Hey look, I wrote stuff.

XV:

Illness hit Downton hard that winter. First, a round of influenza laid much of the village low. Secondly, diptheria raged through unchecked. Scarlet fever was fast on its heels, followed by measles, then German measles. Elsie managed to only catch the flu, and a mild case of it, but Charles caught both the flu and the German measles. The children managed to catch everything. Even little Mary had her share of disease over the course of winter, so it was no surprise to hear that Lord Grantham had developed pneumonia.

What did surprise was that, since he was rather a healthy man, he had succumbed to fluid in his chest cavity overnight. Charles was almost ready and able to go back to work, but the announcement from the Abbey made him fall back into bed and, inexplicably, give in to feeling 'not quite up to snuff' for another couple of days.

Elsie, caring and dutiful, ran herself ragged between Crawley House and the cottage, trying to hold everything together. It was no surprise, then, that she began to feel unwell again. She collapsed into bed next to Charles and mumbled, "The funeral is tomorrow, but I don't think either of us will be in any shape to go."

"Seems an odd business this winter illness," Charles sighed. "It's been one thing after another –"

"Cholera has broken out again in London," Elsie sighed. "And typhoid fever."

"You would think we would be past such things –"

"Our poor wee'uns have been so ill," she pointed out. "It's far worse for the children because they've no way to fight such things." She reached over and held his hand. "I feel rather unwell, to be honest."

"Howso?" Charles asked, his tone carefully modulated to hide his worry, though it crept in around the edges.

"I'm feeling a bit like I did when I first caught the flu – a bit sick to my stomach, very tired, a touch achy. Even tea's turning my tummy sour," she sighed. "I'd rather not give it to Cora – she's got enough to worry about now she's expecting again."

"That's… very soon, isn't it?"

"It's been six months," Elsie pointed out. "The doctor lets husbands back in after four weeks."

"Yes, well, it seems… soon."

She patted his arm soothingly. "You're just jealous," she teased.

"Why on earth would I be jealous and begrudge his Lordship his happiness?" Charles grumbled.

"Don't tell me you don't long for another little one," Elsie sighed softly, "because I would be lying if I didn't feel the same way."

"But it would be risking your life –"

"Some risks carry great reward," she murmured. "Now hush and let me nap before the room starts whirling again." She hummed softly as he pulled her close and tucked her up against him like a pillow, positioning her head right below his chin.

By dinner time, she was feeling much worse – less tired, but far more nauseated. She wasn't feverish, but Charles had to hold the washing bowl beneath her chin five or six times as night dragged on. When she was retching bile and specks of blood, he said, "I think… I should go fetch the doctor."

"He'll give me laudanum and quinine," she mumbled.

"Elsie," he began, but she cut him off.

"It will be a waste of money."

"It's my money to waste," Charles said firmly. "Let me fetch the doctor, if only for my peace of mind."

"Oh, fine," she huffed.

She was unsurprised to see Clarkson was who Charles towed home; the younger Scotsman seemed to be the one not so often called upon, since he was 'new' and everyone in the village distrusted 'new' and 'modern'. "Mrs. Carson, your husband says you feel unwell," Clarkson began, taking off his jacket, leaving him scandalously in shirtsleeves and waistcoat. He rolled up his sleeves and leaned over the bed.

"I'm aching all over like I've been lashed," Elsie sighed, "and I cannae keep down a morsel of food. The last time I vomited, there were bits of blood."

The doctor tsked, taking her pulse while looking at his pocket watch. "You aren't feverish and you don't seem to have the symptomology of the latest illnesses racing round the county. Are you, by chance, with child?"

Elsie paused to consider the question, then bit her lip. "We have been taking as many precautions as possible," she said, her cheeks flushing. "But no precaution is infallible."

"So there is a chance –"

"More than a chance," she admitted. "Until we both took ill, we were… very intimate."

"And that's been three months, give or take?"

"Something like."

"Now, I know from your history that you've been told that carrying another bairn could do you immeasurable harm, including death of yourself and the infant in question –"

"Which is why we've been careful," Elsie sighed.

The doctor examined her quickly and carefully, then exhaled. "You are definitely pregnant, Mrs. Carson – closer to four months if I might hazard a guess based on your size and the color of… well, never you mind that."

"Well," Elsie murmured, "this… is not such a glad tiding."

"My recommendation would be resignation of your duties to Lady Grantham and immediate bed rest," Clarkson said. "You should not be on your feet, and you definitely shouldnae be climbing staircases at the Abbey."

