Hello, Friends! Sorry that I sometimes get drunk and wander off. It happens. And it happened here, big time. I had some major private interludes, but that's neither here nor there. I'm going to pick up the story and hope to keep it consistent. It's an old one and this chapter picks up from where we left off, so I suggest going back to read a bit before you continue.

IF YOU'RE NEW HERE - This is an old story, so go back to chapter 1. No, no, that's an order. I love you too, and I think you'll get back here shortly.

EVERYONE - Sadly, the series has ended. So, I'm picking up this story where I left off and we're not necessarily going to finish in the same direction. Keep an open mind. I make no promises.

I love all of you. Your comments and messages have warmed the darkest, drunkest, snarkiest, and bitchiest cockles of my heart. I mean that. Let's get our fucking chelsie on.

Approximately six months later, 1923

Charles looked down into the empty bottom of his pint glass and sighed. The sounds of the busy streets of London trickled in through the pub door as customers came and went. He met the barkeep's glance and nodded his chin, pushing his empty pint away as the man began to pour him another one. He figured one more wouldn't hurt.

Elsie sorted linens slowly. Whoever ran this house before her had done a very poor job. One in every three or four was frayed or had moth holes. She set the tattered ones aside. She would have to show them to the lady of the house and she could already hear her shrill voice shrieking in her ears.

"No," she told herself, "she wants to keep the costs reasonable and that's well within her choice." Elsie tried not to think about how she despised the woman. It only made it worse to think about it. She had been there three months and she internally implored herself to be patient. But she'd already bit her tongue to bleeding at least one time.

Pausing, she rubbed her hands and reached down to rub her calf. Recently, she felt old. Old and tired. She wasn't sick - or, at least she wasn't as of her last visit with Dr. Clarkson two months ago. That was a relief. He had been kind enough to see her free of charge. She doubted she could afford to see him again and she didn't feel right accepting his charity. He'd given her a smile that was meant to be kind, but looked like pity, and promised he would see her whenever she wanted. He didn't mean to, but it immediately made her fearful. She'd smiled back. She often thought of the time she'd gone to see Charles Grigg in the poor house and it terrified her.

Thomas brought the men another round of brandy. The room was thick with cigar smoke and Lord Grantham seemed happy, but also obviously drunk. As he bent over to present the drinks, Thomas considered whether bringing him a cup of coffee would be appreciated or seen as insulting. He decided against it.

Rounding the corner into the small servant's hall, Thomas eyed the maids chatting over their sewing. These women worked only in the London house and some of them were only hired part-time when the season was on. He was not very familiar with most of them and he didn't like having unknown faces around.

Thomas glanced toward Carson's office, but it was still dark. He was surprised the old man wasn't back yet. Lord Grantham was only entertaining two old friends tonight, but Carson had informed him less than an hour before dinner that he was taking the night off to visit a friend.

Pausing to glare back at the raised eyebrows John shot at him from behind his newspaper, Thomas thought for a moment and shut out the guilty feelings he so despised. It had been a tumultuous couple of months, but it wasn't his fault. He didn't tell the old man to get frisky with Mrs. Hughes! And in a guest room, no less! He knew all the other servants were upset with him for reporting it, but he very well had his own reputation to consider, didn't he? What would Lord Grantham have thought if he found out that kind of thing was going on under his roof and he knew but said nothing? What would Lady Grantham have thought? She would have been furious with him. He would have been fired on the spot. They damn well wanted to fire him for less and he wasn't going to let that happen.

Before Charles even realized, his second pint was empty and the barkeep was sliding another one toward him. He hesitated for a moment and then nodded his acceptance, ignoring the man's inquisitive eyebrow.

His thoughts spun before him. He heard the conversation echoing in his mind day and night, but after two pints he allowed himself to fully replay it. He'd been called to the library. Very ordinary. When he got there, Lord Grantham was there with Cora. Before he could ask what was required of him, Mrs. Hughes entered, looking confused. Thomas lurked in the far side of the room, pretending to straighten something, but Lord Grantham was not so easily fooled and politely asked him to give them his leave.

That was the first sign anything was amiss. After Thomas left and closed the door behind himself, Lord Grantham looked frustratingly at his feet and Cora looked at Carson and sighed. He knew the Lord and Lady better than they knew themselves, and he recognized the disappointment instantly. Adrenaline surged up his spine, but he kept his composure. He was too terrified to look at Elsie.

Lord Grantham frowned and him and started. He wasn't looking at Elsie.

"We've... had some reports."

Terror gripped Carson. He was frozen on the spot. He felt his face flush and he desperately wished he could stop it. Robert paused, waiting for a reaction.

He knew his silence hung heavy and spoke volumes. Robert raised a surprised eyebrow and continued.

"Some of the staff, it seems..." Robert paused again, clearly waiting for him to interrupt. Heart hammering in his ears, Carson stood stock still.

"...have observed you... you two... behaving rather... intimately."

Charles was sure his face resembled a tomato. His mind was spinning and a spasm shot through his back, but he did not move. Then Cora spoke.

"We're very disappointed." She sounded sad, and she turned her eyes to Elsie. "But you must understand that we can't allow this sort of behavior. And in a guest room?" The reproach was clear and Elsie flinched. It was deserved. Like Charles, Elsie's silence spoke volumes.

A few moments passed. "Do you have anything to say?" Cora asked somewhat harshly, obviously speaking to the housekeeper.

"I do not, my lady." Elsie replied, her eyes looking straight ahead without meeting either of theirs, awaiting her reprimand. She could feel Charles to her side, staring at her through this embarrassment.

"In that case, you are dismissed." Cora's voice was harder, suddenly. Lord Grantham was looking at the back of his wife's head and pointedly ignoring Carson's pleading eyes. "You must understand that you've put me in a terrible position," Cora continued, "and I'm sorry that it's come to this. I truly am."

The American in her was holding court now. Everyone else was speechless. After an awkward pause, Cora continued. "You shall have until the end of the month."

Charles finished his pint, dropped a few coins on the bar, and stood up. His shoulders were heavy and he knew he should get back to the house. He nodded politely at the barkeep, and put his hat on as he stepped outside.