Beryl and Elsie shared Mrs. Royston's spare room that night. Elsie could barely sleep, worrying about Charles and listening to Beryl saw logs all night.

The few hours of sleep she managed to achieve were deep and blissful. She dreamt she was sitting on a bench in a sunlit field. The children were playing a game of tag and Charles was leaning against her legs as he had tonight. His head rested on her knee.

"Papa!" The child that ran up to him looked a lot like Lady Mary, but it was not Lady Mary. It was Their Mary. She had Charles' deep, dark eyes and Elsie's smile.

"Mama!" A dark-haired moppet called out. Their Sybil bounced towards the bench.

Their Edith was 'it'. She laughed as she chased her sisters around the bench. Charles rose from his place on the grass in front of the bench and joined the chase. It was then that Elsie felt something else in her lap. She looked down at Their son, sleeping with a serious look on his face, just like his Papa.

"Blessed Saints and all their Blessed Mothers!" Elsie woke up to Beryl's hissed curse. "What was in that wine?" The cook asked, clutching one side of her head.

"I think the more pertinent question is, how much of that wine did you drink." Elsie chastised her.

"I don't need a bleeding lecture."

"No, you need this." She forced the glass of freshly mixed headache powder into Beryl's hand. "Now, shut up and drink it. And kindly keep your cursing to a minimum." Elsie did not feel very inclined to be generous to Mrs. Patmore today.

"You woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, didn't you?"

"I didn't have much choice. There was an inebriated cook taking up most of the bed." Elsie snapped.

"I'll tell you, I don't take kindly to you barking at me. My head's already throbbing as it is."

"You should have considered the consequences last night."

"Is Charlie going to get the same lecture or is this just for my benefit?"

"Charlie? I don't know any Charlie." Elsie huffed. She did not like this sign of intimacy between the cook and butler.

"Oh, you know him; big guy, big nose, looks down it a lot." Mrs. Patmore looked more closely at Mrs. Hughes. "Blimey, what's got you all in a knot this morning? You can't be hung over."

"Certainly not. One of us had to remain alert enough to keep the others from embarrassing the Crawley family."

"You don't give a twig about sparing the Crawley family a little embarrassment." Beryl accused.

"That's not true." Elsie protested.

Beryl shrugged, "I shall expect you to give the same sermon to Mr. Carson when we collect him."

"Oh, I'll give him a sermon alright, but you are first. The two of you were disgraceful. The way you drank and carried on…"

"Carried on? What's that supposed to mean? Do I look like someone who 'carries on'?"

Elsie looked away hurriedly, but Beryl had already seen the look of jealousy on the housekeeper's face.

"You mean you didn't like how chummy Charles and I were." Mrs. Patmore understood. Despite her throbbing head, she thought she'd test Mrs. Hughes a bit. "You must have been upset when he held my hand."

"He never held your hand!"

"So you were watching us all night, were you?"

Elsie was caught. "I told you, I was making sure you two didn't cause a scene."

"Sure you were. And I only drank that wine to spare someone else a hangover." Beryl replied snidely. "Go on, pull the other one."

"Speaking of hangover, I could make your morning quite miserable if you don't back off."

"Fine, fine, but you've no need to be jealous."

"Jealous!"

"Ow!" Beryl winced, but did not back down. "You heard me. I'm not blind you know. I've known Charles…" Elsie glared. "…Mr. Carson for a long time and I know him better than most."

Elsie had crossed her arms and was listening with a sour look on her face.

"I will admit that you know him better than me, but there are some things you don't see." Beryl continued. "Yes, he and I got drunk together last night and he leaned on me a little in the sight of all and sundry, but do you know why he can lean on me?"

"No." A tinge of hurt crept into Elsie's voice.

"Because it doesn't mean anything to him, or to me." Beryl explained. "He's like a brother to me. Did you know he kissed me once?"

"What? When?" Elsie looked aghast.

"It was last Christmas, when I caught him under the mistletoe he had just finished scolding Roger for hanging. I told him traditions must be respected. He just laughed and said, 'You caught me, Beryl.' He gave me a peck on the cheek and didn't so much as blush."

