Disclaimer: Charles, Elsie and Downton Abbey are not mine.

Author Note: This plot sprung out of last night's episode and the upcoming spoilers for Elsie, re: her ill health. This is an AU though. The title probably gives a clue to why. It should be done within the week, short and sweet with a happy ending, though with angst along the way. I can't speak for how accurate the medical side of the story will be as it's based off limited internet research.

Revised: 19/09/12

The Secret Mrs Carson: Chapter 1

The only thing that surprised Charles about Elsie coming to his pantry that night was the fact that it had taken so long. He knew she was going too as soon as Branson had left the hall. The fact was she did most nights. But he had a feeling he was in for a telling off that evening.

"Well, I do hope you are proud of yourself after tonight's performance," the housekeeper said to him, her accent thick with annoyance.

"I am willing to account for my conduct, in a court of law if needs must."

"There is no need to be so dramatic. But there is a need for a change of attitude. The way you treated Mr Branson tonight was appalling."

"Mr Branson," the butler scoffed.

"Yes – Mr Branson. He is part of your adored Crawley family now so you had better get used to that."

"He is a chauffeur, and much better than he ought to be."

"For heaven's sake, that is not for you to say. man."

Even in the midst of the argument, the butler could not help but think how beautiful his bonny Scottish lass was. She was passionate and highly strung and beautiful and his...

"It is Lady Sybil's choice."

"It is not the way things should be done."

"Something you know all about."

The silence that fell between the two of them was thick was accusations. Neither of had made the choice to keep their marriage secret. It had just kind of happened. They both knew that a marriage between a housekeeper and a butler was unusual. And so it had seemed best to silently agree on the matter.

Who's business was it really anyway?

Yet, if he thought for a moment that any husband of hers was going to be allowed to be hypocritical and get away with it, then he had another thing coming.

Looking at him sitting behind his desk, she did not understand why he was blurred for just a moment. Nor did she completely comprehend why something was cool on her cheek.

Covering her hands with her face, she clocked on.

"Elsie, it is nothing to cry over," Charles insisted as he got up, walked around to her and attempt to embrace her, only to be shrugged off.

That in itself was not very like her. Not very like her at all.

"Elsie?"

This was not going to be helping matters she thought to herself. If he believed this Branson business was causing her to break down, it would only give the butler another reason to hate Lady Sybil's husband.

The two of them should not be fighting either. Not at a time like this. Yes, she had gone to London to help Anna with Mr Bates' mother's house. But there had been another reason that only the housemaid knew so far.

It had been four weeks since she and her husband had snuck off... to be man and wife for a while. And it was likely to be a lot longer now.

She was glad Dr Clarkson was going to be able to perform the operation but the thought of another man looking at what only Charles had the right to see horrified her... She knew it was medical and that it was nothing more between her and the doctor. And she knew she had to endure the procedure to be well again... if she did not... But she was so embarrassed.

How would Charles feel about her if he knew? The two of them loved each other. Very much. Passionately, both emotionally and given half the chance, physically.

But at times he was rather hard to read. And she was secure about him... or she thought she had been.

"My dear?"

A lump in her breast.

And now, a lump in her throat.

"I will not have you behaving like a fool to that boy, he worked hard and he fell in love. He is just the same as you."

"We are very much different, I would have you know," Charles retorted, indignant once more.

"Because you fell in love with a woman who is not better than she ought to be."

I need you, you silly old fool. I need you to hold me; I need you to worry about me. I need to feel you care more for me than for anything upstairs.

A look of puzzlement came over his face.

"Elsie, you're being... I... you know how I feel."

"Oh, just let me be, and treat Mr Branson with some respect," she said as she opened the pantry door and went to her sitting room leaving her bewildered husband behind her, wondering what was wrong.

XXX

"May we talk? Is it convenient?" Having knocked on his wife's door, Charles entered the bedroom. A long, lonely night had passed since his wife had come to him in his office.

The butler had considered going to her the night before but when all was said and done, he did not think it was a good idea. After all the years the two of them had spent together, he flattered himself that he could read her pretty well. And when she had fled from him the night before, he had known to let her be. When she was upset there was no talking to her. And even if they two of them were by law man and wife, he knew she still valued her space.

