I don't own Downton Abbey. It's okay. No one thinks I do.

This is a modern AU. Deal with it.

Elspeth's
by ScintillatingTart

I:

"Look, Ethel," Elsie said down her mobile as she juggled her bag, trying to get her key into the lock of the shop door, "this is the third time in the last fortnight that I've had to open the shop by myself. I schedule you early for a reason – the rabid caffeine hounds come in as soon as we've opened the doors. I can't handle the morning rush by myself."

"But Elsie… it's my son –"

"It always is," Elsie muttered as she finally got the door opened. "I'm sorry, Ethel, but we're getting to a point where it might be prudent for you to find other employment if you can't commit to three shifts a week. As is, I'll have to call Daisy and see if she can come in this morning – even though it's her day off."

"Elsie, I'm sorry – I didn't mean –"

Elsie chucked her messenger bag onto one of the couches as she shut the door and locked it behind her. "Right, fine – call me when you've gotten things settled with Charlie," she said. "I'll get things started over here and call Daisy. Don't worry your pretty head about it." The sarcasm was fairly dripping from her words. She hadn't even worn shop clothes because she was meant to be having a meeting with the accountant at ten, and god only knew where her nametag was in the mess that was her office. Truth was, their small staff of six was too small – hence the accountant. She needed to shift some things, streamline a few more, and then hire at least three new people.

The days of going it alone were long gone. Elspeth's was popular and gaining steam every day. Once they'd catered the coffee for a couple of big Hollywood movies shot nearby, business had increased even more. She literally had a panic attack every time she sat down to balance the books and pay the taxes on time; she had pills and everything to try and control it.

She turned on the machines, getting the drip coffee makers going first with the six blends on tap for the day, then the milk steamer, the espresso machine, and then she went around checking that all of the sauces were ready, the syrups relatively full so she wouldn't have to lug out the big pump jugs in the middle of the rush, and she opened the register. Not a moment too soon because Beryl was waiting on the other side of the door at 5:30 on the dot with a rolling cart filled to overflowing with baked goods for the morning.

"Hello, love," Beryl said with a cheerful smile. "You look knackered…"

"I closed last night because Thomas had a gig," Elsie said, helping her friend propel the cart into the shop over the edge of the rickety doorframe. "And now I'm opening because of something to do with Ethel's son. I've not even had enough time to prep for this bloody meeting with Joe Burns – god knows I want to full-time contract you out for the baked goods, and it's in the plan, but… I need people, too, and –"

"Els, love, take a deep breath," Beryl said sharply. "You aren't going to be of use to anybody the way you're carrying on lately. I'll call Daisy for you – she can come by a bit later and I'll have a nice eel pie ready for your lunch, okay?"

Elsie ran her hands over her face and inhaled deeply. "I'm beginning to wonder why I ever opened the bloody shop," she mumbled.

"Because you needed something to get you out of the house after your mum died," Beryl commented dryly. "What?" she added defensively. "You asked the stupid question, not me. I've been up since nine in the evening, by the way, so maybe a cup of coffee along with my paycheck might not go amiss."

"It's been ten years," Elsie said tiredly. "Ten years of non-stop penny-pinching to make sure everyone gets paid a fair wage. Ten years of not sleeping. Ten years of pretending to give a damn about everyone else's problems when they suddenly become yours. I need a day off, Beryl."

"You need to get laid," Beryl replied cheerfully as Elsie handed her a cup of coffee.

"Beryl!"

"I'm just being honest, here, Els… you need a big strapping lad to give you a what-for, and then you can pat him on the ass and send him on his way," Beryl said with a grin and a wink. "When was the last time you went out on a date?"

Elsie groaned and started filling the display cases with cakes, scones, and croissants. "Beryl, honestly," she sighed.

"Seriously, when was the last time you went out with someone for fun – not even sexytimes."

"I went with you and Graham to the Olympics opening ceremony –"

"That doesn't count – and that was like three years ago anyway!"

"I haven't had a day off since," Elsie countered in annoyance. "There aren't enough hours in the day, Beryl. You know that just as well as I do – but your bakeshop runs like clockwork and my coffeeshop runs like shit." She frowned and kept back a chocolate-filled croissant for herself. If she had to open, she damn well wanted to eat something beforehand.

Beryl gave her a withering glance. "You need to find someone – or a better vibrator," she commented. "You're far too tense. You haven't been this bloody tense since you were trying to finish your bloody dissertation at uni. And that was god awful, believe you me!"

"I know," Elsie grunted, taking a bite of her purloined treat. "I was kind of there, after all."

"Well, I best get off – Jimmy's not very good for much besides heavy lifting and unlocking the door. I don't know how the cash register completely eludes him, but it bloody does," Beryl sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, love." She glanced at the door and smirked. "Don't look now, but you've already got a line."

"I always do," Elsie said with a tired smile. "You run along – eel pie does sound lovely, Beryl. I'm sorry I'm being ungrateful… and give me just a minute. I owe you a check for this month's baking." She finished her breakfast in one undignified face-cramming mouthful and then went to grab her bag off the sofa as she chewed. The check wasn't in there, but she did need to tuck her bag away in the office before she opened the doors. When she came back from her office, she passed the envelope off to Beryl with a sad look. "I hope we can shuffle everything soon," she said softly.

