Knowing what not to fear

Mr. Charles Carson had never been honored with a call to serve King and Country. He'd never been called to acts of courage and sacrifice on the battlefield. His skill at standing to attention had not been utilized on parade. The exacting standards he lived by were never used to mold young soldiers and his stern visage had never struck fear into the hearts of trembling privates.

And as he stood in front of the door to his housekeeper's sitting room, running his eyes over every imperfection in the grain of the wood as he squared his shoulders in anticipation, he mused that, perhaps, it was for the best that the role of Sergeant Major had never fallen to him. If simply preparing to speak to his fiancee' about possible colors to grace the walls of the future bedroom - their bedroom? - reduced him to racing heart and sweating brow, he wouldn't have likely been much uses in the Forces.

He glared pensively at the doorknob and wondered why such a minor decision, in the scheme of things, could cause him such consternation. An off-handed comment by Mrs. Hughes - Elsie she said I could call her Elsie - that the bedroom walls were a bit dingy had caused him to jump recklessly into action. He'd immediately contacted the long suffering gent who had contracted to address the many needs of their new home and informed him that paint would be required in the larger of the two bedrooms - it was THAT one she meant wasn't it?

What sort of paint, Mr. Carson?

And he was floored by this logical question - laid low by the specifics of it. As he had no idea what sort of paint Mrs. Hughes - Elsie it'll be Elsie who resides there - wished to see adorning the walls of the - their - bedroom, it now fell to him to…ask her.

How had he never noticed before how out of plumb this door was hanging? Perhaps he should see that the estate workers addressed that….he could speak to them today.

Right now, actually.

But before he could turn away to eagerly seek out a carpenter to address a problem that didn't really need to be addressed, the door opened abruptly in his face. He jumped back with a startled grunt.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mrs. Hughes apologized as she took in his heaving chest and alarmed expression. "Did you want to see me, MR. Carson?" She had been emphasizing his formal name intentionally ever since their heated discussion over using their Christian names when they were speaking with each other. At first, it was because she was annoyed with him, but now it simply brightened her day to see his amusingly vexed expression as he reaped what he had sown.

With a severe clearing of his throat, Mr. Carson pulled at his waistcoat and prepared to inform her that he had indeed wanted to discuss an issue with her but that he intended to see to the repair and restoration of her door first. Unfortunately, that was not what emerged.

"This door, Mrs. Hughes, does not shut properly," he informed her.

"I shouldn't think so, as often as its been slammed in the last 20 years," she replied calmly.

"Ah. Well, then." He turned to leave, but stopped in his tracks at her incredulous voice.

"That's what you wanted to tell me? That the door to my sitting room doesn't close properly?"

"Strictly speaking…not exactly."

"Well then…?" She stepped to one side and waved her arm in an invitational gesture. Her eyes were friendly, but firm, and he could see no way to avoid stepping into the breech.

With no other options before him, Mr. Carson took a deep breath and with an abrupt nod at Mrs. Hughes - Elsie and why did her eyes have to twinkle so when he was so nervous? - he strode into her sitting room.

She watched him standing at near attention while she shut the door - the door that wouldn't shut properly but shut well enough you daft man - and sighed.

"How can I help?" she asked as she sat down at her desk and motioned for him to take a chair. They sat in silence for a moment as Mr. Carson looked in every direction except at her. Mrs. Hughes curbed her impatience and waited.

"It's about…about the walls," he finally said. Risking a glance at her face, he saw nothing but confusion and curiosity. She thinks I'm mad.

"The walls?" she prompted when it looked as if he'd go no further.

"The walls in the cottage," he continued with a slight rasp in his voice. She looked at him expectantly. "You mentioned that the walls in…there were some walls needing paint, I think?"

"Well, perhaps the walls in the bedroom could use some brightening up," she replied offhandedly, wondering why he was gripping the arms of the chair tightly enough to leave indentations in the wood. "I thought a good scrubbing would do the trick, but a bit of paint would be lovely too."

The arms of the chair gave an alarming squeak under the pressure of his fingers. She looked as his hands in concern.

"Did you have a color in mind?" he choked out. "You should decide," he added at her confused look.

"A pale green or a pale yellow would look well in the sunlight coming through both windows, but if you prefer a simple white, that would be fine."

"If I prefer…?"

"Well, it'll be your bedroom as well," she said with amused exasperation at his alarmed expression. "There's no reason you can't have an opinion about the color of the walls."

It was if ten stone had suddenly been knocked off of his shoulders - my bedroom as well. He pried his fingernails out of the arm of the chair and sunk back until he was very nearly slouching.

Mrs. Hughes shook her head and smiled as he visibly relaxed - there now...nothing at all to be afraid of Charles.

"You weren't fearing a disagreement over the color of the bedroom walls, were you MR. Carson?" she asked teasingly.

"It had occurred to me, MRS. Hughes," he teased back in relief. "And you know how much I don't like it when we are not in agreement."

"Well then, you'd best save your fears for something more important. Like the linens and the curtains. I won't be giving any ground on those."

"I'll keep that in mind, Mrs. Hughes," he said as he rose to return to work. And to call the contractor and let him know to find the most delicate, beautiful shade of pale green he could for the bedroom walls - their bedroom.

"Do that, MR. Carson," she said as he left, looking up to meet his eyes as he glanced back at her from the door.

Mr. Carson marched triumphantly down the hall to his pantry, head held high, as befitted a man who had conquered his fears - our bedroom ours! - and come through the battle to victory. At least, for the next battle, he'd know what not to fear.

He was fully prepared for a strategic retreat on the linens - the linens for the BED oh dear God- and the curtains.

What sort of bed - our bed? - did she have in mind for those linens….