With FF being down for a few days, I wasn't sure if chapter six had come through for everyone. If you haven't read a little exploration of what Mrs Patmore really thinks about her friend's impending nuptials then perhaps jump back a step. Otherwise, thank you for your continued support and interest in this little Chelsie tale. I'm enjoying exploring the slow burn towards their wedding day and so grateful to everyone who's coming along for the ride.
Elsie buttoned her coat, picked up the basket that had been left on the side for her, and stepped out in the courtyard. Seeing Charles waiting for her, his broad frame silhouetted against the mist that seemed determined to linger, brought a small smile to her lips, which turned quickly to a frown as she saw exactly where he was. This side of the building - their side - was purely functional. Its design was not beautiful but practical; a jumbled up mixture of garages and doors behind which could be found the coal shed, a steep set of steps down to the boiler, and various storage spaces which were mostly filled with old bits of machinery that had not yet been taken for scrap. In contrast to the rest of the house's exterior, it was a drab and dreary place in which to conduct one's business. However, its one advantage was that if you stood in a specific spot, the corner where necessity ended and beauty resumed, you could take in a view over the parkland, unseen by the family and anyone else going about their usual routine. To those that chose to partake in the act, it was a tonic to the soul regardless of the weather. It seemed to soothe restless minds somehow, as well as worried hearts. And, as she crossed towards the solitary figure, Elsie wondered which of those her betrothed was currently experiencing.
She approached him with her usual bustle, not wishing to scare him but wanting to give him time to adjust to her presence. Her hand couldn't help but reach out to brush lightly across his back though, a gesture that caused him to turn sharply and look at her with that deep stare of his. She could barely recall that she used to find it both intimidating and rousing, his scrutiny both a reason a cower and to fight. Now when she met his gaze, she only saw the heady mix of love and of fire. It would have been quite startling if she hadn't already decided to embrace it full on.
They shared a polite greeting and spun on their heels to commence their walk towards Home Farm. Elsie knew she'd revealed a bit too much of herself when she'd accepted with pleasure his offer to accompany her. It wasn't just because they were engaged that he'd offered, after all he'd done so before when he'd fancied a bit of fresh air and the illusion of him acting as a kind of chaperone was a convenient excuse. But she'd picked up enough from his since that he wished them to have the opportunity to talk and to do so without risk of being overheard, and his stance just moments before appeared to confirm it.
As they rounded the Abbey and crossed over the wide gravel driveway, she pondered how to tackle the subject. Directly, she decided. There was little to be gained by beating about the bush.
"You're deep in thought, Mr Carson," she breezed, shifting her basket from one arm to the other.
"I'm Mr Carson again, am I?" he
"Only when I'm expecting you to be difficult and I need to employ all my skills as the housekeeper to keep you in check," she replied, her tone teasing enough that he realised her jest.
It was a gamble of an approach, she thought, as she waited for him to reply. He didn't often do too well when having his more difficult tendencies pointed out but sometimes it was the only way.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be. But I do want us to hurry things along a bit, to set a date. I had thought you wanted that too after we, well, cleared up our misunderstanding."
Elsie nodded her agreement that it was time, countering with her own question as to when he was thinking and the. Listened attentively as he proposed a date in late spring, followed by his reasoning. They'd made it as far as the top of the drive before the question of where was voiced.
"Decorate the servants' hall'? I'm not sure how enticing that sounds."
"It was meant kindly," Charles replied, his tone defensive.
"I daresay," she agreed, easily
And she meant it, but really? Why did he think that was where she wanted to spend her most special of days. She'd spent more time than she cared to think about in that hall, and it was serviceable enough. They weren't cramped up as they perhaps had once been. There was some natural light which wasn't the same as some other places she'd worked, and could even be quite jolly on occasion. But for a wedding breakfast?! She thought not.
"What should I tell His Lordship?" Charles asked.
"Tell him thank you, but no."
A silence fell between them as they continued along the path, the arched entrance to the formal gardens just ahead. He stepped back to let her go first, an everyday gentlemanly move that gave her cause to smile a little and, as he became level with her, she boldly slipped her hand into his. He baulked at her touch, and whether it was from simple surprise or disapproval she didn't much care and so clung on determinedly. But whatever it was passed quickly and a moment later she felt him squeeze back.
They took the direct route through the gardens, exiting through a narrow wrought iron gate onto the tree-lined lane which they followed for a few minutes before turning again onto the footpath through the woods that would bring them out into the yard of Home Farm. As they picked their way, the ground soft underfoot thanks to the dense leaf litter left from the previous autumn, Elsie could see why the younger, less robust maids refused to walk this way. The fog sat more heavily here than it had at the top of the hill, the trees dripping with moisture with branches that were dark and foreboding as they emerged from the dank air. Where the sunlight fought in vain to break through it gave the whole place an eerie feeling of foreboding.
The twist of the path around a particularly large oak forced the couple to drop their hold of one another, Elsie again going first as she lifted her skirts to stop them trailing in a particularly deep patch of mud.
"If this gets much worse, we'll not be fit to be seen," she remarked, half hopping over a puddle. "Perhaps we should have stuck to the road."
