Chapter Text
She has always liked the park in early Autumn. When the leaves have already changed but the weather is still dry, chilly and brisk, and she can bring the children out in their coats and hats without worrying that they'll all come home sodden and halfway to catching a cold.
There is something about the world painted in reds and browns that settles inside of her and sees her happily through even the harshest of Winters.
The children tend to be happier in Autumn, allowed to play without getting too hot. Jumping in the piles of crispy leaves swept up on every corner when she is feeling particularly forgiving.
She listens to the clip-clop of the horses on the path behind her, leans back into the bench to watch James try to teach little George how to throw a ball. She hasn't the heart to tell him yet that at three, his brother is not going to be the big help in improving his cricketing skills James hopes he will be. The older boy has been so excited this year now that George is old enough to play out with him. He had wanted a brother for quite some time.
James will be going away to school in a year or two, boarding through the school terms. It isn't her place to question her employers but she always hates when a family has this tradition. She understands how important education is, wants only the best for her charges. But she is the one that holds their hand as they cross the road, that wipes their eyes when they fall over. Who tells them stories to help them sleep after a nightmare. She sees how much the children love their parents and their siblings and then how hard they try to hide that they'll miss them when they're dressed up and leaving for the train.
"Did you see, Nanny! Georgie almost hit me that time!"
She smiles at James, nods to say she did see the ball fall from the little boy's hand and roll gently across a foot and half of grass.
"Well done Master George!" She will buy them an ice cream on the way home. The sun seems to be holding today and she knows that Mr Jones has kept a little aside for her even though it's now out of season. She doesn't know if they'll get back here again this year.
James hands the ball back to his brother, trotting the distance to stand beside his hat, which she supposes is as good a stand-in as anything for a wicket when the pitcher hasn't grasped even the basics of throwing just yet.
James thumps his bat against the ground, smiles at his brother and waves his hand. "Go on then Georgie."
The little boy looks at his brother, at the ball in his hand, at Elsie on her bench and then throws, underarm and too gentle to really go far.
James lunges forward so that the tip of his bat taps against the ball just enough to make a noise and she is on her feet clapping before she worries how that will look.
Thankfully, another thing she likes about the park in Autumn is that it is empty.
She sits again quickly as James runs in straight lines to and from his hat, his brother showing no interest in picking up the ball that has rolled back to his feet.
"Well done Master James, good show."
Almost empty.
She blames the wind for the reddening she feels in her cheeks as Mr Carson settles on the bench beside her.
"Good afternoon, Mr Carson." She says, turning to smile at him.
"Miss Hughes." He nods at her, fingers raised to the brim of his hat as though for a moment he considered doffing it.
"It's late for you to be in London." She turns from him, back to the children where George has finally picked up the ball and James has graciously allowed this to stop his runs.
"Mrs Brithelwaite has finally given her notice and his Lordship has asked me to interview for a new Housekeeper for the house here."
Even from the corner of her eye she can see the way he puffs up at the thought of Lord Grantham trusting him with this.
"Well, there's no one better for the job, I'm sure." She says, biting her lip to keep in a smile. "Although how the 'big house' will do without you for a few days, I don't know."
"Something, Miss Hughes, that I shall worry about until I return."
She does laugh then, looks away from the boys just long enough to catch his own smile, his eyes sparkling.
"Daft man." He tips his head in what could be acceptance.
She has known Mr Charles Carson for almost 12 years now, when he took over as Lord Grantham's Butler and started to visit London each season. She was working for Sir and Lady Mileston at the time, caring for their two girls. {Spoilt little things when she arrived and on their way to being fine young ladies when she left - only some of their improvement she attributes to her own presence.}
They had been only the third family she had worked for, only the second here in London and she had often walked her charges through this park, settled beneath one of the trees or here on the bench with sandwiches and books. Annabel had loved to draw and so when the weather was particularly fine, they would set up a makeshift table out of a crate kindly donated by old Mr Jones and the young girl would rest her pad on it and sketch. Leaves, shoes, abandoned broken parasols lost to the wind. Nothing had been safe from that girl's pencil, including Elsie herself who would often find that soon after setting up, the girl would be directing her to 'sit this way, Nanny, no not like that, like...yes that's it and smile, no a real smile'.
