I'm excited to be back with these two. Do I say that everytime? Probably, but it's still true! Chapter one has been sitting ready-ish for a while and I wondered if it was going to remain a one-shot. But here we are with another chapter and a third started, so perhaps there's a story here after all.
In case you were wondering, a pikelet (as featured in chapter one) is a bit like a flat crumpet. Personally, I've never seen them outside of Yorkshire though I've not visited every tearoom in England, but they are yummy with more butter than is sensible to consume in one sitting!
Elsie.
Elsie.
Elsie.
The sound of her name rolled around in her mind, over and over, as if it were new, as if it had never been heard before. It wasn't a very fancy common letters used a million times a day in their various forms. Two simple syllables that were familiar enough on their own. Yet, she imagined she hadn't heard them together for maybe two, three years. Certainly not since her last visit to see Becky who was the only one left now who knew her as anything other than Mrs Hughes, except now of course she wasn't.
She probably shouldn't be surprised at the oddity of being called by her girlhood name so frequently as she had in the last week. Not that it had been quite as frequent as all that given they were so often on duty, yet, however many times she repeated it - as if forcing herself into some kind of training so as to be accustomed to it once more - it still felt strange. But there was also joy and reassurance to be found whenever it graced his lips.
"You wanted to see me, Mrs Hughes?"
Caught off guard, she started, her head giving a little shake as she dismissed the daydream from her thoughts and focused on the woman in front of her, one she'd apparently summoned.
"Miss Baxter thought you wanted to know about the linens," Anna offered kindly, a knowing sort of smile on her lips, "I've made a reasonable start, but there's still quite a few to go through. I could take Lily with me if you need it done this evening."
"No, that's alright," Elsie replied, more brusquely than she meant, "Tomorrow will be fine."
They spoke for a few minutes but of what, Elsie could barely recall, finding herself alone once more.
The late afternoon sun was sitting low enough in the sky that her sitting room was almost in darkness save for the lamp that sat on her desk, and like her wish to see Anna, she barely remembered switching it on. But she must have, she mused, as she crossed to the small table and switched on another and then the taller one that stood in the corner. The result was a glow that offered comforting security when the rest of her felt so disconnected to the world around her. It was an odd feeling, but a happy one.
Elsie.
Elsie.
Elsie.
'Stop this!' she ordered herself. 'Stop this or else you'll come a cropper, Elsie Hughes! Mark my words.'
The recollection of her mother's most commonly used chastisement had the desired effect and suddenly she was the housekeeper once more; the recently engaged maiden slipping away as she crossed the floor once more and sat down at her desk. The pile of receipts in front of her was as untouched as when she'd retreated here an hour before and, picking up one from the top of the pile, she gave a sigh of resignation as she set to work.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed. The light outside had faded to black, that was for sure. She thought she'd heard Charles returning to his pantry to rest, just as he usually did before ringing the dressing bell. But it hadn't been rung yet so she fancied she might still be in time.
She stood and stretched, rolling her shoulders to alleviate the ache from sitting hunched over for too long, and hurried towards his door, a little surprised to find it closed. She knocked softly and waited. There was no response. She knocked again, a bit louder, and then again, but got no reply. Frowning, she reached for the handle and boldly turned it and pushed. The door, silent on its hinges, opened and revealed, to her eyes at least, the sweetest of sights. Charles Carson, a stalwart of the downstairs, a giant of a man that no one could fell, was sitting in his chair with long legs stretched out across the rug and crossed at the ankles; hands placed neatly in his lap and the only sound was that of his gentle snoring. Elsie could feel a sappy, self-indulgent smile forming on her lips but she didn't much care. His usual frown lines were smoothed away and he looked younger, less formidable. He looked like Charlie.
Elsie slipped into the room and closed the door quietly behind her and moved towards him. Kneeling down, she ran her hand over his arm, the thick fabric of his coat slightly rough against her fingers, the starched cuff of his shirt almost soft in comparison.
"Charlie," she said, her voice a notch about a whisper, "Charlie, wake up."
She gave his arm a little jostle and repeated his name causing him to stir, his head shifting where it was leant back against the chair's high back, but his eyes remained firmly shut. She tried again, more firmly but it didn't work. The butler was very much asleep.
