- Current Music:If You Were the Only Girl in the World
SPOLIERS. For Battleships.
Elsie's reaction to William's death, because there has been nowhere near enough of those two this series.
She held herself together comparatively well in front of everyone else. She was good at that; not allowing it to sink in properly, walking around in a haze, comforting everyone else, squeezing Daisy's hand gently, holding Mrs Patmore when she returned to the kitchen and burst into sobs. She clenched her jaw and reminded herself that she was not the only one who had lost someone they cared about today, in fact everyone in the house- to a greater or lesser extent- felt the weight of William's death like a bleak mass hanging over them.
It was particularly hard on Mrs Patmore, she knew. Since her nephew's death she had become more and more close to William; through what had seemed to be a rather ridiculous carry-on with Daisy, Elsie knew that the cook had only had William's best interests at heart; she had only wanted him to be happy. Well, the lad had died happy, with his father and his wife there. And the woman who had must have recently become something like a mother to him.
It was an odd thing to wish for: really if she was going to wish for anything, why not wish that this beastly war had never begun?- but she found herself wishing in a vague way in the dull hours of the evening that she had been there too to offer him some comfort. He had always been brave; throughout the war and before that too- when he had first come to work at Downton and suffered from dreadful homesickness-; but she wished she could have been there to console him, to tell him not to be scared.
It grew, this wish, this niggling feeling in the back of her throat, throughout dinner, right until the time came when- exhausted and grief-stricken- the servants began to make their way in dribs and drabs to bed. She felt tired, but did not want to go to bed at all. She felt unspeakably lonely, but had no wish to speak to anyone. She sat, in a strange isolated state in the servants' hall until her final companion- Miss O'Brien- announced that she was going to try to sleep and offered a quiet goodnight.
The room felt too big with only her in it, and she got up and made her way along to her sitting room; her footsteps slow and quite ungainly, almost as if she'd been drinking. She opened the door and clicked the switch of the electric light. And dissolved into loud, sickening, hollow sobs. They came over her, one after the other; she was completely powerless to stop them. Unable to move, except to cry with even more of her body, she was conscious of herself keeling over until she rested in a heap on the floor, shaking and crying.
In a way she was relieved; her ability to hold this back all day had been just about beginning to disturb her. He had been like a son to her, she could not deny it, and she would have been unable to accept not shedding tears for him. Well, shed them she would.
And then she felt arms around her, separate from her own, hugging around her sides. They reached over her cold, shaky wrists, covering her hands; holding her and lifting her into a sitting position.
It was Mr Carson, she heard his deep, familiar voice beside her ear. She had supposed it probably would be; she doubted that anyone else would have dared approach her in this state. He was sitting on the floor beside her, letting her lean back against his chest, her legs folded haphazardly under her, his arms hugging her waist and his head resting against hers. The closeness was calming, and her sobs decreased in volume and frequency.
He rocked her softly, not saying anything, allowing her to cry herself out. Once she had finally hiccoughed to a halt, he made no move to leave her or get off the floor, he simply held her to him. He understood, she thought. It was wonderful to have someone who understood this great pain in her, this unspeakable grief that she didn't dare show to anyone else. Someone who would hold her as she let it out. Someone to kiss her hair in soft consolation. This last, she was not moved to question in the slightest. Their fingers had wound tightly together without their noticing.
“I'm sorry,” she finally apologised, “I didn't mean for you to have to hear me. I thought everyone had gone to bed.”
Though he had not shushed her sobs, he did so with her apology.
“It's alright,” he told her gently. His face rested beside hers, “You needed to. You love him, didn't you?”
Frowning, she leant her face even closer in to his.
“Yes, I loved him.”
-Clarkson/Isobel scene? I was waiting for him to fall to one knee and propose!
-O'Brien! I can't decide which way she is schemeng, but it is thrilling!
-MRS HUGHES. If I were Ethel I would be both terrified and honoured that someone as awesome as Mrs Hughes was troubling to tell me off!
-Shot of Carson/Hughes during the grand sing-along! VERY SHIPPY MOMENT!
-Mrs Patmore and her soup kitchen :)
-Violet attempting to advise Sybil!
I am sure that I will have forgotten something...
Here is the "more angst" I promised. It's loger than yesterday's so I won't pst it on here, it's called Pieces and it will appear on my fanfic page when fanfic see fit to put it there.
Also, due to the antics of Fourteen Hundred Hours and myself, do not be too surprised if a very flippnat, very frivolous, very unserious piece about Dr Clarkson, Isobel and playing volleyball should appear within the next few days.
I thought there was a bit missing from the end of the scene of those two in his bedroom that was just clamouring to be written. If you think there aren't going to be EPISODE 2 SPOLIERS in this, then you're daft, to say the least. Excuse slightly confusing title.
