A/N: Mrs. Hughes ponders retirement. Set in S5 and into S6
She had never thought that she would live to retire. Thought that she would die in harness as they say. She'd thought him ridiculous when he'd said much the same thing back during the war, when he was considering going to Haxby; when he told her that he thought that he would die at Downton and haunt it ever after. She'd never, necessarily, thought that she'd die at Downton. Never thought of any one place of employment particularly, just that she would always need to work. She never really gave much thought to it; never imagined sitting behind her desk, pencil in hand, adding figures in her ledger, perhaps closing her eyes, resting her head back just for a moment, and that being it. Of someone finding her like that. Perhaps Madge or Anna, Mrs. Patmore, or heaven forbid, him. No, she imagined working as long as anyone would allow her. Whether it was at Downton by his side or somewhere else.
But when he proposed a business venture, she had to reconsider retirement; consider the improbability of it. She'd pushed idea to the back of her mind, because she knew that she could never and thought he would never consider it. She didn't think that he had it in him. However, things had changed since that day at the beach when she had dared him to move forward, when she had had enough of this pushing and pulling thing that they did to one another.
She had seen the hurt in his eyes when she had told him that she couldn't go in with him, couldn't invest her share. She had never wanted to string him along, never wanted to raise his hopes only to dash them. She had wanted to keep it from him, the secret of her sister, that she, herself, was a pauper. She had never lied, not by commission, but by omission and it seemed just as deceitful, just as hurtful. The look of hurt in his eyes was more than she could bear, to think that she had killed their little dream.
But he had surprised her. Instead of anger, he had shown kindness and generosity of spirit, blamed himself for bullying and chivvying her when he should have shown sensitivity; when he should have outright asked for her hand. However, he didn't ask that, not yet because he wasn't ready, couldn't screw up his courage and put it into words; the things people don't say to one another.
Then he had told her he'd bought the house. She was genuinely happy for him, told him that he deserved it and he did. But she also knew that it meant he would one day leave her; that he would retire to that house or to another. That she would be the one to die at Downton and haunt its halls ever after. He would leave and eventually so would Mrs. Patmore and perhaps Daisy would go off to the farm. And there she would be. Alone. Keys jingling at her hip, an ever rotating parade of young girls to train and mentor until they too left to marry and run their own houses while she stayed behind cataloguing someone else's linens, balancing someone else's ledgers, living in someone else's house. She would trudge flights of stairs to her room that was cold in winter, stifling with stagnant heat in summer. She would climb into a bed just big enough for one while he settled into a bed for two in a warm room, in a cozy house. But she was happy for him; really, she was. She had made her choices. Family came first; there was no room for empty promises or those yet to be made.
TBC…