Litte DA fic
Title: Collectible
Characters: Hughes/Carson
Rated: T
Just a tiny bit of fluff written for the 'new inventions' challenge on lovebelowstairs
“I’ve made tea,” Charles said, pointing to a pot sitting on the sidetable.
“How did you know?” Elsie asked, pouring herself a cup and adding a generous amount of sugar and milk.
“I imagine you’ve been on your feet all day.”
“I have at that,” she murmured, sinking gratefully into the chair.
She nodded to the contraption crowding his desk. “And this is what you’ve been doing with yourself today, I take it, Mr Carson.”
“Yes. What do you think of it?”
She eyed it warily. “I think it looks almost unnerving.”
“You don’t want to use it?”
“Heavens, no! What exactly do you call it?”
“A telephone,” he drawled.
She pursed her lips and snorted.
“A candlestick telephone,” he elaborated. A small shiver ran down her spine as he ran his hands over the polished wood on its base. “The man came out and hooked it up today.”
“He never did. It works?” she asked, shocked.
His indignant look made his thick eyebrows almost meet. “Yes, most certainly it works.”
She eyed him over the rim of her teacup. “So, who will you be telephoning then?”
He grinned at her saucy tone. “I’m not sure. There is this one woman I’ve worked with off and on over the past few years...”
“Yes?”
“She’s in London.”
She slammed her cup down on the desk. “London! Why, you--”
His grin widened. “Do you think there is someone I should telephone right here in Yorkshire?” He picked up the receiver and listened for a tone. “This,” he pointed to the circle of numbers, “is called a rotary dial.”
“I see.” She bit down on her lip so as not to laugh while he dialled a number he obviously knew by heart. His fingers looked far too large and ungainly for the holes; but his natural grace made it possible.
“Some models never had these. You needed an operator every time.”
“Mr Carson, are you telling me this is a modern version?”
Ignoring her teasing, he listened while the call connected.
The sound of bagpipes filled the room.
“I bet your candlestick telephone can’t do that,” she murmured, retrieving her iphone from her handbag and thumbing the screen to answer.
“And I’m only too happy about that,” he said into the mouthpiece of his antique telephone. “How clear do I sound?”
“It’s amazing. Just like we’re in the same room.”
He frowned over at her impatiently. “Perhaps you should go upstairs then.”
“Well I can, can’t I?” she said, standing and dutifully leaving the room. “Inconvenient things those cords,” she continued to mock as she climbed the stairs to their bedroom.
“Keep up this cheekiness and I won’t give you the other item I found at the auction,” he told her down the line.
“Other item?” she asked, pretending only the slightest interest.
“Look on the bedside table,” he quietly ordered.
She sat down on the edge of their bed, fingering the plain wrapping on the gift box.
“What is it?” she asked in a whisper.
“Open it and see, Ms Hughes.”
She placed the box on her lap. “Shouldn’t I wait until you are here, Mr Carson?”
“The cord...”
“We could just hang up,” she said.
“Sensible to the last.”
“Yes,” she agreed, unable to resist removing the box’s ribbon.
“Or...”
“Or?” she breathed.
“Or while I hang up and lock up the house, you could open your gift, undress and put it on.”
She lifted the lid of the box and smiled.
“Wear it? And nothing else? Is that what you’re suggesting, Mr Carson?”
“That is exactly what I’m suggesting, Elsie Hughes.”
“You have five minutes, Mr Carson.”
“I’ll only need two, Ms Hughes.”
Characters: Hughes/Carson
Rated: T
Just a tiny bit of fluff written for the 'new inventions' challenge on lovebelowstairs
“I’ve made tea,” Charles said, pointing to a pot sitting on the sidetable.
“How did you know?” Elsie asked, pouring herself a cup and adding a generous amount of sugar and milk.
“I imagine you’ve been on your feet all day.”
“I have at that,” she murmured, sinking gratefully into the chair.
She nodded to the contraption crowding his desk. “And this is what you’ve been doing with yourself today, I take it, Mr Carson.”
“Yes. What do you think of it?”
She eyed it warily. “I think it looks almost unnerving.”
“You don’t want to use it?”
“Heavens, no! What exactly do you call it?”
“A telephone,” he drawled.
She pursed her lips and snorted.
“A candlestick telephone,” he elaborated. A small shiver ran down her spine as he ran his hands over the polished wood on its base. “The man came out and hooked it up today.”
“He never did. It works?” she asked, shocked.
His indignant look made his thick eyebrows almost meet. “Yes, most certainly it works.”
She eyed him over the rim of her teacup. “So, who will you be telephoning then?”
He grinned at her saucy tone. “I’m not sure. There is this one woman I’ve worked with off and on over the past few years...”
“Yes?”
“She’s in London.”
She slammed her cup down on the desk. “London! Why, you--”
His grin widened. “Do you think there is someone I should telephone right here in Yorkshire?” He picked up the receiver and listened for a tone. “This,” he pointed to the circle of numbers, “is called a rotary dial.”
“I see.” She bit down on her lip so as not to laugh while he dialled a number he obviously knew by heart. His fingers looked far too large and ungainly for the holes; but his natural grace made it possible.
“Some models never had these. You needed an operator every time.”
“Mr Carson, are you telling me this is a modern version?”
Ignoring her teasing, he listened while the call connected.
The sound of bagpipes filled the room.
“I bet your candlestick telephone can’t do that,” she murmured, retrieving her iphone from her handbag and thumbing the screen to answer.
“And I’m only too happy about that,” he said into the mouthpiece of his antique telephone. “How clear do I sound?”
“It’s amazing. Just like we’re in the same room.”
He frowned over at her impatiently. “Perhaps you should go upstairs then.”
“Well I can, can’t I?” she said, standing and dutifully leaving the room. “Inconvenient things those cords,” she continued to mock as she climbed the stairs to their bedroom.
“Keep up this cheekiness and I won’t give you the other item I found at the auction,” he told her down the line.
“Other item?” she asked, pretending only the slightest interest.
“Look on the bedside table,” he quietly ordered.
She sat down on the edge of their bed, fingering the plain wrapping on the gift box.
“What is it?” she asked in a whisper.
“Open it and see, Ms Hughes.”
She placed the box on her lap. “Shouldn’t I wait until you are here, Mr Carson?”
“The cord...”
“We could just hang up,” she said.
“Sensible to the last.”
“Yes,” she agreed, unable to resist removing the box’s ribbon.
“Or...”
“Or?” she breathed.
“Or while I hang up and lock up the house, you could open your gift, undress and put it on.”
She lifted the lid of the box and smiled.
“Wear it? And nothing else? Is that what you’re suggesting, Mr Carson?”
“That is exactly what I’m suggesting, Elsie Hughes.”
“You have five minutes, Mr Carson.”
“I’ll only need two, Ms Hughes.”