Done completely on the fly. I couldn't go to sleep without creating SOMETHING to deal with the unsatisfying nature of S5ep4. Below includes spoilers for that particular episode. Please see my blanket legal disclaimer on my author page.
Mr. Carson had rung the dressing gong and departed down the stairs to eventually oversee the caravan of serving trays and dishes that were about to be brought up stairs for the large dinner party held by Lord and Lady Grantham. Before the action began, the butler needed to make a stop in a certain sitting room.
The door was partially opened when he happened upon it. He pulled up short before knocking on the door to alert the sole occupant of his presence. Elsie Hughes appeared to be the model housekeeper, diligently working at her desk, sipping her cup of tea absentmindedly. Upon further inspection, the tableaux was of a more domestic nature, one reserved for one's half-day or before falling asleep. Or for retirement.
She looked beautiful in the intimate light of her sitting room. The days were still short, and he loved to see her in this light. If anything, it was a similar setting to their nightcaps. Nights spent alone were more and more infrequent these days, unfortunately. He thought of the growing set of sherry glasses no doubt waiting on her side table and sighed somewhat forlornly.
Mrs. Patmore's agreement to sponsor Daisy's studies meant more evenings of the young cook slaving away over her tomes. More significantly, it meant the butler and housekeeper shared more nightcaps with Mrs. Patmore. If he wasn't so annoyed by the arrangement, Charles Carson might have felt rather proud of the Daisy. As it was, his schedule had to adjust and he was ill-suited to altering and truncating his time spent alone with Mrs. Hughes.
To counteract the unwelcome development, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson shared extra cups of tea together before dinner. He began not to mind the situation as much, as it led to the moment he was about to share with her. As amused as he was to watch her turn each flimsy page of her reading, Charles Carson couldn't loiter in the corridor.
He knocked briskly on the door before barging in with an imperious huff. "What is the meaning of this, Mrs. Hughes? Reading a magazine while I'm about to slave away upstairs?"
She answered with a raised, amused eyebrow. "I found it in the hallway and was trying to see if I could discern its rightful owner."
Mr. Carson managed to look comically deflated at the thought. "Anything interesting?"
"The London Magazine - the usual drivel," she responded with a shrug to her shoulders and a charming smile.
She crossed and headed towards her china cabinet to pour him a cup of tea the way he liked it. He never asked and she never offered. It was what they did and each found private pleasure in the domesticity of it.
Things were becoming more comfortable between them, even though it wasn't a consequence of being in total agreement, once again. As disappointed as she was in his stubbornness to not include Archie Philpot on the memorial, she couldn't fault him for not being thoughtful in his reasoning. If anything, she took pity on the growing storm gathering between the cook and butler as it made for more awkward evenings with the trio shared a nightcap.
As much as she counted on Mrs. Patmore as a friend, she welcomed the possibility that Mrs. Patmore would beg off at least one evening so that Mr. Carson and herself could share a nightcap alone. She felt terrible at having such a dispirited thought, but it couldn't be helped.
Charles Carson tugged at his waistcoat as he remarked, "Well, then it's a waste to its rightful owner, I expect."
With a light, playful sigh, she responded, "So, that narrows the search down by one. Thanks for that." His eyebrow rose comically at her retort as she handed him a saucer and perfect cup of tea.
"Mrs. Hughes, you wound me, thinking that I would purchase recycled gossip when I can provide a substantiated tidbit without costing either of us a penny."
Mrs. Hughes had turned to retrieve her own cup of tea when he began. But she rotated back towards him with a curious look on her face. Charles Carson looked positively impish despite his stately dress and bearing.
Turning to close the door behind him, he heard her command, "Well, go on then."
He intoned formally, too formally for her not to notice and suspect. "I'm afraid I have some bad news, Mrs. Hughes."
Her eyebrows raised in mock surprise, "Is that so, Mr. Carson?"
"Indeed it is, Mrs. Hughes." He couldn't hold his regal bearing for long. His chin lowered as he leant closer to her. Head tilted, he shared his secret with his partner in crime. "I regret to inform you we have lost our 'first footman.' The title is just too grand for our Mr. Molesley, it seems."
Her surprised, victorious laughter filled his ears and warmed his heart. "Thank the Lord! I was wondering what else we would have to do to get him to crack."
"Frankly, I was running out of ideas, Mrs. Hughes," he admitted with amusement before sipping his tea. "The time-honored rights of the job are just too much, it seems. I told him I would see what I could do."
Elsie Hughes smirked at his turn of phrase. While being first footman was a privilege, Mr. Molesley was altogether more concerned about the amount of 'duties,' not the 'rights,' of the position.
"Don't forget that I recall how he revived his post in this family's employ, Mrs. Hughes," he reminded with a graveled tone. It sent shivers down her spine as much as his twinkling eyes.
"I agreed with you that he was becoming a little too content with titles and not the work that comes with the title, Mr. Carson. Is that enough? What else must I do?"
He stood, practically preening with an arm drawn behind his back. "Admit I was right, that is all."
Tilting her head forward in a mock bow, Mrs. Hughes, answered, "Just this once, Mr. Carson." He bowed back to her with amusement before she fully responded, "If only to lull you into a false sense of security."
His voice was slow, low, luxurious, and full of loving sarcasm. "Well that is very comforting coming from my equal, Mrs. Hughes, especially as the world spins faster and more wildly out of control."
