am very lucky to have you as my friend. I don't say it as often as I probably should but I hope you know it."

The smile she received was all the answer she needed. Things would ultimately get worse but at least she would always have someone to hold her upright at all times necessary.

—

Charles was sitting at his desk with a wine ledger before him but the papers were only just a pretence should someone come in for whatever reason they had. Despite his 30 years in service and over 10 of those years as a butler, he felt unable to concentrate on a mundane task such as going over the books. His thoughts remained elsewhere, at a cottage not that far from him. It had been almost two hours since Mrs Patmore had left for their cottage and since that Charles had been a nervous wreck. He could only imagine what could be happening — would Elsie have told Mrs Patmore the whole story? Would Mrs Patmore come back alone or would she have persuaded Elsie to come with her? Charles doubted the latter but he wouldn't lose all his hope quite yet. He knew the cook to be quite strong-willed, but not nearly as much as his dear wife — who he so hoped would speak with him again.

A gentle rap at his door brought him out of his reverie and he immediately called out to the knocker, recognizing the pattern of knuckles against the worn-out wood. The cook, still dressed in her coat and hat, popped her head through the small gap of the open door.

"Mrs Patmore," his greeting was ever so formal, his nerves forcing him to shut himself off completely, "come in, please."

The cook did as she was told and quietly closed the door behind her, knowing that as soon as her presence was known to the whole of downstairs she'd have no chance to talk with the butler — not privately at least.

The butler looked at her with, expectant, perhaps even scared eyes and so, she began, "She promised to talk with you tonight if you so wish."

Charles let out a relieved sigh as he registered what the cook had said.

"Just don't make a mess of things, Mr Carson," Beryl continued pointedly, "You'll both need each other and it won't do either of you good to be at odds. Listen to what she has to say and try to figure out a way to apologize properly."

Charles swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and nodded shakily, "Thank you, Mrs Patmore. I don't know what I would have done if it wasn't for you."

Beryl sighed, "Funny enough, your wife said quite the same."

Despite his initial disappointment that only Beryl had returned and come knocking at his door, Charles was eternally grateful to her for managing to persuade Elsie to even speak to him. He had been given a second chance to make things right again and he would do his best to succeed. Just then, another line of thought crossed his mind and he turned his attention back to the cook who was looking up at him with a wistful face.

"Has she…?" he stared but left the question unfinished, suddenly unsure as to how to go on.

Beryl caught onto his question despite it not being even asked yet and nodded, "Told me everything? Yes. About…your argument, your visit to the doctor, her test results. That she's sick."

Charles only managed a small nod and then had to look away to hold back his tears. Beryl felt bad for him but she seemed to be at a dead end — for what could you say to someone whose wife is dying?

"I know nothing I say will change anything but I am so sorry that things have gone like this. No one deserves such a fate and least of all Mrs Hughes. If there's anything, anything at all, that I can do or help you with you only just need to ask. Whether it be holding her hand when you can't or taking on some of either of your duties, I will do what I can to help. It's not much but perhaps by doing it I can offer her some peace or comfort at least."

"I appreciate that, Mrs Patmore. And I'm sure Mrs Hughes does too," he forced a sad smile as he looked back at her.

Mrs Patmore met him with a weak smile of her own and turned to leave — the rest of the day wouldn't wait for anyone and with the housekeeper absent, things would no doubt be abnormally chaotic all around the house.

"And Mrs Patmore?"

She glanced back at him at his words.

"Please, keep this to yourself. I've already made the mistake of telling and almost ruined everything because of it."

Beryl thought of his words carefully before answering, "Don't worry, Mr Carson, her secret is safe with me. And perhaps it'll be for the best if we let her tell everyone at her own pace, no?"

"Perhaps you're right, Mrs Patmore."

She offered him a kind smile as she reached for the doorknob, "Good luck to you then, Mr Carson."

And then he was alone with his thoughts once more.

—

By the time Charles managed to leave home for the night, it was already well past ten at night and he was both physically and mentally drained after yet another long day. What with Elsie gone for the day, he had a lot of excess work to get through and many excuses to make on her behalf. The knowing looks from both Lord and Lady Grantham at breakfast, lunch and dinner did not help the situation at all. To his relief, no words were exchanged between employers and the employee. Only, Charles couldn't simply brush off the fact that whenever she thought he wasn't looking, Lady Grantham had her gaze fixed on him and her husband had to, on several occasions, pull her attention away so as not to give out the secret to anyone else. A remark about the solemn mood during dinner was made by the Dowager but she was told off by her son — much to the surprise of the man's butler and everyone else present. Charles knew their situation would affect the whole house once it came out, if it didn't already even when hidden. He had come to realize, too, that perhaps others' ignorance would have felt better than what he felt right now. That perhaps his wife had been right, as she so often was…Now he seemed to be surrounded by sorrow and at times it felt like he was drowning in it.

But now as the dim lights of their cottage came into view in the darkening night, Charles felt a sense of calmness despite everything. It was a beautiful summer night — not too hot but warm enough that he had decided against wearing his coat as he made the trek home. The light summer breeze played at the treetops and as the rest of the birds headed to rest for the night, the forest around him was lulled to a silence, with only the occasional 'hoo' of the local owl breaking the silence. As he finally reached the front door, he paused for a moment to catch his breath and sort through his thoughts. Then, with one steady movement of the hand, he reached for the handle and stepped in — towards what he guessed would be a rather tiring night.

The cottage was dimly lit as he looked around — Elsie always preferred it that way even though she had been adamant that they'd install electricity in the cottage when they first moved in after their wedding. She thought it made the cottage look more cozy and Charles had to agree. It was very comfortable. He hung his coat next to hers and placed his hat on the small side table in the hallway before making his way into the sitting room, his eyes and ears scanning the cottage for any sign of her. Thus, he was surprised to hear her voice behind him when he had not heard her at all.

"You're very late. I was beginning to worry whether you'd stood me up," she said without a hint of anger in her voice and Charles felt dumbstruck for a moment. Was she not angry anymore?

He turned around to properly face her before speaking, "I just had to finish up some paperwork after dinner. I was running behind."

She nodded her head absentmindedly and he took the moment to look at her properly. She was in her night dress and had on her dressing gown and slippers, most likely having just taken a bath because her hair was still down, a few droplets of water seeping down from the curls. Overall, she looked quite healthy, perfect really, and he started wondering whether Dr Clarkson had been wrong all along. Was it all just a bad dream and he was finally about to wake up? No, that would just be wistful hoping, he chided himself. But, oh, he so wished it was true.

"Can we talk?" he asked gently, trying his best not to cross her before they would even get started.

Their eyes met as she looked up at him.

"Please?" he pleaded again when she didn't answer.

"Alright," came her reply, "let's talk."

The couple settled in their sitting room, the husband occupying his armchair and the wife sitting a few steps to his left on the couch. For quite a long time there was nothing but silence as neither felt courageous enough to speak first. Normally, they could sit in silence for hours, just happy to spend time together, but tonight was different. This shared quiet was uncomfortable, melancholic, and they both wanted it to end.