And the journey continues. Happy new year :)


A Charlie That Came To Dinner


The sunlight shone through the window. Elsie busied herself by removing the sheets from the night before. Charlie had leaked in the night, so blood stained the white sheets—something Elsie assured was perfectly normal. She recalled such incidents in her life: waking in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning, greeted by Mother Nature's dreadful surprise. The only time it hadn't come... well, Charlie was born not too long after. Elsie was no longer regular. That was normal at her age. And most of the time she assumed she had already gone through the change, but occasionally—very rarely—Mother Nature would come again and her sheets or a night gown, or sometimes even a dress, would have to be scrubbed clean, or thrown out entirely. Women were always perfectly helpful and understanding in those situations; it was the men who shriveled away at even the mention of it, or they were completely oblivious to women's menstruations, much like Charles the day before. She smiled to herself just thinking about it.

The door to their room opened, and Charles entered with his hat pressed against his chest and his eyes glazed over as if he were miles away somewhere—Downton, perhaps; he seemed to be looking at her without really looking at her.

"You're back," she greeted, and his eyes finally seemed to see her.

"I am," he said as he tossed his hat onto the small table, and then he removed his coat and placed it on the chair beside it.

He said nothing more, so Elsie filled the silence. "We're having dinner on the farm tonight," she said in a soft voice. Charles only nodded. "Joe invited us—and I said yes, and offered to cook." Both Joe and Charlie laughed at her offer, which was what made her lose her balance and slip in the mud.

"Charlie told me," he said, his eyes wandering to the scrunched up sheets on the bed. He found the blood stain and instinctively looked away. "We, er, saw each other at the station..."

"You've met Robbie, then?" she said, and his eyebrows rose. "He's a nice lad."

"I'm sure he is," Charles said.

"If you ask me, I'd say Charlie rather fancies him," she said with a slight chuckle. "And he her—though he's a bit shy..."

He wasn't listening to her. Not fully. His mind still seemed preoccupied. They were both silent for a moment, and then suddenly he turned to her, concern springing to his face. His hands found her upper arms, his thumbs caressing her shoulders. "You... er, are you all right, Elsie? Charlie said you'd fallen earlier?"

"Oh, don't fret over me. I'm all right," she said. "My bum's a bit bruised but..." She stopped quickly, her face growing warm. She should not say such things, not even to him.

But he did not scold her. Instead, he let go of her arms and gently rested his hands firmly on her... She felt something flutter in her stomach as he placed soft kisses on her forehead. If he were to want anything more, though, she would politely decline him; their bed was unmade and it was still daylight outside.

"Elsie...?" he whispered. His hand moved up to her lower back as he bent to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

She hummed her response. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad; they could lock the door, so Charlie or anyone else couldn't barge in on them...

She leaned in to deepen the kiss and he pulled away from her slightly. "Elsie, my dear... I was, er, wondering if we—I mean..." His hands found her own and he squeezed them as he guided her down to sit on their unmade bed. "I feel like we've rushed into some things..."

"You do?" They did. Many things. And it all started thirteen years ago. He moved to touch her thigh.

"I wish we could have done it the proper way is all," he explained. "We couldn't even..." He sighed, looking away. "We saw each other the night and the morning before we married..."

"What?"

"It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, Elsie," he told her firmly, turning back to her.

She remembered how he avoided her gaze on the train ride to their nuptials. Elsie assumed it was because he was too angry to look at her, not it being his own way of attempting to uphold tradition. "I would also imagine having the child before the marriage is frowned upon as well."

"You needn't remind me more of my faults, Elsie," he grumbled.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, knowing it would only make him more upset. "They're my faults too, Charlie."

He huffed. "You should have told me, but I shouldn't have..." He shook his head and turned away again, letting go of her thigh. "I start Monday," he said after a moment. "I figure we can pack our things and we'll all go together this weekend." Like one big happy family.

"You didn't go to Downton, then?" Elsie asked him softly. Charlie that morning was convinced he had. And Elsie wasn't too upset over the thought that he might have; she always admired the special relationship he had with the Granthams, especially his blessed Lady Mary. It could be sweet at times. And her visit last night clearly upset him. Charlie said she asked him to go back to Downton with her, and he told her no.

He looked back at her, shock in his eyes. "No, I didn't go to Downton! Elsie, how could you think... I—I wouldn't do that to you or... or to Charlie." She touched his knee. And his hand fit perfectly on top of hers. "You, er, I mean, we should really discuss with Charlie—"

A fierce knock at the door stopped him from saying more. And as he turned to see who it was, Mrs. Lane entered their room. "Now, what are you two doing up here in the middle of the day?" she asked.

Charles quickly stood and mumbled something under his breath. Elsie stood too, feeling like a naughty school girl getting reprimanded by her mother—but her mother was dead and she hadn't done anything wrong. Nothing she could think of.

"Molly, quickly get downstairs and help Jerry in the kitchen," Mrs. Lane continued. "And Gene, put on your good suit. You want to look nice for the king, don't you?"

"The king, Mrs. Lane?" questioned Elsie after sharing a glance with Charles. She had very little faith that King George would ever visit this place.

"Yes, the king, dear," she said. "Hurry, now. There's no time to waste." And she quickly hurried away without another word, leaving the door wide open behind her. Crazy old bat.

Elsie followed Charles out of the room, into the hall and down the stairs where both the princess and the king sat stiffly on Mrs. Lane's old beige sofa. Suddenly Mrs. Lane and her antics made perfect sense. The blessed princess had returned, and she had brought her father, the king, along with her.

He stood when he caught sight of them coming down. "Carson... Mrs. H—Carson" Lord Grantham greeted, looking genuinely relieved to see them both.