"What does that signify?"

Beryl put her hands on her hips and fixed Elsie with a look she saved for the stupidest of kitchen maids. "Elsie Hughes, if you caught Charles Carson under the mistletoe, he'd burst into flames."

Elsie had to laugh. "He probably would at that."

"You see, there's nothing improper in being familiar with someone you aren't interested in and who you know isn't interested in you. If, on the other hand, you are attracted to someone, it would be very improper to engage in even the most innocent public displays of affection." Beryl smiled knowingly at Elsie. "Our Mr. Carson does not behave improperly."

"No, he does not." Elise agreed, her ego placated. "Thank you for that, Beryl."

"Don't mention it. It's probably the wine talking anyhow."

-00-

They found Mr. Carson sitting on the bench outside the Fox and Hounds. He wore his hat low over his eyes, shielding them from the bright morning light.

"I'll just be inside." Beryl said quickly. "I wanted to speak to the landlord about that stew he served last night. I'm going to try and get the receipt. There was one ingredient I couldn't place."

Elsie smiled gratefully as Beryl hurried inside the pub. She sat down on the bench beside him, a safe distance apart. Charles had a mug of coffee in his hand.

"Well, that was a stupid idea." He grumbled.

"What?"

"Whatever I did last night."

"It's not like you to drink so much. What were you thinking?"

"I thought I could drown my sorrow."

"And how did that work out for you?"

"As you see." He took a large slurp of his coffee.

"What in Heaven made you think you could drink away your grief?"

"It always seemed to work for Paul. He had every reason to be depressed, but I never saw him but he was happy; or unconscious. Either way, he didn't have to remember the pain of losing his family."

"Then he wasn't honoring his family. It doesn't help anyone to forget. "

"Why couldn't you have told me that twelve hours ago?"

"You didn't ask. You didn't really set out to get drunk, did you?"

"No, but with people buying me drinks, I was two sheets to the wind before I knew it, so I thought I'd go for the third." He chuckled derisively, causing fresh pain to shoot through his cranium. "It doesn't work, by the way."

"What's that?"

"Drinking away grief. I forgot why I was in pain, but I never stopped feeling it."

" It didn't work for Paul either, I expect."

"No, I expect not."

"You may not have dulled your grief, but you did manage to numb your face." She teased.

"Did I? I don't remember. Apparently, I've not the stomach, the head, nor the liver for being a drunkard."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Carson."

"Thank you for that assurance, Mrs. Hughes." He looked over at her, the pain, be it from his headache or his heartache or both, was evident in his eyes. He spoke tentatively. "I hope I did not say or do anything untoward last night."

"Do you not remember?"

"I fear my recollection of last night is imperfect."

"What sort of things do you fear you might have done?"

"I can hardly say, but I fear I might not have been a gentleman." Carason was concerned what he might have said to her with his inhibitions obliterated by the alcohol.

"You may set your mind at ease. You were the perfect gentleman, Mr. Carson. A drunk gentleman, but perfect as always."

His body relaxed at this information. "That is a relief to hear."

"We should be getting back to Downton."

"I think we missed our bus." He smiled self-deprecatingly.

"Last night's bus, yes, we missed that, but there's a 10:13 that should get us home by noon."

He consulted his pocket watch. "That gives me just enough time to finish my coffee."

The morning sun flashed on his cufflink as he put his watch back in his vest pocket. Elsie caught sight of the anchor and crown and was surprised.

"Mr. Carson, are those Mr. Pearson's cufflinks?"

He held up a cuff to her and smiled. "They are."

"I did not recognize them. They were so tarnished when I saw them."

"Silver isn't the only thing I can polish, Mrs. Hughes. I am quite good with brass, though I say it myself. It took some doing, but I was able to get them shining brightly."

"I am glad you could wear them. What a lovely tribute." She smiled at him. "Will you wear them back at Downton?"

"I think not. I've only worn these twice in my life; at my father's funeral and at Mrs. Pearson's. They have rather a melancholy association. It is unlikely that I'll ever wear them again."