And so he had let her be until he was sure he could get to her room without being seen, not that it mattered if he was. Somehow, he had a feeling most people thought he and his dearest were beyond impropriety. But they weren't.

"Not really," She said to him bluntly as she tied her belt, keys rattling as she did so. "I have got to go and check the linen for the weekend."

"What for the wedding? Surely that should have been done by now." A thoughtless remark, but he realised too late he could not take it back. He only wanted everything to be perfect for his Lady Mary...

"It may have escaped your notice but I have been in London for the past two weeks."

"Of course it did not escape my notice. How could I fail to remember when every day I missed you... very much."

Silence fell between the two of them, the like of which he had never known. He was almost overcome with longings to hold her.

Turning at last to look at him, Elsie sighed. There he was. Her Charles. The Charles who made it acceptable to be called Mrs Hughes all day – as long as she could be Mrs Carson by night.

It struck her then this was the first time the two of them had had one another to themselves since her return. The previous night encounter did not count.

"What's wrong, my darling?" he asked. The way she looked at him tore at his soul. He did not know how or what or why – but it struck him his wife had a lot of pain inside of her just then. And this had nothing to do with the Branson's.

The voice of reason deep inside told her to trust him, that as her husband he had a right to know she was ill. He certainly did as her employer and her equal.

He might be a pompous old fool at times, but she knew him. And she knew his heart would break if he believed she was suffering and could not put a stop to it. As he came towards her, she let him do what she would in no way allow the night before. As he took her hands in his, she leant forward until their foreheads were kissing. Their lips met too.

"Whatever it is," he said to her gently. "You can tell me."

But she was unable to find the words.

"It's nothing – except the stress of the wedding. I will be fine when it is all done," she said as she shut herself back off from him. "I have to get on, Charles."

Leaving her room, she walked down the hall way and on to duty, leaving her husband completely on edge. Whatever it was... it was more than the stress of the wedding. He knew it.

XXX

It was in the end not her husband who Elsie broke down in front of, but Beryl Patmore. The red headed cook had seen Elsie getting more and more stressed in the week that followed the wedding. She had thought once it was out of the way then Mrs Hughes would return to her old self. But she didn't. It was as if she was so pressurized there was no way she could release the burden she was carrying.

In the end though, all the housekeeper needed to do was break a plate – but as it shattered, so did she.

Elsie vaguely remembered everyone being ordered out of the kitchen by the cook before she had sat her down, held her hand and made her tell her everything.

Which she did. The only interruption came from Anna, who had hurried in on hearing what had happened.

"Have you a date for the operation yet?" the young lady's maid asked as she sat down with her superiors and drank the last of the pot of tea.

"Next week. Mr Clarkson said it is better to get it done sooner than later."

"And have you asked her ladyship for the time off?"

"No need. Her and his lordship are taking Lady Edith to London once her ladyships mother has gone."

"But you are going to be laid up for a while."

"Not if I can help it. They won't even know."

If she did not admit to herself how serious it was, then it was not as serious as everyone was making it out to be was it?

"And Mr Carson?"

Elsie shook her head as tears filled her eyes once more. She kept telling herself he did not have to know. But they were man and wife. The bond between them was sacred to her. And even if she did not tell him then he was going to know the next night one of them snuck into the others room afterwards...

He was her husband. And she loved him. But she didn't wish to worry him. Or be a burden.

"Oh Mrs Hughes."

As tears slide down her face, she contemplated what was to come. And even though she knew she would want to know if it was the other way round and would be furious if he did not come to her and allow her to kiss and comfort him, she realized, she just couldn't go to him.

She didn't have the strength to tell him.

XXX

The night before the Crawley's departed for London, Elsie crept down to the men's corridor. Two weeks of awkward silences and brief caresses had to end. She had to draw from Charles what strength she could. She had to have her fill of him before he left.

When Carson heard the gentle rap on the door, he knew who it was. Only one person ever knocked so lightly on his door this late at night.

The door opened, and his wife appeared in her dressing gown with her greying hair loss about her shoulders.

