Downton Abbey 1. Chapter 1

**Since I seem to draw most of my inspiration for fanfictions from songs, this one comes from one of my favourite bands that have been recently around – Daughter. This song, sadly, is not on their debut album, but on their first EPs, and it's on Spotify if anyone wants to go and have a listen. The song is called Candles. Which is also the name of this work. This, as I intend it, this will follow Elsie and Isobel in their way to understand whatever is happening with them. As always, reviews are appreciated, delays on chapters are to be expected (since I suck and I always have work to do! –sighs- ) and any and every question you have, twitter & tumblr are your go-to places.**

…

- You're too old to be so shy - 

Saturday night. A night clear as glass, all stars in the sky visible, yet, Elsie was awake once again. Being able to sleep was getting harder as years went by, for reasons unknown, but she thought it was her getting older and older with every heartbeat. It did not scare her, but it did somehow infuriated her. With age came wisdom, words ready to be spoken, experiences to share – yet Elsie felt like she hadn't lived enough to talk about most things women would talk those days. Gossip. She hated most of it. Although she welcomed some, because she had to sigh and compare herself to something. There wasn't much there though, so the other thing most women would talk would be Men. Men.

She could talk about her father, her siblings, her friends back in her homeland, his Lordship… Few more. Charles Carson, perhaps. He was friend, wasn't he? She could talk about him, holding blushes and sighs behind her white skin bathing her face. He was probably sleeping, probably working, probably none of those. But he was most certainly there for her. Reassuring that have someone so tall an charming and caring always there to hear a word or thousands of them.

It was late, but she wanted to go outside. She had still the dress she always used on, for she sat on the bed doing nothing but wondering, looking out of a small window. She would go outside, breathe in, then get back inside. Perhaps the going up and down the stairs would make her tired enough for a yawn or two. A huge perhaps, as everything regarding her personal life was. A huge, an immense perhaps.

She lit a candle, even though she could perfectly flick a switch and let the technology and science literally lighten up her way, but she wanted to feel the scent of wax burning down filling her nostrils, like the foam of the waves dancing with the sand, filling the voids. She missed the yellow light of candles. She started walking carefully down stairs and walls, her footsteps being quiet – for few to no one should know that she was out and about. Her shadow as frightening as she noticed how big and small it could be with that dim light, but even so, living was scarier. So she walked towards the door. Onwards. Opening it. Getting through it. Seeing the night with her own eyes.

"Isn't it lovely…?" She mumbled, the light of her candle getting weaker, as she stared at the sky. "Isn't it lovely…"

Charles had noticed a light through a crack of the door of his pantry – he was up too. Reading, mostly, for he suffered the same fault as Elsie did: trouble with falling asleep. Between his poems and proses and thesis, Charles found himself eased at heart for finding something to do while he couldn't possibly make any noise. He liked the noise inside his brain, but he did not like what he was noticing – someone, so late at night, going out of the house.

So he followed the footsteps, the shadows, the light. He was out too, and he saw the vulture of Elsie standing still, looking up. What a gracious view, what a lovely woman. He sighed in relief that it was her – of course it would be her. Who, in that house, who'd get so needy of a good stare at stars in the middle of the night?

"Mrs. Hughes, you should get in." He said calmly, trying not to startle her. "It is cold outside."

The light of her candle died, and so died her moment.

"I do know that, Mr. Carson, but I just want to take another good look."

She did not look at him. In that moment he was invisible. Only voice, no body, nothing more. He took some steps forward, standing in a good, in a proper distance from this woman.

"I would ask you why you're here."

"I can't possibly fall asleep today." She replied shortly, as soon as he finished.

"Well, I wish I could help you with that, but I suffer from the same."

She lowered her gaze and turned around. He looked so tired, yet, so handsome, the cold breeze clearly leaving a mark on his breath, the light of the moon bathing his eyes. The corners of her lips curved up, showing a warming smile.

"Perhaps… Perhaps it's a curse, isn't it?" She sighed. "Well, it is getting cold…"

"It is."

"…And we are to wake up early. Good night, Mr. Carson."

She went past him, a final look and a smile as she went by. Charles followed her inside, closing the door, but he let her go her way. He felt improper to follow a woman like her, that walked like a queen on a red carpet, her heels making a quiet, small punctual sound, as if she was about to dance her way to her bedroom. The night would go through, and his sleep was returning to him. He should go too.

…

"Mr. Carson, you do not know if Mrs. Crawley is at her house, do you?"

Elsie asked, between the space that was the door to his pantry and the corridor, her hand leaning on the border of said wall. He was taken by a sweet surprise.

"I don't think I would know." He replied, a smile lingering on lips, his hands slowing his polishing.

"Well, but you always seem to know everything. I'm not bothering you-"

"You are not, you are never bothering me." He interrupted. "I assume you have to do something regarding Mrs. Crawley, if so, I hope you forgive me for not knowing where she is. But you may as well go there and find it yourself. After church, perhaps?"

She smiled silently. "You read my thoughts. You are forgiven, Mr. Carson. You are forgiven."

"Thank the gods, it would be too much of a sin!" His joke let a heartfelt laugh coming out her throat.