She heard his reply but it was muffled, a result of him being behind her, she supposed. She continued on, around another large tree whose roots crossed the path and then another.
"We're nearly there now," she commented, "Which is just as well as I'm gasping for a cup of tea."
Given she didn't particularly expect a reply to this less than earth shattering observation, the silence seemed inevitable, the sharp yelp followed by a soft thud was not. Her heart seemed to stop as she turned and hurried back, fearing the worst. The soggy ground didn't slow her as it had a few short minutes before, though time did and it felt an age until Charles came into sight.
"Charlie!" she exclaimed, the basket falling from her grasp as she rushed forward.
Splayed face down on the ground, his foot wedged under a tree root, he groaned loudly. "I'm fine."
Elsie clucked her disagreement as she reached him and crouched down, brushing back his hair where it had fallen across his forehead, determined to see for herself whether he was hurt. His face was red with either shock or embarrassment, possibly both, but apart from the splash of mud across his cheek he appeared unscathed. She rapidly cast her eyes downward, confirming to herself that no bones looked to be out of place, and no blood appeared to be pouring from any wound.
"I'm fine," he said again, moving to try and right himself.
"Are you sure you should move? she asked, worriedly.
"Well, I'm not staying down here in the mud whilst you run for help, if that's what you're thinking."
She watched as he levered himself up onto his knees, and then held his arm to help him stand, his weight heavy against her for a moment before he was upright once more. She began brushing down his coat which was now a mess of dirt and leaves.
"Leave it," he growled, "It doesn't matter."
But she didn't listen and continued in her efforts, pulling a twig out from where it had lodged itself in his breast pocket. He repeated his instruction but still she carried on. It was all she could think of to do to help, all she had to show she cared.
"Stop, Elsie," he said, grasping her hands to still them, his voice more of a soft whisper as he added, "Stop."
She looked at him, her eyes scrutinising his for any pain, for any sign that anything other than his pride was hurt. But all she saw was Charles Carson, grubbier but no less stoic.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
He nodded and squeezed her hands tight. "I tripped," he said, needlessly.
"Aye, I can see that."
They stood there together, wordless, neither wanting to relinquish their hold of each other, both unsure what to do next but eventually they were forced to. The damp air caused them both to shiver a little, the cold beginning to sleep into their clothing now they'd stopped moving. Charles let go first and bent down to retrieve her basket, the contents surprisingly undisturbed. She took it from him and gave him a look of grateful thanks.
"We could go back," she suggested tentatively. "If we hurried, you'd have plenty of time to clean up before lunch."
He pondered the question but gave a shake of his head as he expressed his desire to continue on, certain that he could clean the worst of it off at Home Farm. As they made to move off, she encouraged him to go ahead of her, still needing to be convinced that he hadn't done himself any serious damage. She eyed him as he walked, looking for any sign of stiffness or weakness. But he seemed as he ever was, confident in his stride with shoulders held high.
They continued on until, at last, they reached the boundary fence and were separated from their destination by only a stile. He went first, as she knew he would, and once safely over the other side turned back to offer her his assistance. She passed him the basket which he duly took, and with her skirts gathered up in her hand stepped up onto the stile, holding onto the post as she swung first her left then her right leg over the fence. But as she went to jump down, girlishly, as if she hadn't an ageing bone in her body, she felt his hands at her waist. It caused her to start, her eyes darting down to confirm what she felt was truly real. He was so close and his hold was so intimate. It took her breath away.
"You won't tell anyone, will you?" he asked, his eyes pleading as they bore into hers. "I couldn't stand anyone knowing I fell."
Elsie gave a quiet smile and letting go of the post allowed her fingers to gently stroke his cheek.
"Of course not, you silly man. Why would I do that?"
He shrugged, unaware that his hold was tightening. But she didn't dare say anything. She was enjoying it too much. Instead, she bent down to press her lips to his, noticing how dry and chapped they felt, as if impervious to the swirling air around them, and she felt as he kissed her back. It wasn't dramatic or sensational, but honest in its simplicity.
At last, she pulled back, her thoughts a heady mix as she saw his own lips tug upwards into a knowing smile just as he lifted her easily and let her slide along the length of his body until her feet touched the ground.
"You know, Mr Carson," she murmured, "They'll think the worst of us turning up like this. Me hot and bothered from all this attention and you covered in mud."
"Then let them think it," he replied darkly, "Better that than the truth."
"Which is?" she asked, cocking her head.
"That I'm too old and infirm to keep my footing."
"Tsk," she admonished lightly, her hand once more at his cheek, "In this moment you are anything but that."
"Shall we set the date then?" he asked, "I know the question of where is still being resolved but I'm eager to be your husband, and to have you as my wife."
"I can feel that," she replied, cheekily, enjoying as he squirmed a little. "But yes, I think we should. We've aged quite enough keeping each other waiting."
And with that, they broke apart, falling in step alongside one another as they completed the final part of their journey. It was not, she thought as they entered the farmyard and narrowly avoided the flock of hens pecking at the ground, the morning walk she'd imagined it was going to be. But then again, she chuckled to herself, that quite often proved to be the case where her Charlie was concerned. And she sighed, a long, happy sigh.