"May I come in?" she asked so softly that he knew she had not come to argue but to cuddle.

"Of course," he said as he opened the blanket which had already been covering him and put his book to one side. As soon as he had budged over to one side of his bed, the space was filled by the body of his wife.

Charles shivered as her feet touched his.

"Sorry, they're cold."

"It doesn't matter. As long as they are in my bed, they can be twenty degree minus," he told her as she settled down, putting her head on his shoulder. "I wasn't expecting you."

It was not a complaint. The sudden flood of affection she was clearly feeling was very much needed. After six months of unending love, almost a month of sleeping alone had torn at his heart.

For the first time in weeks, she dared to look in his eyes. She was almost unconscious of the fact her fingers were tracing his cheek bones, memorising every wrinkle, every bump in his skin.

"Sorry. Charles, I'm so sorry that – that I left you alone."

"Don't be. No doubt I was rather insufferable."

"Never. Not my darling." She said as she kissed him.

What if they never got another night together, she wondered. What if this was it?

"It was you – you made the real happiness of my life, you know that, don't you?" she reminded him as she buried her face in his pyjamas and took in that familiar scent which was such a comfort.

"Elsie?" the panic in his voice was audible. He knew her better than she gave him credit.

And then, in the littlest voice he had ever heard her use, she told the truth. "I don't want you to leave me. I don't want you to go."

"Never. I never will."

But it was too late – and very much as he had heard she had when she had been with Mrs Patmore and Anna in the kitchen, she sobbed into him.

"Elsie, sweetheart?"

Holding her to him, Charles made nonsense noises to hush his wife, kissed her and rocked her. He called her his darling, told her that she was beautiful and that there could never have been another soul to twin his own.

But none of it seemed to make any difference.

He wanted to know what was wrong. But by the time she had calmed down enough to tell him, she was so drowsy that he could not bear to rouse her. All he could do was continue to hold her to his chest, cradling the only women who had ever opened the romantic soul of the old fool that was himself.

He kissed her forehead and promised himself they would talk about whatever was bothering her before she left to get ready in the morning.

But when he awoke, she was already gone.

XXX

Back in her own room, Elsie sat in front of her mirror, the only luxury in an otherwise Spartan room. She did not like what she saw. A tired old women. Six months before she had felt as if she was in the spring of her life once more. But the ache in her breast seemed to indicate the end was near.

In front of her was a piece of paper and a pen was in her hands.

What was she to write? How could she possibly...

XXX

Charles did not see Elsie that morning until it was almost too late.

Having put his coat on, he was directing the last of the luggage into the car when his wife came out of the front door of the Abbey. Butler and housekeeper alike knew that the master of the house, his wife and their final unmarried daughter would come out to get in the car any moment.

But it did not seem to matter much.

"You weren't there when I woke up," Charles complained. "Nor were you at breakfast."

"Sorry, my love." Elsie said sincerely. "Things to do."

"How are you today?"

"Recovered. You must forgive last night. It was a silly moment, please forget it," she brushed it off as she allowed him to reach out for her hand.

"Not at all. I wish I could stay..." he couldn't find the words. "The night I get back, I would gladly take a walk with you round the rose garden."

"Well – that promise will keep me going."

Charles glanced round, before raising her hand to his lips. His eyes said what he did not.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out an envelope.

It was simply inscribe, My Charles.

"Read it later. Not now."

"Ready Carson?"

The bubble burst.

"Yes, my lord. Mrs Hughes, telephone if there are any troubles. Any at all," Mr Carson said to his colleague pointedly.

"There won't be. Have a good time in London, my ladies," she said as the two Crawley ladies got into car with their father and husband.

As Charles got into the front of the automobile, it was his own wife he could not stop watching.

"Goodbye," the Scotswomen sighed.

As they drove down the drive, Charles turned his attention to the envelope in his hands. Opening it, he sighed.

In Elsie's elegant hand, there were just a few words.

Thank you for showing me another way. I will always be your loving Elsie.

The car disappeared from sight and the housekeeper collapsed to the ground sobbing. It had been a lovely interlude in a life time of isolation.

But it was over.

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