“The world does not turn on the style of a dinner.”
“My world does.”
He had said that he wasn't asking for sympathy, and she truly believed that he wasn't; only you wouldn't have thought from that remark, made so instinctively, that he didn't deserve it. For a fleeting second, she tried to suppress the surge of pity that rose in her then, knowing how he would feel if he knew she was feeling sorry for him, but found that she couldn't help it. Poor man. Working himself half to death, but feeling it in more ways than the physical because the work he did was his entire life. Now wonder he'd collapsed; he'd been lucky to escape without a heart attack.
She stood there above him, blinking foolishly, caught unawares by this telling, almost disturbing, remark. Apparently, he too had been taken aback by the implications of what he had said; he looked dismayed to the point of being cross with himself, while trying to gage her reaction at the same time.
While she thought so much so quickly about his remark and what he had unwittingly meant by it; she thought comparatively little about her response to it. She gathered herself; pushing aside the waves of surprise, pity, grief that were rising within her, and sat carefully on the edge of his bed, just close enough to bump softly against his leg.
She acted decisively, before his reactions kicked in or he had the time to raise an objection. Turning her body to face his, she took his face carefully between her hands and kissed him on the lips, chastely, almost shyly, though she had knew certainly that this was what she wanted to do, and no amount of reproof from him could change her mind. Her impulse had been to comfort him and, almost selfishly save for the caring nature of the impulse, she would satisfy it.
His hair felt soft in her hands, and he gave no objection to the gentle pressure of her lips against his, so she dared offered a little more, slipping her mouth open just a fraction. From there, it turned really quite passionate. She got carried away, she supposed; the strong feelings that had been unearthed within her since the painful fear of loosing him had first surfaced over-whelmed her and made her forget that this was just meant to be a friendly gesture. But perhaps, she thought, it wasn't that at all, and never had been.
It wasn't as if she'd never considered the possibility that she loved this man very much. Considered it, and pushed it aside, because she knew all too well what the answer was.
When she pulled away from their kiss, breathless, she found that his arms were around her and had been holding her tightly to him. They slackened a little but not altogether, and she rested her head against his chest. They were silent for a good few moments, before she heard him laugh softly into her hair. She was very pleased to notice that some of his previous indignation with her seemed to have abated.
“Elsie,” he asked her, “Are you trying to give me a heart attack this time?”
Her hand, resting on his chest already, stared of its own accord to sooth against him, brushing at his skin through the cloth of his pyjamas. Though his tone was light, the connotations of the remark did not escape her, and another wave of sadness threatened to engulf her.
“No,” she confessed quietly, “I was just trying to make your world revolve around something else for a little while.”
Please review if you have the time.
- Current Mood: blank
Just a quick commentry of thing that made me happy this episode:
-Mrs Hughes just barging straight into Mr Carson's room. Because she does that a lot ;)
-Isobel and her line about telephoning for Dr Clarkson; after this week's Clarkson/Isobel fics about telephones.
-The conversation between Clarkson/Isobel/Sybil.
-The fact that it is now MAJOR CLARKSON.
-Cora telling VIolet off.
-The line about Mrs Hughes keeping Mr Carson in bed. ;)
And that's just a few of them. Good episode :)
- Current Mood: happy
It was like Christmas Eve in our house last night, I was almost hysterical!
In my excitement- between rounds of homework- I have written FOUR pieces of Downton fic in a one day. That's good even for me on a good day.
I wll prbably sit through the episode not taking any of in; just thinking: "Gosh, it's on! It's on! It's on!"
- Current Location:Downstairs
- Current Mood: excited
- Current Music:Scala & Kolacny Brothers- With or Without You
It seems that all I have done this week is ship Isobel Crawley. With five different characters, I think I counted. I have been shipping her on buses and at birthday parties. This is especially odd as until about a month ago I'm not sure that shipping her with anyone had even crossed my mind.
I've always liked her as a character- and I think she's beautifully played by Penelope Wilton. But there suddenly seems to have been an explosion of Isobel shipping both in my head and on my computer.
Here is the evidence of this:
The Brief Romance of Trafalgar Square
The Merry Wives of Downton and the Grand Finale
The Merry Wives of Downton and the Grand Finale (ch2)
Love in the Life of Isobel Crawley
Love in the Life of Isobel Crawley
Isobel/Mysterious Anonymous Character that I invented
Love in the Life of Isobel Crawley
Blue and Gold
Also, Miss Puppet is writing a brilliant story called Honour Bound that features both Isobel-shipping and the Isobel/Elsie friendship-ship.
I don't know how I'm going to cope with going back to school next week; school constitutes the Real World.
- Current Location:Newcastle, England
- Current Mood: cheerful
- Current Music:A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square