Downton Village

Elsie pulled at her handbag, tucking the strap in the crook of her elbow before reaching up to brush at a lock of hair that had fallen from its carefully-pinned arrangement. A glance at the clock tower told her she had exactly three-fourths of an hour to make it home before her husband caught her out. She pursed her lips and quickened her steps, allowing only a soft "Thank you, Mrs. Watson" for the greengrocer's wife when the woman paused in the sweeping of the store's steps so that Elsie could pass and not be caught up in the dust. Mrs. Watson glanced curiously at the flush in Elsie's cheeks, but the housekeeper couldn't afford to stop and chat today.

She made it back to the cottage with plenty of time to spare and realized after going inside and finding Charlie's note that she needn't have hurried at all.

The Home Farm, she read, smiling. A visit to Mr. Mason … And to the new puppy living there, no doubt, Elsie thought with a chuckle.

After laying the note on the side table, Elsie returned to her bag. From it, she withdrew two handkerchiefs. The satisfaction she felt was great, for when she'd left that morning the bag had contained not two, but fourteen. Fourteen carefully embroidered handkerchiefs, the patterns an assortment of florals in varied colors, a dozen of which had been sold to Mrs. Adams merely an hour ago. Word had passed quickly through the women in the town that Mrs. Carson, housekeeper of Downton Abbey and a true expert at embroidered needlework, was quietly crafting and selling a few goods to customers who might be in need of a small gift. Setting aside the handkerchiefs, Elsie retrieved the small packet of money she'd received from Mrs. Adams.

As she climbed the steps to their bedroom, she sighed happily as she calculated for perhaps the fifth time what the total of her earnings had been, and sent up a prayer for the fact that Charlie hadn't caught wind of what she was up to despite all the time he spent in town during her working hours. Village folk talk, but Elsie had asked them to keep her confidence in this; miraculously, they'd obeyed.

Elsie pulled down a small box from the shelf in the closet, then lifted the cover and took out the small photographs that lay on top of the pile of items – photos from Becky's home, which showed her sister in a variety of scenes: watching with rapt attention as a visiting choir performed for the residents last Easter; at a picnic on the grounds of the group home two summers ago; sitting by the fire last Christmastime as she clutched the doll Elsie and Charles had sent her. Elsie smiled wistfully at the last one, wondering if Becky would be well enough this Christmas for a visit from her sister and brother-in-law.

Underneath the photographs was a small box. Elsie withdrew it and tipped back the hinged lid before taking out the bills and coins contained within. She counted them carefully and nearly laughed with glee: the amount was more than enough now, and she pulled out what she required, placed the extra back in the small box, added the photographs, and put the entire thing back in the closet once again, knowing Charles would never be the wiser.

It seemed like a lot of unnecessary work, perhaps. Elsie and Charles shared control of their household finances, the both of them keen with figures after careers spent managing the helm (and the household accounts) of a home such as Downton, and she was of course at liberty to withdraw at will from their own personal account for any purchases which she chose.

But if she withdrew money from their account for her husband's birthday gift, particularly the amount she held in her hand now, it would never be a surprise to him. And with Charles turning seventy in just over a week's time, a small, heartfelt surprise was exactly what she had in mind.

She scurried downstairs again and placed the money she'd taken into her wallet. No sooner had she placed her handbag back on its shelf and put the kettle on the hob for tea did she hear Charles's telltale footsteps heading up the path.

oOoOoOo

Exactly ten days later, Charles Carson woke just before sunrise on his birthday. He took a moment to appreciate all of the sensations he felt upon opening his eyes: the softness of the predawn light, the fragrance of the lilacs in the gentle breeze coming in through the bedroom window, and the warmth of his wife as she lay curled up beside him. His heart was full, content in so many ways that had eluded him for most of his life, and his gratitude for everything he had was something for which he'd never be able to find suitable words.

Elsie stirred, and he shifted to draw her closer, smiling and dropping a kiss to her forehead when she opened her eyes sleepily and looked up at him.

"Happy birthday, Charlie," she murmured, her voice thick with her brogue and with sleepiness. She returned his kiss, landing it somewhere in the vicinity of his heart just before wrapping her arm around his torso and snuggling in more closely in his embrace.

"The happiest yet," he replied, his voice rumbling in the stillness of the room. "The sun's just about to come up."

Elsie took a few more minutes to completely waken. Once she did, she sat up beside her beloved, his arm around her shoulders as they saw the sun rise over the hedge that bordered the back of their garden.