Elsie sighed. "Yes, I suppose you are right," she agreed, albeit grudgingly. "How we will manage, I don't know, but we will manage –"

"I have some throat drops that should soothe your esophagus, and prevent the bleeding when you vomit," Clarkson said. "And candied ginger will help with the nausea, but you already knew that, having had two children before now."

Elsie cleared her throat. "Can you… not tell my husband? I need to find a way to tell him myself – he will be rather upset, and I shouldn't like to put you in the middle, Doctor."

Clarkson sighed. "And if he asks me what is the matter?"

"Just tell him it's the flu again. Or something. Anything. Just dinnae tell him I'm increasin'."

Clarkson scowled at her. "You will be restricted to bed beginning now," he said firmly. "You may get out of bed to use the watercloset, but that is all. You cannot carry anything over five pounds – including your children. Is that understood?"

Elsie paused, then nodded meekly. "Yes," she said very softly. "I understand, doctor."

"Your life, as well as the life of your unborn bairn, will depend on it," he said firmly.

"I do understand," she said.

"I will visit every few days to check in." He donned his jacket again and said, "I know this is not the best news you could have had, but congratulations nonetheless."

As soon as the doctor had left, Charles was knocking hesitantly. "Love?"

Elsie's heart was in her throat. "Come in," she said softly. She felt sick, but differently from before: this time, she knew it to be nerves.

"Is it flu again?" he asked. "Need I run for –"

"It isn't the flu," she said, trying not to blush or betray herself in any other physical way. "Charlie… we need to talk. About things we might not want to talk about – like how we will manage for the next few months on one salary."

He blinked, stopped stock still. "Elsie?"

"Because I'm confined to bed for the foreseeable future." She took a deep breath, then exhaled in a rush, "I'm pregnant and the doctor thinks everything might just be well if I stop working and stay abed and not lift anything heavier than a fork or a book until the end of it."

He crossed to the bed, unceremoniously plopping onto it in what appeared to be shock. "We were so careful – how could –"

"We were careful," she agreed, "but nothing is foolproof, remember? And there was our anniversary and other times we just… didn't think. Because we'd had too much wine." She blushed to remember one such night, when they'd shared the remnants of the dinner wine at Robert and Cora's insistence – nigh unto a full bottle, practically. It had been a good night, full of laughter and sweet moments she treasured… and lovemaking that was burned onto her soul with its intensity. "But anyway, what is done is done, and now we must live with the consequences." She smiled a little, reaching over to touch his back. "Charlie… it will work out. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Elsie."

"I fully intend to follow Dr. Clarkson's orders," Elsie said firmly. "And I'm tougher than I look. I've done it before, haven't I?"

"You almost died."

She shrugged. "I'm more worried about leaving Cora to fend for herself. I suppose I can write my father for money if we need it – seeing as how I'm the heiress and haven't ever capitalized on my future gain." She sighed. "Charlie, look at me – please."

"I can't."

"Don't shut me out, Charlie."

"I'm so ashamed of myself right this moment –"

"Why on earth – what have you got to be ashamed of?"

"I've gotten you pregnant again and –"

"Charles Carson, there is no shame in that – we love one another. There is no shame at all in how much we love one another. This wee'un – all of our bairns – is here because we love one another so completely. There is no shame in this – we are married, and unless you plan on divorcing me and shaming us both, I will never cease to want you in my bed… in as many ways as god will allow. You are my husband and I am your wife: there is no shame in this, Charlie. None at all." Her hand stilled on his back, feeling him shake. "Oh, love… my darling man, dinnae cry."

"I can't lose you," he choked out, his voice raspy.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, meaning every word. "I'm not leaving you, Charlie. You know I'm far too stubborn for that." She rubbed his back comfortingly. "I'm going to stay in bed for a few months and at the end of it, we'll have a healthy lad or lass to show for it."

"No more babies after that," he promised. "I'll sleep elsewhere –"

"Like hell you will," she swore bitterly. "I'll not be a wife to you in name only, Charles. We are in this together, and together we will be till the very end."

"You can't know that…"

"Oh, I can and I do," she snapped. "Unless you do something stupid, I fully intend to die within moments of you – when we're both old and grey and bedridden old poops. I intend to lead a full life, Charlie – and so should you."

"I feel so guilty –"

"Oh, stop it. There isnae anythin' to feel guilty about. It takes two to make a bairn, obviously. It is not your fault, and neither is it mine. Now… do you want another wee lad? Or another wee lass?"