"You worry too much," Beryl replied in the gently affectionate tone of a long-suffering best friend and roommate. "I am perfectly happy to take a paycheck like the other wankers you've got on the payroll. I know you're good for the goods money every month, Els. I'll see you at dinner – I think we'll have a curry tonight."

Elsie nodded and stifled a yawn. She glanced up at the clock and groaned. "And now I'll have the pissy wankers coming in for their fix," she muttered. "I'll see you later." She kissed Beryl on the cheek and sent her on her way. As soon as the doors were open, she got swamped and pulled up the sleeves of her cashmere sweater so she could get down to business.

She ended up having to cancel the meeting with Mr. Burns because Daisy had appointments she couldn't cancel to come to work. So Elsie was stuck by herself in the shop till Anna came in at two for the closing shift. Her feet were aching, her back was screaming when she had to refill the vanilla syrup and drag another huge bag of espresso from the storeroom to be ground. Lunch had been fifteen minutes of Beryl manning the register and making a few drinks while Elsie scarfed down her pie and went to the loo. Then she was back in action again.

The perks of operating one's own business were greatly diminished when one was the only person doing anything at all.

There was finally a lull around one o'clock, and Elsie fixed herself a cup of dark roasted Sumatra coffee with a drizzle of lavender syrup and a dash of milk. She sat there, sipping the hot drink and wishing she was anywhere but behind the counter. She almost groaned in protest when the door opened and yet another customer came through.

He came up to the counter and put down his gloves. "I'm sorry that you don't want to be here, but could you do me a favor and make a latte – no syrup – and add an extra shot of espresso, please?"

She lifted an eyebrow at the man. "Yes, sir, right away," Elsie said with an edge of sweetness in her tone that was anything but. "Having a rough day, are we?" she inquired in her best 'the customer is always right, you bloody sodding arsehole' voice.

"I don't see how it's any of your concern," he muttered. "If you must know, I've just come from a funeral. I need fortification to survive the dinner at the family's."

"I'm sorry," Elsie said contritely, hurrying up to steam the milk. She was very careful not to let the milk get overheated and poured it into a cup, making a gentle wave design as she added it to the coffee. "Here you go," she murmured, "on the house. No one should ever have to face a funeral without caffeine."

He blinked and looked down at the mug. "What is this?"

"That's the latte you asked for," she said, biting the inside of her cheek. Latte, no syrup, extra shot of espresso…

"A latte is meant to have more foam," he said, gesturing at the cup.

Something inside her snapped like a rubber band. "If you wanted a Starbucks latte, you should have gone to bloody Starbucks! In the real world, we call those cappuccinos – what you're looking at is a latte. So either shut up and drink it or get out."

"Is that how you talk to a customer?" he snapped. "You ought to be sacked –"

She scowled at him across the counter. He was a big bear of a man, but she was not about to back down – she would hold her ground. "That'll be the bloody day," Elsie snapped. "Now either you drink up or you forget I offered you the hand of friendship on a bad day. There is no in between, sir."

"I want to speak to your manager –"

"Okay then," she replied, going into the back and grabbing her complaint log. She came back and brandished her pen like a weapon in his face across the counter. "What's your name, then –"

"Charles Carson," he grunted. "And where on earth is your manager –"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "She's out."

"The pretty little blonde – Anna, yes…"

Elsie rolled her eyes. "I'll log your complaint, Mr. Carson, and give it to her when she comes in," she muttered.

"My only complaint is that you don't know how to make a proper cup of coffee –"

This time, she couldn't keep the belligerent tic of her jaw from occurring. "All right, then, we'll play it your way," Elsie snapped. Three minutes later, he had his precious cappuccino in hand. "That'll be seven pound fifty."

"Anna never charges me that much –"

"You don't piss her off," Elsie snapped.

The door opened and Anna came in. "Oh, hello, Mr. Carson – how are you today?" she asked cheerfully. "You're a little late, aren't you?"

He tossed money on the counter and scowled at Elsie. "You'd do well to give her the sack," he advised Anna sternly. "She'll never go far."

Anna stared at him blankly as he left, then back at Elsie. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing but me losing my temper," Elsie sighed. "I need to go cook the books, love – can you take over?"

"Let me get my apron on – where's yours, Elsie? Don't tell me you've lost your things again –"

"No, I wasn't anticipating having to work," Elsie sighed tiredly. "I was supposed to have a meeting with the accountant this morning. Clearly, that didn't happen."

"So you took it out on Mr. Carson?" Anna asked, wincing. "He's a nice man, Elsie – he tips very well."

"He tips you very well," Elsie commented dryly. "That's what you mean, isn't it?"

"He's good to Daisy, too," Anna murmured. "You had to have done something dreadful to set him off – did you see his face? It was so red it was purple." She tossed her apron on over her head and pinned her name tag to the front.

"I made him a latte instead of a cappuccino," Elsie muttered. "How was I meant to know?"

Anna snickered a little and said, "Well… he did live in America for a long time. He's used to Starbucks."

"Bloody Starbucks," Elsie mumbled, sniffing.