"Going to be a lovely day for you, Charles. Barely a cloud in the sky."

"And you with the day off," he replied, giving her a squeeze.

"You're still up for a picnic by the pond, then?"

"Still amused by that?" he retorted, half-joking. "I don't see what's so unusual about it."

"It doesn't involve a table and chairs. No linens, no crystal …" Her voice trailed off.

Charles leaned in. "No other people," he added quietly. "A beautiful day with my lovely wife, a touch of sun, and fresh air. What's better than that for an old man, hm?"

She turned to face him, then reached up and drew his face to hers, kissing him sweetly and softly on the mouth, her fingers trailing through his wavy hair.

"Nothing at all," she replied eventually. "And enough of this 'old man' business."

She slipped down in the bed again and pulled him on top of her, giggling when he purposely trailed his fingers up her thigh and slipped them under the hem of her nightgown.

"I suppose I can be youthful once in a while, when warranted," he replied, his eyes darkening as she trailed her own fingers down his spine and tucked them beneath the waistband of his shorts.

"And is this your way of providing a demonstration of youthful abilities, Mr. Carson?"

He leaned down and kissed a tender spot just to the side of her collarbone, and she sighed happily.

"Perhaps it is, Mrs. Carson." And the words, muttered in a warm breath against the softness of her neck, were the beginning of her undoing.

oOoOoOo

The sun was high when they finally set out for Charles's birthday picnic. He surprised his wife by catching her fingers in his as they walked to the pond and she smiled brilliantly at him, wondering if her curmudgeonly butler truly was being put away for good in his retirement. It made her ponder her own plan, made her think of the next four months with some strange mixture of dread at the sheer length of them and nervousness at what her life would feel like without the purpose of her career.

But then the breeze fluttered the softness of her blouse, which wasn't resting over a corset on this, her precious day off with Charlie, and the nervousness dissipated once again.

"How's that, then, Charlie? It's shaded by the tree, which we can sit up against if we like. And the small platform is just down there if you fancy dipping our feet in later."

Charles looked over to where she indicated and nodded. "It's perfect."

They set out the blanket and sat down, shoes removed and set aside. Elsie emptied the basket as Charles rolled his shirtsleeves, and she noticed that the tremor which so often afflicted him at the most inconvenient of times seemed almost non-existent today.

Small favors, she thought as she poured them each a glass of cider.

They chatted companionably as they ate and watched the small family of ducks that resided in the pond. Not a soul was in sight, despite the proximity of the pond to the abbey and the gorgeous weather of the day, and Elsie wondered if Mrs. Patmore had advised the footmen and maids to stay clear of the area today so that the Carsons could enjoy a bit of peace for Charles's day. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she was sure it was the truth.

After they'd finished their lunch, Elsie pried the hamper open once again and withdrew a small white box. Charles's eyes widened, making her laugh. "Surely you didn't think I'd forget a cake?" she asked.

"Well … No, not really," he admitted. "But I did wonder how you'd manage it in a picnic hamper."

"I requested a small one," she answered. "It was much more practical, and a much better idea than the two of us having a normal-sized one to finish on our own."

"We'd have managed," Charles replied, and Elsie glanced up just in time to see him pouting playfully.

"But we shouldn't," she insisted with a glance to his belly. "I believe we had an agreement about this marriage, Charles, and it does require us maintaining our health."

His eyes grew soft, and he reached out and caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"We did at that," he said quietly.

She leaned over and placed a swift kiss to the tip of his nose before settling back. "Now, I've not brought a candle, but I'll sing to you if you like?"

He raised his eyebrows, grinned, and nodded enthusiastically. "Please."

So sing she did.

The cake – a decadent chocolate with a cream frosting – was delicious, and by the time they were done, barely a bite was left. Feeling the need to get up to walk a bit and let their meal settle, Elsie and Charles made their way - barefoot - down to the small dock that jutted out into the pond. They sat for a bit and dipped their feet, then waded through the shallow water before leaving the pond for a stroll through the wildflower-strewn field. The property was quiet except for a bit of birdsong and the rustling of the grass in the breeze, both Elsie and Charles were somewhat lost in thought but remained close to each other, hand in hand once again, the minutes interspersed with a few gentle kisses and sighs of happiness.

"A perfect day," Charles uttered at one point, and his wife looked over at him to see his gaze stretched out over the expansive fields. "One of the best I've ever spent here, I think."

"Truly? You've lived nearly your entire life on this estate, between farmhouse and abbey."