Church was boring, but it would always be boring to Elsie. Her God was her own, to the one she prayed, her own to keep, and even though she'd endure the tedious hour sitting on that church, she'd pray to herself to that god. She did the same while she was sick. While the girls were growing up. While the war was still a word filling her mind. But as she had finally stepped out of that place, she spotted Isobel quite easily.

Isobel was somehow easy to find in big crowds. She wasn't one to stand out, but she wasn't one to be ignored too. The way she walked and the way she talked were far too easy to identify, or that was probably because Elsie had already found a way to recognize those traits. She approached the widow, as she walked alone – she had left her company seconds ago, choosing a different road to tread.

"Good day, Mrs. Crawley." Elsie greeted calmly.

Isobel, after having taken notice of her new companion, smiled and placed a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Good day to you too, Mrs. Hughes. It is certainly a good one, isn't it?"

"A bit cold still, but spring is indeed in the corner."

"That is true, and I'm quite hopeful this spring will not ruin my gardens like last year." Isobel sighed, a joking sigh, a sigh nonetheless. "Did you need anything, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Actually…" Elsie was a bit shy to ask such thing of a higher born woman. She only wanted to talk. Things she couldn't possibly talk with any other person in that town, and she had found and good companion on Beryl Patmore – but Isobel was more livid, more charming, smarter than Mrs. Patmore. It wasn't a mean compliment to the cook, but they stood on the same ground regarding most things. Hearing from another woman, such intelligence and grace in words, such wisdom in thoughts, was what Elsie needed.

Isobel, with a smile on the lips, grew somewhat impatient. It wasn't every day that Elsie would reach for her, so something must be bothering the housekeeper. Elsie, if anything, had only been a good woman for her. They were close in age, but not close in thoughts and heart as she hoped they'd be. "Yes…?"

"…I wanted to talk to you about something for a while, Mrs. Crawley. I do not want to waste your time, for it is most certainly silly of me talking about such subject with you when I could find someone more proper to do so…"

"Am I not proper enough for you, Mrs. Hughes? What a shame!"

"No! Pardon me, it is not that – I hold you in the highest of regards, that's why I chose you to… well, talk." She grew a blush on her cheeks.

Isobel chuckled lightly, patting the woman's shoulder before crossing her hands behind her back. "Do not fret, dearest Mrs. Hughes, I was only kidding. But I am afraid I do not catch your train of thought in this one…"

Elsie sighed deeply before letting any other word. "It might be because I cannot speak about it here…"

"Well…" Isobel seemed to notice something in the other woman's voice. A need to vent thoughts. Isobel could do that, for Elsie was worthy enough of attention. She was a proper girl, she thought. Something must be troubling her thoughts, she thought. "…You can always come to my humble home for tea today, for I understand I couldn't simply drag you to have luncheon with me today."

"That would be great, Mrs. Crawley." Elsie smiled gently. "I'll be looking forward to it."

"Just tell me something… is it… oh, never mind – I do not want to be spoiled. You should know that you are never a bother, darling Mrs. Hughes. I am not your ladyship, you can see me as a friend. Come by for tea, then!"

Elsie nodded. Isobel was wise. Isobel knew of love and pain and good and bad endings. She knew how to ease hearts.


	2. Chapter 2

**As I have said some days ago that I was sorry for my delays on this story – I can't help to have priorities. As you all know, I am student, so study is the thing to do, and this is somehow my escape. So for all of you that have followed, read and reviewed, and even those who haven't done it and came here for the first time, a huge thank-you. I'll say this again: if you guys want to talk with me regarding anything fandom-wise, you can do so by PM, tumblr or twitter!  
This chapter of the story may be slightly controversial and perhaps a bit OOC towards Isobel. But here's the thing – I have said that this might have my personal headcanons implied in the plot. One of them is that Isobel is quite forward towards certain themes that should be somehow taboo'd in that decade. And the other is that Elsie and Charles had already have an affair while they were younger. So you've been warned – this is my personal vision and universe. Keep that in mind while you read it! And yes, I do know that this is rather shorter than the first one. I'm quite sorry about it!**

-/-

…_just a young heart confusing my mind,  
but we're both in silence…_

As the lunch ended, Elsie would often allow her thoughts to drift away from her duties. She wondered how she'd ask Isobel, this big, yet touchable lady who was so wise and grand, if it was wise to love in that age. If it was wise to still feel a flame burning the veins, until the heart starts jumping; if it was good to shiver when a certain voice is heard. If Elsie knew any better, she wouldn't care about those things. No one, but God, no one could judge her. After what she had been through, all those years, she was fundamentally free to do whatever she wanted without a care in the world, but yet she was ashamed of opening her mouth. Why? It certainly wasn't because Isobel was a higher lady, and most certainly not because she did not know what love was and what it brought. It was… at least, probably, because of the person in question being Charles Carson.