{She knows that she is softer on the children than she ought to be, but she finds that kind words and understanding get better results than some of the mean-spirited lecturing she has heard from other Nannies over the years. Besides, her charges only ever get the sharp side of her tongue the once before they think better of taking advantage.}
It had been during one of those not-taking-advantage modelling sessions that she had met Mr Carson. He had stumbled upon them - quite literally, tripping over the slightly spread out hem of Elsie's dress, his eyesight hindered by the tower of cardboard boxes he held in his hands.
It wasn't until he was quite far into his rant about public space and keeping pathways clear, her own anger increasing with every word, that he moved enough of the boxes to actually see her. Immediately he stopped, his face turning even redder than it had already become as he attempted to dip into a bow without losing any of his packages and apologised for his 'unforgivable and undeserved behaviour, Milady.'
She supposes she should have been flattered to be mistaken for a Lady, and indeed she was, much later, when she revisited the whole scene in her memory. But at that moment, the suggestion that she would deserve such a talking to if he had not mistaken her for a higher class had been rather the final straw.
She does not quite remember her words to him, and he has told her since that they were nothing harsher than he deserved given his own behaviour, but she rather thinks he is trying to spare her feelings. She knows she can be quite mean herself when she has a mind to.
He had been waiting by the bench the next day when she and the girls arrived, holding a box of cream pastries with a terribly nervous expression on his face.
Since then, she has seen him at least once a month every Season, more often when the Family are not entertaining but visiting and he can be spared, and he has become her dearest friend and most dedicated letter-writer.
"It isn't Summer no more, Mr Carson." James says as he leads his brother to the bench, evidently giving up on the game now that George looks only minutes away from sleep. His coat pocket bulges where he has stuffed the ball and the bat drags lines in the ground, hanging limply from his hand.
"'Anymore', James." She corrects, helping both boys up onto the seat next to her, not putting up even a token protest as the youngest crawls straight into her lap. {She put a stop to Mr Carson's disapproving looks at such actions years ago. Even still he smiles sheepishly at her as though remembering that disagreement.} "And Mr Carson is here because Lord Grantham needs a new Housekeeper and he wants Mr Carson to choose someone to hire." She tries to impart with her tone how much of an honour that is for someone like Charles Carson.
"I got to choose which carriage father took to work this morning." James says after much thought, leaning around her side to peer up at the Butler. She supposes the two decisions do hold the same weight to the child.
"Well then, Master James, you know how important it is that I make the right choice."
The boy nods, tilting his head and obviously thinking something through. They wait for him and she thinks that as lovely as this unexpected time is with Mr Carson, the afternoon is beginning to fade and she should be getting the boys back home; she has some words to work with James on and George will need a proper sleep before dinner.
"Mr Carson," The boy starts eventually, leaning heavily into Elsie's side, "you're not going to hire Nanny are you?"
It's such a surprise and so unlikely that Elsie would laugh if she couldn't see how much the thought is obviously worrying the lad.
Mr Carson seems just as surprised, his eyes meeting hers over a now sleeping George's head, before something makes his eyes soften.
"No, Master James. I won't be taking your Nanny away." There is a wistful quality in the way he says it that she is sure has nothing at all to do with her not becoming a Housekeeper, even hypothetically.
She wraps her free arm around James, feels him press his head in against her side. She does love her charges even though she ought not to. "I don't think I'd make a very good Housekeeper." She says, meeting Mr Carson's eyes.
"I think you'd make a splendid one, Miss Hughes, in another life."
Something in the way that she feels as though an important moment has been lost, makes her think he isn't talking about the job at all. It's absurd really, Butlers do not marry and he would never ask her for anything else except for her friendship and he has been assured of that for a long time now.
She lets herself sit there for a few moments more, breathing in the early October air, before she jollies James into action, takes his free hand and with George in her arms, gets them all up off the bench.
"Goodbye, Mr Carson. See you in the Summer."
He does doff his hat then, the ridiculous man. "In the Summer, Miss Hughes. I'll let you know how the interviews go." He adds as she turns away.
"Please do, I'd like to see if my opinions of the candidates match your own." She answers, as close as he will come to promising to write and she will in promising to respond.
She smiles, heads out of the park. It is too late now for ice cream, they'll just have to return tomorrow, weather permitting. Perhaps Mr Carson might be free again too.