"Well, they look very sharp."

The door to the pub opened and Beryl came out with two mugs of coffee. "I thought you might like a morning pick me up."

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore." Elsie said, accepting the offering.

The three of them sat silently on the bench, sipping their coffee.

-00-

Once again, Mrs. Hughes found herself in an omnibus with Mr. Carson. As on the day he had escorted her to Mr. Painswick's funeral, Elsie caught Carson looking at her at odd times. They exchanged uncomfortable glances for a while. Elsie thought he wanted to tell her something. Mrs. Patmore slept in the seat between Carson and Mrs. Hughes, jostling between them as the public omnibus carried them towards Downton village.

They let the rhythmic sound of the horses' hooves hypnotize them for a while, like a living metronome. Mrs. Hughes watched Carson out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting up straight and staring in front of him.

Just as Elsie felt herself ready to slip into a light sleep, Mr. Carson cleared his throat. She looked at him and he smiled at her hesitantly. "I hope you don't find me presumptuous, Mrs. Hughes."

"Presumptuous?"

"I presumed to speak to Lady Grantham on your behalf."

"I was not aware that I needed an advocate, Mr. Carson."

"You never finished your visit with your sister."

"No, but it can wait."

"It doesn't need to wait. You should return to your sister's and finish out the time you intended to stay. Indeed, you should stay longer." He insisted. "We won't be entertaining at all for the next few months, as the house is in mourning."

"I couldn't think of leaving. I've seen enough of my sister to keep me for a year." She answered honestly.

He looked down at his hands, "It's hard for me to understand that." Carson admitted.

"It's one thing for me to take time off when the family is away, Mr. Carson, but it is out of the question to leave Downton when they are in residence." Mrs. Hughes explained. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Mr. Carson?" She teased.

"Of course not." He answered defensively. "Time off is rare in our line of work, as is family. When you have both, you should avail yourself of the opportunity."

"You never take any time off for yourself." She pointed out.

"I haven't any family to visit, or I didn't; not until…" He couldn't say her name. "But not anymore. Perhaps that is why I don't understand. I thought you would want to have more time with your family."

Elsie felt ashamed. She had forgotten Carson had no one to visit. Not now that Mrs. Pearson was gone. He was still beating himself up about not visiting her. He needed to give Elsie this time with her sister to alleviate his own guilt.

Elsie thought about it. Of course she should want to spend time with her family. Even if she and May drove each other up a wall, time spent together was a rare gift, one many of her colleagues would envy.

"Very well, Mr. Carson, you've convinced me. I will go, but only on one condition."

"Which is?'

"That you promise to write to me every day and let me know that everything is well at Downton."

"I promise." His smile at the prospect was quite broad indeed.

-00-

Epilogue: April 1922

Elsie Carson held her husband's hand as they watched the casket being lowered into the freshly dug earth. Elsie's eyes looked across the new grave at the new widow, surrounded by her children. There was no comfort to be offered for a life lost too soon.

Elsie squeezed Charles' hand. Charles was wearing the cufflinks that he only wore for family funerals; Mr. Pearson's Royal Navy links. The tiny anchor and crown shone in their newly polished splendor. She had found Charles on the roof deck of their flat this morning, polishing the links with manic concentration.

Charles looked resolutely at the hole in the ground. His eyes were dry. He was not ready to face his grief. Elsie knew it was still too fresh. She knew that he blamed himself. She would wait for him to be ready. She would be there for him when he was ready. She would always be there for him.

THE END

AN/ And, there's the tease for the next story. We'll revisit this last funeral in 'Perpetual Motion', which is going to be quite angsty. Give me a week or two to finish up my CrackFic and I'll FINALLY give you 'Perpetual Motion', which I've been promising since January.

I hope you enjoyed this little bit of melancholia. Our next foray with younger Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes and the Crawley girls will be much cheerier, but it may wait until after we meet Edith's child in Series 5.

Leave a review if you've the time. Thank you, and Chelsie On!