Oh, how she often remembers that night, many years ago, she wasn't even working for more than a month where Charles Carson, thinner, less charming, but no less handsome, took her hands, kissed them, before pulling her into his strong embrace. He smelled of grease and cheap cologne and sweat from work. He tasted like cheap whiskey and cheap cigars. But his kiss she deepened, poisoned by his presence. She let her go that night, and not a word was spoken, only eyes spoke the story of that single night. Afraid of a couple of human beings aboe them and their judgement, they stopped right there. No more hands. No more lips. No more nights spent in a small room and a small bed. A wrong that was right in all strands of her hair.

She chose her best dress, her best coat, her best shoes and went on her way in the afternoon. Isobel was waiting, she thought. She began to brainstorm means and ways to speak with this woman. Never mind what she thought – yes, Isobel wasn't her ladyship, wasn't paying her share of the work she did. But she used the rooms in the house, and Elsie served her. Served her son. Elsie was, in the end of the day, a servant. A woman, yes, just as a woman as Isobel was, but a servant nonetheless. What would Isobel think? What would Isobel say? At least she could count on her discretion. She knew Isobel knew better than to spoke of Elsie behind her back. After all, Isobel wasn't the kind of woman lady Cora was… or even the Dowager, which Elsie held as much regard as someone could.

As she reached the Crawley house, she noticed a fairly familiar face closing the big door behind him. She stopped walking as he approached.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Clarkson." She greeted, nodding. After all, he was a good man.

Richard Clarkson smiled a took his hat as he stopped to greet Elsie back. "Good afternoon to you too, Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Crawley told me you'd join her this afternoon."

"Did she? Goodness."

"Yes, she did." He chuckled. "And I only came to give her something, I will not bother you two any further."

Elsie chuckled too. A small chuckle, a lot of relief falling down her shoulders. She wouldn't be able to open his mouth in front of him. Not him. Not any men for that matter. "You wouldn't be bothering anything, Dr. Clarkson."

"That may be true, but I have work to attend. No rest for the wicked."

And so he went, having said his goodbyes as he walked past Elsie. And so she went, rang for the door, and waited for a response. It did not take long until Isobel herself answered the door. There she was, beautiful as always, a smile on her face, and her hand guiding the way for Elsie to follow. She entered, and followed the higher lady to her living room, sitting when told so, speaking when told so.

"Now, now, Mrs. Hughes – you shall not be so stiff around me." Isobel said, as she sat across her, hands laying gently on her lap. "I am not your ladyship…"

"I do know that-"

"And I'm most certainly not someone who you should bow and courtsie all the time. You may have served me a few times, but right now, you're my guest." She interrupted Elsie from talking, making the housekeeper smile nervously. "I do understand that it might be a little confusing. But there's always a first time for everything, isn't there?"

Elsie nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Crawley. You are correct."

She felt like every muscle had relaxed. Isobel's aura was something that soothed, that eased.

"Then tell me, what is this most great subject that you need so desperately to speak with me? Is everything okay?"

Was it? Well, to start, Elsie felt like she was only a little woman, without any notions of the world. She had never spoken of men, or love, or anything related to it, to anyone really – Beryl wouldn't count, and most certainly not Charles. She tried her best to keep herself out of any topic of conversation. Speaking about her was harder, was a lot more risky than speaking about others.

"You must excuse my… curiosity, ma'am, but you know… There are things one can't help but to wonder at this age." Elsie sighed. "I thought to myself that you'd be… the only person to understand what I am feeling. You are truly an experienced woman…"

Isobel scoffed, and smiled.

"…But really, you are! You went through so much. That shows another fiber, that shows strength. Wisdom, even. And I admire you immensely, I do."

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes. I've only done what I was taught to do, or rather, what I taught myself to do as years went by. To carry on." Isobel couldn't help but to smile. Being admired was something she was not used to. "May I ask you why you're telling me all this?"

"Because me and you have shared some secrets in the past. It might be a recent one, but you're the kind of woman I'd trust… well, you're the kind of woman I'd call a friend, if I may so myself."

"But of course we are friends, Mrs. Hughes! To think the other way around, what a silly thing to do. I wouldn't receive you here as a guest if we weren't friends, now, would I?" Isobel chuckled. "But let me ask you something, before you continue."

Elsie raised her eyebrow quietly. "You may, yes."

"Is all of this because of Mr. Carson, or am I terribly mistaken?"

For the first time in years, Elsie was at a complete loss of words. How could she figure it out so easily? Was it written in her skin? Was it so obvious? Elsie feared. Elsie, in that moment, feared so much like she has never feared in the past. Things like that ought not leave one's mind, or one's heart, and they mustn't leave one's mind or heart when we're speaking of a housekeeper! The distress it would cause. Elsie felt her face going pale, her throat gone sore.

"Oh, the tea has arrived!" Said Isobel as cheerful as she could ever, side eyeing her guest as quietly as she could. She knew she had just hit the point with that question. She wasn't a woman to be wrong when her intuition was as sharp as her tongue. "So, Mrs. Hughes, is it?"

What would Elsie answer? A simple yes would be too forward. A maybe would be too insecure.

"…Well, you've said enough. Be at ease, Mrs. Hughes. I'm not dumb. I figured it out years ago." And she kept hitting the spot. "I was just waiting for a confirmation."


End file.

Downton Abbey, Drama, Hurt-Comfort