He turned to her, taking her hands in his once again. "I have. And I spent a great many of them wandering about this particular part of it when I was a boy. But this day tops nearly all the rest."

Elsie bit down on her lip, tilting her head as she read the love in his eyes. "Well," she said in a whisper, "I do have one more surprise for you."

"Do you?"

"I do. I believe I owe you a birthday gift."

"This entire day is a gift, Els," he said meaningfully, and he drew her to him in a gentle embrace.

"The gift fits the day, Charlie," she said mysteriously, leaning back so she could look into his eyes. "Let's head back and sit, and you'll see what I mean."

He furrowed his brow. "All right, then."

Elsie smirked. "You do trust me, don't you?"

"More than anyone," he replied sincerely, and her breath hitched at the naked honesty in the words.

Once seated on the blanket again, Elsie withdrew the last item from the picnic hamper, the one she'd sequestered in there when she'd carefully packed it all up that morning. She handed it to Charles, who brushed his fingers over the simple blue paper before fingering the ribbon.

"It's a book," he declared, and she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Just open it, Charlie," she said quietly.

He carefully slid off the ribbon and pried open the paper, casting both aside in his astonishment at what lay beneath them: a nearly unblemished, blue, leather-bound copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.*

"Elsie," he breathed. "How … How did you locate one of these?"

She watched as his eyes misted and saw myriad emotions playing across his face. He lifted the cover, then slowly turned several of the pages, his eyes scanning them each in turn but spending more time on the illustrations than the words.

"I enquired at the book shop," she replied eventually. "Of course, I knew exactly which edition to get, and I brought along your other copy from home to make sure they found a perfect match."

He looked up at her. "I've had that book for sixty years today," he said, stunned at the realization. "I got it for my tenth birthday. Did I ever tell you that? I'd forgotten that until just now."

"You did, actually, but I'm not surprised you don't remember. You mentioned it to me in passing soon after I was promoted to housekeeper, when you loaned it to me to read that winter when we were snowed in for a week." She paused, watching him. "Do you remember now?"

He nodded slowly, thinking back. "Oh, yes." His gaze appeared fixed on the book in his hands, but the images in his mind were far away, thoughts of snow whipping in the wind, of the groomsmen struggling with the horses and the carriage on the ice, the sun bright on the snow-covered fields … and the feel of the housekeeper's hand in the crook of his elbow, the first time he'd ever felt it there, as he guided her safely over the ice and down the path to church on a cold winter's Sunday. "Yes, I remember that winter," he murmured, and he returned to the present and found her brilliant, blue eyes fixed on his expressions.

"Well. Seventy is an important birthday, I think. And despite your love of pulling off a lavish affair over the years, I didn't think you were well-suited to being the guest of honor at one. So I had to think of another way to mark the day, something meaningful and personal for you, Charlie."

He looked through the book once again, then back at his wife. "I'm truly touched, Elsie. I've no idea how you managed it without telling me, I don't mind saying. This is a very rare edition, indeed. I'm surprised they were able to track one down in such good condition. It's the perfect gift."

They both thought of his other copy, so well worn after decades of reading, a prized possession from Charles's meagre childhood.

"I knew I wanted to get you something you'd enjoy in your retirement, but it had to be meaningful. So I looked over your collection, and whilst you could use a new copy of Burke's Peerage and a few of the biographies you've loved, this one seemed a bit more special for your birthday - for this birthday. And truth be told, your original copy really should be relegated to a very safe place and not opened too many more times."

"Thank you," he said, his emotion making the words difficult.

She smiled lovingly back at him. "You're welcome. Think of it as a bit more youthfulness for you, love. We've that entire marriage plan ahead of us, as you reminded me of earlier today."

"Thirty years," he whispered, leaning over for a kiss, one which she delivered with pleasure.

"Thirty years," she murmured against his lips. "You'd better believe it."

A/N: Thanks to those of you who gave me ideas for the actual book. I needed one that Charles could have read and enjoyed as a boy, but of course I couldn't reveal that in my tumblr post, else I'd have given away the story! I appreciate all of your love for this story so much, and I send particular greetings and thanks to the guests to whom I cannot reply in person.

*Thanks to a diligent reader for alerting me to the publication date for this book. It would appear that, while I did look that up, I had Charles's birth date poorly remembered (and atrocious Math skills)! Apologies ... Willing suspension of disbelief? *please*

The reviews really do feed the story, and I'd appreciate it greatly if you'd leave one and let me know what you thought of this. And if you have other ideas for "random day in the life of married Chelsie," I'm all ears. xxx ~CSotA