"I just want you to come through it all right," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "And for our baby to be healthy and strong. I don't care if it is a boy or a girl."

"You're such a good da," Elsie murmured, feeling him begin to relax beneath her hand. "You love our wee'uns so verra much."

"If I lost you, I wouldn't know where to begin," he whispered.

"You would get up in the morning and have a cup of tea and some breakfast, and then you'd feed our Meggie and Charlie, and dress them and send them off to school," she assured him. "But I'm not going anywhere, remember? I'm chained to this bed for the next few months."

He let out a hoarse bark of laughter. "I guess that's so…"

"Aye, tis," she agreed. "Now, will you look at me for a moment?" He turned slowly, and she smiled. "That's better! You know, I'm a bit excited now it's sunken in. We'll have three instead of two – and they'll all be the best of friends, our lads and lasses."

Charles smiled a little. "You're not upset?"

"I was a bit at first, but not any longer. I'm not about to be burdened by regret and sadness when there's so much life to live." Elsie smiled and leaned back onto her pile of pillows. "And so much love to be had."

Cora laid back against the pile of pillows on Charles's portion of the bed and sighed. "I miss you," she complained to Elsie. "Being a great lady of the county is so trying with no one to talk to."

"You replaced me," Elsie pointed out, her hands splayed over her large belly. "You can talk to your maid –"

"She's a terrible gossip," Cora sighed, idly rubbing her belly as well. "And everything has been so boring the last few months – we're in mourning, so no one is allowed any fun at all. Not even Mary. Do you know how depressing full mourning is?"

Elsie nodded and shifted slightly in the bed. Her back had been throbbing all day, and she'd been keeping track of the spiking pains, knowing that her time was probably coming sooner rather than later. "I do," she murmured. "Cora? How soon until your confinement?"

Cora at least had the sense to look slightly guilty. "I'm meant to be confined now – it officially started yesterday."

Elsie flinched. "Oh."

"I couldn't stand just being locked away in that room any longer," Cora sighed. "Goodness only knows how I'll manage the next month of it."

Elsie laughed. "I've been sat here the better part of five months," she pointed out. "I'm so sick of these four walls I might scream. And Margaret only lets the children come up for a couple of hours, so I'm alone most of the time. I hate it," she sighed. "I want to get out of bed and see the world again."

"Soon," Cora promised.

Elsie heard a small noise, then felt wetness course down her legs into her nightdress and the linens. "Oh… oh god. Cora? Soon might be sooner than you think," she said in a bit of a panic now that everything was beginning. "I… someone needs to get Dr. Clarkson."

Time floated by in a haze. Elsie knew pain and suffering and then, suddenly, blessed relief. She opened her eyes and looked around the hospital ward, wondering what the hell had happened – and why she was in so much pain. "Mrs. Carson, you're awake," a nurse said quickly. "Let me get the doctor."

Clarkson was in the room quick as you please, and he leaned in to check her pupils, then her pulse. "Mrs. Carson, how much do you remember?"

"I was with Lady Grantham, and my waters broke," Elsie croaked.

"That was a week ago," Clarkson said. "We had to perform a caesarian section and a total hysterectomy. Your daughters were small but fully-formed and healthy. You have been unconscious since the surgery, due to a minor infection and sedation so your body could begin to heal – are you in any pain?"

"Quite a lot," Elsie rasped, "but I'm made of stern stuff. I'll be fine."

"Nurse, please give Mrs. Carson a dose of morphine – there is no need for her to be in pain right now. She needs to heal."

"I'll be fine," Elise protested, waving him away weakly. "You said… my daughters? More than one?"

"You were carrying twins," Clarkson said, "which posed issues we'd not discussed. The bairns were very small, but they are healthy and your husband has hired a woman to help –"

"Oh," Elsie said dully.

"Seeing as how you're meant to stay in hospital and recover for the next eight weeks," Clarkson finished. "No arguments."

"I cannae pay for –"

"Your bill has been paid," Clarkson said. "In advance."

"I wish my father wouldn't interfere –"

"It was the Dowager Lady Grantham," Clarkson interjected. "Just so you don't lay the burden on someone else's feet." He eyed her and said, "Mr. Carson should be along soon to check on you; he's been a thorn in my side for days. And then we have to practically throw him out when visiting time is over."

"Silly man," Elsie sighed. "As if I weren't going to keep my promise."

"What promise?"

"I told him I'd not leave him," Elsie huffed. "I meant it. I dinnae intend to go first; he'll go before me and I'll be right behind him. Just as I always will." She picked at the blanket and sighed. "I'm not going to die for a long time yet."