"I told you what you could do about that, Mr. Carson," she reminded in a sing-song voice. She felt herself blushing. She felt heady, as if she already had glass or two of sherry in her system. It made her feel alive.
"Well, I don't see a beach on the grounds, Mrs. Hughes, so your offer seems rather limited." In reality, he cursed their cups of tea. He would have grabbed for her hand in an instant. He would have kissed her blushing cheek, too fearful to kiss her plump lips, transferring her becoming lip rouge to his own prominent mouth.
"My offer to hold hands to keep you steady wasn't qualified by the presence of sand and surf, Mr. Carson."
"Well, perhaps that is a bit more comforting, Mrs. Hughes."
They both chuckled breathlessly before shyly dipping their heads to drink fortifying, relaxing cups of teas. It did nothing to slow the familiar racing of their hearts. Adrenaline coursed undeterred through their bodies. It was happening more and more often when they were secreted away without the weight of the house and its occupants bearing down on their shoulders.
Charles Carson turned to the china cabinet to refill his tea, taking a steadying breath as he stood facing away from her. While their banter came with greater ease, it still felt a bit overwhelming to be this free with her.
He heard the sound of her heels clicking on the stone floor, coming closer to him before seeing and feeling her presence next to him at the china cabinet. She sat her teacup and saucer down and he automatically moved to refill it with tea and the perfect amount of milk and sugar.
Once finished with his work, his right hand reached out across her nearly to grab a waiting, warm biscuit. Much to his surprise, Mrs. Hughes had moved to grab for a biscuit simultaneously. Their hands brushed and he pulled away – stricken.
"Mr. Carson," she whispered with a low timbre, "Do you need to feel steady?"
He had succeeded in making her flustered a few days before, and he had never felt prouder as he told her to "Get away with you." But now he was set delightfully adrift again. Familiarly, she had the upper-hand as she glanced innocently up to wide eyes. But he had learned to play the game, for she had taught him well.
"No, Mrs. Hughes. I don't need steadying. But I wouldn't mind taking your hand, once in a while," or for a lifetime, he thought, no longer illicitly.
They were so close, now facing each other as their hands still rested by their own sides.
"I think that could be arranged, Mr. Carson." Their very bodies were taut as their minds and words moved blithely – verbally sparring, encouraging, and offering.
Anxiety began to surge through them, but not of the kind that paralyzed. It was of the ilk that energized and made every moment slow down to allow intense awareness of the moment.
She moved her left hand to his as right hand opened to receive her. The soft skin of his long fingers caressed her hand and very soul. They teased nerve endings along her wrist, pinky, and thumb before encapsulating her in warmth. It was gloriously overwhelming and her eyelids shuttered closed at the sensations.
Elsie Hughes felt him move a half step closer, and she wondered what the now masterful Charles Carson would do next. He could leave her in the dark and surprise her now, and she enjoyed the drawn out wondering. Her relish was borne from a more secure understanding that things between them were not the figment of her active imagination. She smiled at the thought.
Charles Carson took in the pleased, expectant look of Elsie Hughes unabashedly. The housekeeper could be guarded with most, especially him. But now Elsie Hughes stood, eyes closed, and completely open to him. He savored her expression for a moment longer.
About to lean in to take his waiting prize, a most untimely knock was heard on the sitting room door.
"Mr. Carson, the family should be down to the drawing room at any moment."
Mrs. Hughes' eyelids flew open at the sound, aware of the proximity that Charles Carson still maintained despite the fact that their hands pulled apart immediately.
"Thank you, Mr. Molesley. I shall be with you in a minute."
Simultaneously, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes both raised their eyes to the heavens. "Your ex-first footman is waiting for you, Mr. Carson," she remarked with forced amusement.
"Don't I know it, Mrs. Hughes."
He laboriously turned for the door, unhappy to leave their time set apart from others. Before opening the door, he spied the four sherry glasses next to the decanter on her side table.
"Who else is joining us, tonight, Mrs. Hughes? A stable boy," he asked with slightly veiled sarcasm.
"The first stable boy, of course, Mr. Carson. It wouldn't do for us to take sherry with the second or third, now would it?" She was trying to lift his spirits, but it wasn't helping.
"When will things get back to normal," he asked seriously, even lamentingly.
"I don't know, Mr. Carson. It's the price of progress, a good one, if it makes Daisy more sure of herself."
He bristled at the comment, as he was still convinced Daisy's education was a matter of false progress.
Not wanting to have yet another discussion on Daisy's learning, Mrs. Hughes, admitted, "But yes, it would be rather nice to have things go back to normal for our sherries."
"Yes, it would mean a slightly less chance of someone knocking on the door," he admitted to his own surprise, let alone hers, as he stared at her hands.
At that, he exited swiftly.
Left alone, Mrs. Hughes gasped with laughter at his boldness for a moment.
But her eyes were soon drawn to her side table. She stared ruefully at the four sherry glasses and decanter and wondered. She wasn't sure how or when, but she promised herself to arrange at least one night in the near future when only two sherry glasses would be needed – one for her and Mr. Carson, alone.
After that sad Downton Sunday, I hoped this cheered you on this lovely Monday!
If you can, share your thoughts on my impulsive little fic! Thank you!