Elsie didn't move as she contemplated what it was she could do next. She wasn't exactly used to waking anyone up, save for a young maid who hadn't yet understood that tiredness was an indulgence for the rich, and then a hard and repeated bang on the attic bedroom door usually did the trick. No, this predicament was quite different, mostly because she shouldn't be here at all. He stirred again, the incoherent murmurings of his dreams expelled from his lips. She watched them move, captivated back to a wondering she'd dismissed as presumptive several days before. It was to be expected, she reasoned, to think about it but it was a step, a huge step, bigger even than getting engaged. That could be dismissed as a practicality, but this? Her lips pressed against his? She flushed hot at the mere idea of it.
Suddenly, loud footsteps sharp against the flagstone passageway followed quickly by a sharp rap on the door had Elsie jumping to her feet, almost tripping over Charles' outstretched legs as she rushed to right herself. She hurried to the door just as another loud knock sounded and, taking a deep breath to calm her rapidly beating heart, glanced back. Mercifully, Charles was unmoved and so she eased the door open, just wide enough to take delivery of the tea tray that she knew would be the only reason to disturb Mr Carson at this hour.
If the sight of Mrs Hughes answering the butler's door was a shock then Daisy hid it well, offering only a rushed explanation as to why it was so late in being delivered.
"He usually calls for it," she said, "But Mrs Patmore fancied he'd forgotten."
Elsie smiled weakly. "That's quite alright. We, err, lost track of time planning next week's dinner party. Thank Mrs Patmore for me."
The young girl gave a nod of understanding and hurried away, whilst Elsie half turned, half reversed herself and the laden tray into the room, pushing the door shut with her foot, before easing it quietly onto the side table. She gave it a hard stare, glancing up at the clock and back again, tutting to herself that this absurd situation was at risk of getting out of control. It was too late for tea really, and besides, if he was this tired it was coffee Charles was going to need. Added to which there was still the matter of the unrung dressing bell. She looked over to the sleeping figure and decided enough was enough.
"Mr Carson," she called out, lifting the tray and slamming it back down as dramatically as she dared for fear the milk jug would spill over, "You forgot to order your tea so I've taken the liberty of bringing it to you."
This worked, to a point. Charles' eyes fluttered open, his brow immediately creasing as he struggled to make sense of who and where he was. Their eyes locked, time suspended as both decided which route to take, what to acknowledge and what to ignore. She spoke first.
"You must be thirsty. I'll pour, shall I?"
Charles made a noise that was probably one of agreement but in which no particular words were discernible. He pushed himself up to a more proper seated position, his hands flying up to smooth down his hair and then down again to pull at his waistcoat, so that by the time she was ready to hand him a steaming cup, he was almost presentable. Elsie took the seat opposite his, her own teacup resting lightly in her hand, and struggled to think of what exactly to say next.
Charles cleared his throat. "I apologise, Mrs Hughes. You should not have had to, um, witness me in such a state as that."
Elsie's eyes twinkled. "I've seen you in worse states, Mr Carson. You seemed quite at peace to me."
He gave a curt nod and took a sip of tea, and then another. She regarded his expression. She thought he'd have been embarrassed but it seemed not. He seemed strangely calm.
"You must have been tired," she offered, "To doze off in that chair. It's not the most comfortable."
"I've not been sleeping well," he explained, "And it seems to have gotten the better of me. I'm not as young as I was."
"Aye, well, none of us are," she sympathised, pausing before adding, "I'm sorry if I intruded. I didn't mean to..."
"No, no. You should have," he interrupted, "That is, I'm glad it was you, and not Thomas or one of the others."
Elsie gave a thin smile and returned to her drink, happy enough in the resulting silence, one that was only broken by the clink of their china. He avoided her gaze she noticed, his eyes looking in her general direction but in no way that indicated he wanted to converse. After a few minutes, she saw him check his watch before draining the final dregs of tea. He stood and proceeded to return both their cups to the tray, and then headed towards the small mirror on the wall to check his appearance and, clearly passing his own high standards, moved past her to the door. She followed behind but was forced to halt as he turned back and stood to face her head on, their bodies a few inches apart. He was certainly looking at her now.
"Elsie, I don't snore, do I?" he asked, nervously.
Elsie hid her surprise. "Not that I heard," she replied, with as casual a tone as she could muster. Charles breathed a sigh of relief as he turned back to the door, and did it so quickly that the door knob was mid-turn before she managed to add, "But you are a hard man to wake, but I suppose I'll have to work on that."