"That's an excellent notion to hear," Charles said from the doorway, his voice a warm rumble of comfort. "I do admit to being quite afraid of the contrarywise the last few days…"

"I did promise," she reminded him. "It's just a wee spot of bother. I'll be right as rain soon." She patted the bed and murmured, "Now come and tell me about our family – what trouble have our Meggie and Charlie stirred up since I've been in hospital?"

"Not much," he said, coming to sit at her bedside. He took her hand between his and held tight. "But I've something to tell you, and it's… difficult."

She stared at him for a long moment. "Well, dinnae leave me hangin' ou' tae dry, Charlie."

He exhaled then, a low, harsh sound. "There was an accident. Mum tucked Meggie and Charlie into bed the night the twins were born, and she was going back down the stairs… Dr. Clarkson thinks she slipped. Regardless… she hit her head on the way down and was… gone… when I got there. Meggie hasn't spoken since, and Charlie just wants to know where you and Grammy are." He squeezed her hand tighter, his lips pressed together in a tight white line. "I don't know what we're going to do, Elsie. I buried her, but it's taken all of our savings to hire a nurse for the twins and to bury mum in the churchyard. I don't know how we're going to pay for your stay here –"

Elsie felt tears choking her, but she remained calm for his sake. "It will be all right," she whispered. "Everything will come right in the end."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have – not when you can't do anything at all to help –"

"I can listen," she said. "And I can make suggestions."

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Charlie, you shouldn't be apologizin' for summat whitain't your fault – how many times must I tell ye?" she sighed. "I'm so sorry about yer mam. I am; she was… such a wonderful person." The tears began to choke her again, and she looked away, trying to hide them from him. He didn't need her to be hysterical and upset, not now. He needed her to be strong, even in her weakened state.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered.

"You take every day as it comes," she murmured. "I'll be fine – you worry about our wee'uns. You make certain they're fed and cared for until I can come home. Just like we've always agreed. If ye need to, I'm sure Cora will let you take Meggie and Charlie to the Downton nursery – especially since they've brought on a junior nanny for the new baby. It will work itself right in the end; I promise."

"She loved you like her own," he said.

"I know," she murmured. "And she was just as much a mam as me own."

"They'll take the cottage back," he said. "It was only for her lifetime, and now it's over and –"

"Then you'll tender your resignation and we'll go to the farm," she declared firmly. "We have options, Charlie. Not many, but a few. It will be all right."

"I can't farm," he reminded her.

"Then you'll learn."

"I can't think straight – there's too much happening."

"Aye, I know," she whispered. "Have you slept?"

"Who has time to sleep? My head no sooner hits the pillow than the babies are crying."

"Come here," she whispered, indicating for him to lay his head down at her side. "Close your eyes and rest, love. I'm no' goin' anywhere… and you're not either." It only took a few minutes of gently massaging his head before he was sound asleep. She let him be, closing her eyes and drifting off as well.

Two months sped by before Elsie even knew what had happened. Her visitors were very few, being restricted by Dr. Clarkson in order to contain the risks of infection and to prevent her from reopening her surgical wounds. Her knowledge of what was occurring outside the walls of the hospital was gleaned from Charles and Mrs. Patmore, the new cook at the Abbey, who was constantly bringing letters from Lady Grantham and picnic baskets of food that served as fodder for the nurses on the ward. Mrs. Patmore was starched and looked down her nose at Elsie; a lady's maid gone to seed, how dare Her Ladyship maintain such a friendship.

Elsie, for what it was worth, took it in stride – the woman knew no better, and she wouldn't enlighten her. That part of her life was over now, and she would delight in being able to return home and caring for her wee family again.

She knew that the new baby at the Abbey was a little girl called Edith, and that she was giving the nursery a run for its money – she was kicking up with colic, apparently, and was screaming at all hours of the day and night, setting Mary off as well. For what it was worth, Charles reported that their twins were doing very well and only cried when they needed their nappies changed or when they were hungry. A small blessing, considering everything, but Elsie was glad to take it nonetheless.

With no small effort, Elsie managed to get dressed by herself – which was Dr. Clarkson's last hurdle that she must overcome in order to go home. The last two days had been a scene of frustration, determination, and much swearing and tantrum throwing as she had attempted to get her clothes and shoes on with no assistance. She stood unsteadily, waiting for Charles to arrive, already worn out from her efforts.

