Charles Carson, butler of Downton Abbey, lay staring at the ceiling of his sparse attic room. It was after two in the morning. The late summer air occasionally stirred the curtains of his tiny window, but the night was otherwise still. Though the children and most of the staff remained at Downton, the house felt empty without the family. They were still away for the grouse and the staff had been granted an early night, but that was little benefit to Mr. Carson. Sleep was not likely to claim him tonight, no matter the hour.

His plans for the future, which had been on such a blissful trajectory of late, had been brought to the ground like a winged bird by a simple revelation; Elsie Hughes had a sister.

She'd prefaced her shocking disclosure by cagily admitting, 'I don't lie, but there are things I don't say.'

He could not fault her for that. He'd hidden things from her as well. There was never an expectation of full disclosure in their relationship. No, he was not angry with her. The bitterness in his mouth at present was from his disappointment in himself.

How had he not known that Mrs. Hughes had a sister? What kind of friend was he that he hadn't known something so basic? Did anyone else know? Mrs. Patmore? Lady Grantham? I'll bet Thomas knows; he always seems to know everything about everyone, Mr. Carson thought ruefully.

'I'm a pauper,' she'd told him.

How had he not noticed her scrimping and saving over the years? Admittedly, hers was not the wardrobe of a pauper, but he knew the answer to that mystery. She was always so well turned out, practically yet elegantly attired with no hint of the vanity to which she held rightful claim. Indeed, he'd once considered speaking to her about misspending her money when he noticed she had several, expensive-looking additions to her wardrobe in a short amount of time.

Luckily, he'd avoided insulting her and getting an earful for his trouble. He'd overheard Mrs. Patmore complimenting Mrs. Hughes' new green coat. The housekeeper had sheepishly explained that she'd received several lightly used items in return for her assistance with the church bring and buy sale while the family was in London for the Season. She confessed to the cook that most of her clothing was from the bring and buys over the years.

He'd always admired her frugality, thinking it one of the finer traits of the Scottish people, but now he saw a purpose behind some of her more eccentric habits. Even when she was the new housemaid, she rarely took the time off she was owed. On the rare occasion when she did bother to take one of the half days, Elsie didn't go shopping or have tea like the other maids. She would take a small picnic from the house kitchen and disappear into the estate grounds for a few hours.

As he lay in the dark reflecting, Charles pictured her meticulously decorated sitting room. He knew the story behind every item; a tea set left by her mother, a silhouette left by her predecessor, curios sent from former subordinates as a token of thanks for her guidance. It now dawned on him that she had not purchased any of the things in her sitting room.

Though she was an avid reader, Elsie Hughes never bought books. She read almost exclusively from the house library. Her personal collection was made up of books which were gifts from Mr. Carson or Lady Grantham. The evidence of her poverty was there if he'd only looked. Knowing that money was so dear made her gift of the frame that had once held Alice's photograph even more significant.

Knowing that she had a sister to support made her health scare even more poignant. Beyond pondering her own fate, how she must have worried about the sister she would leave behind unsupported. As if he needed more evidence of her quiet fortitude. She had faced that fear alone. She had not needed to confide in him, had not needed his comfort or help. He'd never been fool enough to think that she needed him, but it hurt to know it for certain.

Now, he felt a fool for dragging her around to look at properties she knew she could never buy. He'd been oblivious to the torture he was inflicting. How many years had he been oblivious when it came to Mrs. Hughes? He knew that he respected her; had known that almost from the beginning. He knew that he cared for her; almost losing her to that Burns fellow and then cancer had made admitting that unavoidable. Their gentle teasing had always felt natural and innocent; two close friends with widely disparate opinions.

Then she'd come to London and everything had changed. The Season had been more enjoyable than ever. Her presence made Grantham House feel more like home than it ever had before. They'd held hands on the beach. She'd challenged him to live a little. For the first time he hadn't had to pretend that he enjoyed London when he returned to Downton.

Suddenly, he wasn't content to disagree with her, even when she teased him about it. He wanted to always be in agreement with her. He never wanted her to frown because of him or be disappointed in him. He hadn't succeeded. He couldn't be sure if he'd argued with her more of late or if he was just more aware of it. She took it in stride and acted as though she expected no different, but it bothered him like a burr under a saddle.

During the Memorial location debate he'd finally found the courage to tell her how much their disagreeing unsettled him. She'd blushed and joked about needing to check herself in the mirror when he flattered her like that. He might have confessed everything to her in that moment if Barrow hadn't interrupted by announcing Sergeant Willis.

She hadn't exactly sided with him against Mrs. Patmore, but she had respected his conviction of how to rightfully honor Downton's lost heroes. She'd brokered a sort of peace between him and Mrs. Patmore.

The day they'd spent perusing Mrs. Patmore's house had decided everything for him. He'd watched her eyes sparkling as she assessed the property. She was happy for her friend, but Charles could see something behind her gaze. Was it sadness, envy, hope? He couldn't have said. He admitted his own envy to Mrs. Hughes and asked her obliquely about her plans for the future. She'd deflected him easily but the little smile she'd given him planted the seed of an idea in the hard soil of his ponderous mind.

He watched her more closely, spoke to her more openly and was rewarded by a deepening in their friendship. The thought of a shared future beyond Downton grew in his mind from a wish to a surety. Retirement wasn't a frightening prospect to him anymore. His offer to invest in property together had been an impromptu decision but he'd been thinking of it for months. She hadn't said 'yes', but she hadn't said 'no' and her eyes had twinkled at the thought. It was all the encouragement he'd needed to move forward with his plans.

He was so happy, he hadn't noticed her reticence and had ignored the fact that she still had not officially said 'yes.' Finally, he'd bullied her too far. He'd found the perfect property and she'd finally had to let him down gently.

She'd expressed remorse but he suspected that was out of kindness. She'd called it a 'folly' and 'a nice idea.' His chest hurt as he remembered.

That's not all she said, his heart reminded him. He shut his eyes and forced himself to remember tonight's conversation verbatim. He replayed her words in his head.

'I would have liked to come in with you, I would have…I won't because I can't.' Did she really mean that or was she just trying to let him down gently? She wasn't one to lie to spare his feelings. Maybe she was being sincere, but how could he ever know?

'I wish you very well with your house, Mr. Carson, you've earned it, but there is no place for me in the project.' He should have contradicted her right there. The project only existed because of her, she had provided the inspiration, he would provide the capital. He didn't need her money; never had. It wasn't about money. It was about knowing that she'd always be by his side, at Downton or in retirement.

'I've enjoyed our little dream. I'm the one to blame for stringing you along.'

His eyes shot open. 'Our little dream.' Was that what she'd really said? He thought hard. Yes, that's what she'd said; not your little dream or my little dream, but our little dream.

She wasn't just patronizing him when she said she wished she could buy in with him. If circumstances were different, she would have gladly joined him. There was a chance that she wanted the same future he wished for. This thought calmed him. The future was still murky, but less so than it had seemed only a few short minutes ago. He had reason to travel in hope; it wasn't much, but it was enough for now. Sweating slightly in the closeness of his little room, Charles Carson was finally able to drift off to sleep: perchance to dream.

TBC...

AN/ I can't help but wonder how their relationship might have changed in the four months between her revelation about Becky and Christmas. Surely, there must have been a few weeks of tension at least before he felt comfortable discussing the house with her again. Obviously they are back on very friendly terms before Christmas and he's able to tell her about the house without any visible awkwardness, but how did they get there?

Next Chapter...Elsie's POV.