It would not be an exaggeration, Charles Carson decided, to say that Downton had taken a definite turn for the mournful since his Lordship's announcement that Britain was at war with Germany. The air about the house had become more grim and a distinct tension had begun to seep through the floors from upstairs and had diffused among most of the servants downstairs. Charles, however, was tired- exhausted even. Days seemed infinitely long until the evening; when it seemed that the time between the present and the time when the impending implications of the war would really hit Downton was slipping away all to quickly.

This aside, the evening was Charles' favourite part of the day. The it was reasonable for him to seek the solitude he often needed in the quiet of his pantry. Solitude had never before been something he sought, or particularly enjoyed, but these days it was increasingly attractive: the sight of most of his colleagues, or especially his employers, all currently in a state of perpetual agitation with the current situation only served as a harsh mental deluge of reminders of the world's bleakness. There was only one exception.

For years now he and Mrs Hughes had met in his pantry every night to discuss the running of the house. Good communication between the butler and the housekeeper, Charles felt, was absolutely essential for the good running of any household. Not only this, but Elsie did not aggravate him as everyone else seemed to. Though she was by no means immune or indifferent to the current situation, she lamented it with a kind of resigned regret that he found so much more bearable than the fidgety irritation that the rest of the household employed. Recently Charles had found himself offering Elsie, as he had mentally begun to refer to her, a cup of tea simply to prolong her company. Her attitude to the war allowed him, however briefly, to internally touch on his own troubled feelings towards the state of the modern world.

It was the thought of such a meeting that lightened the weight on his feet as he returned from serving his Lordship a nightcap in the library. Most of the house had retired for the night now, as he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw that only Mr Bates remained at the servants' table, a book in hand and reading by the light of a dim candle. Having no wish to have to halt his course, Charles assumed a quiet pace and quickly turned the corner and headed for his pantry. His colleague showed no sign of noticing the butler pass.

Reaching his pantry Charles noted that door was closed but a dim light protruded out from under it; he was meticulous in making sure his gas light was switched off when he left the room. It was unlike Elsie to enter without his express permission- typically asked for with a brisk double knock- but then he supposed he was rather late. The question that anyone else would seek him out at this hour of the evening. He did not mind in the slightest, it just was not like her. He opened the door slowly so as not to startle her and found himself startled.

Elsie was asleep in his armchair. Once he recovered from his slight surprise and had decided against immediately waking her, he paused to look at her. She would have been the image of peace had it not been for the slightest of frowns creeping across her brow: her feet rested soberly on the floor, her head tilted to the side and resting on the gently curled fist at her temple. The light made one side of her face brighter than the other. She looked exhausted; she looked exactly as he felt. It made him sigh to see her like this, her wall of strength briefly fallen and leaving her with a vulnerability that he had never seen in her. It had to admit, it frightened him: she was supposed to be the strong one, that was how it often felt anyway. He resolved to wake her.

He took hold of the wrist supporting her head and gave it a little shake. She began to stir. The moment that she saw him he could have sworn that she gave the most flitting of smiles and closed her eyes again in something akin to content, but it soon passed: her eyes flew open with realisation of what must have happened and she was quickly making her way to her feet.

"Mr Carson!" she exclaimed "I'm so sorry!"

Her Scottish accent became pronounced by her obvious embarrassment.

"It's all right," he tried to assure her, instinctively taking her moving his hold on her wrist to her elbow to prevent her from bolting out of the room, "Mrs Hughes, you were just tired."

At the final word the agitation seemed to leave like breath being wistfully sighed away.

"Tired." she repeated, glancing over his left shoulder.

He nodded firmly and her attention moved to his face.

"I'm sorry, Mr Carson,"

It left her in something a little stronger than a half-whisper. Waking her had not dispelled the vulnerability in her. He closed his eyes, not quite able to look it in the face. But he was able to look her in the face, if he was any human. He unscrewed his face as quickly as he had tried to mask his discomfort.

"It's fine," he told, quickly squeezing her elbows in reassurance.

She was standing very close to him now and still looking wary, biting the inside of her lip as he knew she did when was ill at ease. He realised that he had neglected to keep breathing in the past few seconds and gradually exhaled, his height lessening as his posture relaxed. Her face was much nearer now.

"Are you all right?" she asked gently.

It was not a question. Since he had entered the parlour her position and the words they had exchanged had made it implicitly clear to both of them that she was not fine. He had known that she was in fact affected in exactly the same way as the rest of the house, but he now saw the extent to which she was upset. And this seemingly innocuous was her way of saying I know. I know you are as heartbroken by this sorry lot as I am. He exhaled again.

"I'm fine,Elsie" he told her.

It was a lie, but not wholly, as he never wanted nor expected her to believe it. It was with this acknowledgement of equal vulnerability that something seemed to break between them. She was mildly shocked by him calling her by her first name but this soon came to fade as she realised what he was trying to tell her. She uttered what could have been half a strangled sob which was muffled by her pressing her face into his chest. Her arms made their way under his and wrapped themselves around his middle. He closed his eyes again. When she showed no sign of letting go he conceded defeat to the emotion that seemed intent on over powering them both and was slightly shocked to find that his arms were already embracing her shoulders. He rested his lips in her hair, in the faint scent of lavender and rocked her from side to side.

A lifetime and half later they broke apart, hearing Mr Bates' footsteps and the tap of his stick as he ascended the servants' stairs to bed.

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