"What on earth are you doing out of bed?" he asked, eyes wide as he stepped into the room. "Elsie –"

"With Dr. Clarkson's blessing, I'm ready to go home," Elsie said softly. "Don't look at me like that, Charlie – it's been eight weeks and I'm mostly healed."

"You're certain you're ready?" he asked worriedly.

She nodded and smiled. "I've done everything I've been asked to do – including dress m'sel'," she said proudly. "I'm ready to go home and see my bairns."

Charles nodded slowly. "Elsie, I –"

Her smile faltered. "You don't want me to come home," she said very quietly.

"No, god, no – I just worry that you'll be overwhelmed and – I can't wait to have you home again, love. I really can't."

Clarkson breezed in and smiled. "I see you've gotten yourself ready to be discharged, Mrs. Carson – Mr. Carson, your wife has stubbornly done everything I've asked of her, and more. She is in excellent health, even if her muscle tone is diminished from bedrest. A few good weeks of caring for the children and doing housework will set that right in no time at all."

Elsie forced a smile. "Yes," she agreed quietly, refusing to look at Charles, knowing he had questions of his own – mainly about conjugal matters, which he had brought up a few days before, and she'd not had answers to. "Dr. Clarkson, will we be able to… eh, well… perform our… well, marital relations – can we or –" Her face was beet red and she was stammering, her words a staccato pitch, almost keening.

"What Elsie means is…" Charles was remarkably calm. "We enjoy one another's company in the married way, and I shouldn't like to be the cause of any more pain for her."

"Slow and gentle," Clarkson said. "No penetration for another month, but the French way is fine."

Elsie choked back her embarrassment and croaked, "Thank you. Doctor, I – oh, I can never look you in the eye again."

"Mrs. Carson, with as much love and affection your husband holds for you, I would have been very surprised had the question not been brought up," Clarkson said with a smile. "I am pleased that there is such a happy couple in the village – there are many others who are not."

Elsie blushed again, then nodded. "We are happy," she murmured. Charles took her arm in a gallant manner and patted her hand where it rested delicately on his forearm. "Aren't we, love?"

"I have never loved and will never love another human being as much as I love my wife," Charles rumbled. "And now, with your blessing, doctor, I would like to escort Mrs. Carson home."

"Go on," Clarkson said with a smile. "If you experience anything abnormal, Mrs. Carson, anything at all, please don't hesitate to come straight back to the hospital."

"Yes, doctor," Elsie agreed.

The walk back to the cottage was longer than she remembered, and they had to stop several times along the way so she could rest. Charles watched her with worry etched into his features, but she was determined and they eventually made their way home. She was breathless and exhausted when they reached the front gate, and it was all she could do to stay upright. "Charlie, I cannae," she panted. "My legs feel like rubber."

No sooner had the words left her lips than she was in his arms and he was carrying her inside. It was quiet in the little cottage – too quiet. Meggie and Charlie must still have been at the Abbey. An indignant squawking noise came from upstairs, followed by a woman's voice as she spoke to the upset baby. "Is that…?" Elsie murmured as Charles set her down on the chair by the fire.

"That would be our little Fiona," he said, helping her get situated. "Flora almost never protests when her nappy is changed."

Elsie smiled. "Can I meet them?" she asked softly. "I feel like I've already missed so much –"

"Of course!" he exclaimed. "Are you comfortable? I'll run up and tell Mrs. Lorne that you're home and ready to see our girls –"

It seemed like an eternity, but only a couple of minutes passed before Charles was back downstairs with a wee bundle in his arms. "Mrs. Lorne is cleaning our Flora up a bit, as she had a bit of a tummy upset," Charles said, "but this lovely lassie is our Fiona." He kissed the baby on the nose, then passed her over to Elsie.

The eyes that looked up at her were an intense shade of golden hazel, almost firey in its intensity, and a sprinkle of freckles dotted her nose and cheeks already. Her hair was so dark it was almost black, but when the firelight caught it, Elsie could see that it was really the darkest auburn imaginable. Her cheeks were chubby and she had Elsie's nose – thank heavens for small favors. Elsie smiled down at the bewildered baby and murmured, "Hello, my darling little girl. Aren't you so beautiful? Yes, aren't you lovely?"

The baby started to fuss, and Charles swooped in. Fiona immediately quieted, looking over his shoulder at her mother with all the distrust a baby could muster. "It'll take some getting used to for them," Charles said softly.

Mrs. Lorne, a plump nursemaid from the village who had actually nursed Charlie long ago, came down the stairs with Flora in her arms. "I'm ever so glad to see you so well, Mrs. Carson," she said with a warm smile. "And your daughters are wonderful little girls." She handed Flora over.

Flora looked almost exactly like her sister, aside from one of her eyes was that intense hazel color, and the other was blue, with a small dart in the pupil. Elsie held her daughter close, and the baby looked up at her expectantly. "Hello, lass," Elsie murmured. Flora squeaked, and Fiona paid closer attention, startled by her sister's noise. "Do you – do you know mammy's voice?" Elsie asked. The baby in her arms flailed her arms about and squeaked again. "Oh, love, you don't know how happy that makes me – mammy loves you and Fiona so much – so so much." Tears were streaming down Elsie's cheeks, tears of happiness.

"I'm going to go to the Abbey and get Meggie and Charlie," Charles said softly. "It's about dinnertime for our little lasses, so Mrs. Lorne will have to nurse them."

"Oh, aye," Elsie sighed with sudden sadness. "I'm sorry I cannae do it –"

"No, Mrs. Carson, it's all right," Mrs. Lorne said with a smile. "Your girls are no trouble at all – and Mr. Carson takes good care of Miss Meggie and Master Charlie. I've got a meat pie in the oven for teatime and some fresh bread for toast."

"Thank you," Elsie said softly, turning her attention back to Flora, who was burbling excitedly as only a baby could do. Fiona started to fuss, and Mrs. Lorne attempted to quiet her – to no avail. Elsie looked up and said, "Maybe bring her here?"

Mrs. Lorne brought the other baby over and gently maneuvered her into Elsie's other arm. "She's a stubborn one, Fiona is – always thinks she knows best, this one."

Elsie chuckled. "I don't know where she could possibly get that from," she murmured innocently, looking down at her youngest children. "Now, you two need to behave," she said in a gently firm tone. "Mammy can hold ye both, but she cannae play games yet – and she cannae feed ye."

Both babies were content to just stare up at her. Flora kept wrinkling her nose and making happy noises, where Fiona was much more reserved, concern etched into her features. Absolutely full marks for guessing which child took after her father. The door swung open and Charles said, "Shh, don't disturb your sisters."

Little Charlie ran over to Elsie and leaned on her knees. "Hullo, mam," he greeted with an enormous smile. "Hullo, Fwowa and Fiomona! You're wakey!"

"Yes, they're awake," Elsie agreed with a smile. "How are you, lad?"

"Tired," the little boy confessed breathlessly. "We pwayed and pwayed and pwayed aww day!"

"That sounds lovely," Elsie murmured. "Where's Meggie, love?"

"Da had'ta cawwy hew – she owwied her knee, mam," Charlie said gravely.

"Oh no, did she fall down?" Elsie sighed, looking up as Charlie brought Meggie into the room. The little girl's stockings were torn and blood marred her right knee. Meggie was chewing nervously on her thumb, watching Elsie with wide eyes. "Hello, love," Elsie murmured. Meggie made a noise and kicked her feet for Charles to let her down. She immediately rushed over and buried her face in Elsie's arm, shaking from sobs as she clung to her mam.

"She's missed you very much," Charles said.

"And I've missed my little lass," Elsie cooed, unable even to return Meggie's emotional welcome due to the presence of Fiona and Flora in her arms. "Charlie, will you take the babies? I know two very good children who need cuddles right this moment – because their mammy has missed them so much."

Charles took the babies and smiled as Charlie and Meggie immediately scrambled into their mother's arms and refused to let go. "I don't think I've ever been so happy," he said softly. "Except the day you accepted my proposal."

"Not our wedding?" she teased softly.

He shook his head. "That was not a good day," he reminded her. "But this… this is a wonderful day."

Life settled into a semi-predictable pattern while Elsie was recovering and regaining her strength. Every morning, Charles would get up at four, ready himself, then wake Charlie and Meggie at five on the nose. He would get them ready for the day, feed them buttered toast and jam with milky tea for breakfast, then they would walk the half mile to the Abbey. Elsie would wake up naturally at six – if they hadn't already woken her – and she would help Mrs. Lorne with the babies, and start baking bread and making luncheon and tea at appropriate hours. Since they weren't entertaining at the Abbey due to Cora's recovery from her latest pregnancy, Charles brought the children home at a respectable four o'clock for a brief tea before he went back to work. He usually got home about ten and had a quick bath and a small glass of wine before retiring to bed with Elsie.

It was a quiet, ordered existence, and Elsie was glad of it.

Until the day the cable came, saying that her father had died.

And everything changed forever.