This one-shot came from a prompt on the Tumblr blog imagineyourotp. I hope it makes sense to non-musicians. I tried not to make it too complicated, but I've been singing for many years, so my perception of what is or is not complicated may be inaccurate. If that is the case, I am sorry. I hope at least some readers (musicians or no) will understand and enjoy it.
This could take place really any Christmas that James works at Downton Abbey. He's not a character in this story, but a mention of him gives it a minor time constraint.
Mr. Carson was in his pantry when he heard it. He was a little surprised; he had thought that the downstairs area was deserted. He had received his Christmas gift from the family, but for some reason had not felt like staying, so he had left the others upstairs to their small celebration and come down to his pantry. Someone was playing the piano in the servants' hall. Who could it be? Years ago Mr. Carson would have known it was William, but he was gone now. James played, but the song that filtered through his half-open door was a bit mournful and he didn't think the footman would make such a selection, even if he had chosen to play a carol alone in the servants' hall. Mr. Carson went to the door to listen more carefully. He recognized the tune - it was The Coventry Carol, one of his favorites. He slipped out of his pantry and down the corridor, in silent pursuit of the music.
When Mr. Carson peeked around the corner he was astounded to find Mrs. Hughes at the piano. He watched her as her fingers traveled expressively over the keys. How had he never known she could play? She was playing from memory; she was not reading from a page of music. Her body moved slightly from side to side as the melody moved up and down the keys. She was even improvising little flourishes on top of the melody and harmony that she played so artistically. Mr. Carson was even more astonished when she began to sing. She sang softly at first, but then her voice rose. The carol was a lullaby, so she did not sing at full voice, but the melody resonated throughout the room nonetheless. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
Lullay, Lullay, Thou little tiny Child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Lullay, thou little tiny Child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Mr. Carson could not help joining her. He walked quietly into the room, and when he neared the piano he began to sing with her, softly at first to avoid startling her, and then lifting his voice to match hers. He stood behind her and a little to her right, mixing his deep harmony with her smooth alto melody. She did not look at him, but she smiled slightly as she continued. Mr. Carson was still amazed at what he heard. Every week beside him in church, she sang each hymn so softly that he could barely hear her. At Christmastime when the staff sang carols while James played, she never joined in, instead simply smiling and enjoying the festive mood.
O sisters too, how may we do,
For to preserve this day
This poor youngling for whom we do sing
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Herod, the king, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day
His men of might, in his own sight,
All young children to slay.
That woe is me, poor Child for Thee!
And ever mourn and sigh,
For thy parting neither say nor sing,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Mrs. Hughes paused before repeating the last line, which she sang alone, slowing the tempo as she ended the carol, her voice softening until the end of the lullaby could only be heard because the room was otherwise entirely silent.
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Mr. Carson rested his left hand lightly on her shoulder and she gently laid her left hand on his, her right hand remaining on the keys, the piano now mute. Her smile grew, but still she did not look up at him.
Suddenly, the room was filled with applause. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes both looked up in surprise at the crowd and their hands slid apart. The staff had gathered in the doorway of the servants' hall, some of them trailing into the corridor and a little way up the stairs, and they now streamed into the servants' hall, no longer keeping silent as they had while they took in the unexpected sight and sound of the wonderful music the butler and housekeeper performed together.
Mr. Carson was disconcerted and Mrs. Hughes was blushing as she rose from her seat. The crowd of servants parted and Lady Mary appeared.
"We wondered where you'd gone, Carson," she said. "What a lovely song."
"Thank you, milady," he replied.
"And you as well, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Mary said. "I had no idea you played."
"I don't think anyone did," Anna marveled from beside Lady Mary.
Mr. Carson shook his head. "I never knew. I heard the piano from my pantry and came here to find Mrs. Hughes playing and singing. I could hardly help joining her," he answered, glancing at her admiringly.
Mrs. Hughes was still blushing from all of the attention, but she tried to speak normally. "Oh, it was nothing," she said dismissively. "Mr. Carson is the better singer. Now don't you all have something to do right now besides standing there gaping?" She moved away from the piano to get back to her own work, but Mr. Carson caught her attention.
"Mrs. Hughes," he called softly and she turned back to him. The crowd of servants was dispersing noisily, so no one else heard him as he drew nearer to her. "Will you join me for a glass of wine later tonight?"
"Of course," she answered, smiling almost shyly. "I will see you sometime after dinner, then?"
Mr. Carson nodded. "Yes. Come whenever you can. I'll wait for you."
Mrs. Hughes nodded in return and walked away from him and out of the servants' hall.
#####
Mrs. Hughes knocked on the pantry door just after eleven o'clock and let herself in before Mr. Carson answered. He never answered, really, because she never waited for his permission to enter when she knew he was expecting her. And he was. At her knock he had taken the stopper out of the decanter and started pouring wine into the waiting glasses. He handed her one and took the other, gesturing for her to take her usual seat. They sipped a few moments in silence. Mr. Carson was the first to speak.
"Why did you never tell me you could play?" he asked curiously.
Mrs. Hughes shrugged. "I don't know."
"And sing as well? You barely whisper the hymns in church."
"That question I can answer. You sing so well that I couldn't compete with your voice. I've only whispered them, as you put it, to avoid the unfavorable comparison I would face when singing right beside you every Sunday."
Mr. Carson looked at her in disbelief. "What do you mean? I've never heard anything more beautiful in my life than your voice," he said softly.
She frowned. "You can't mean that, surely," she said.
"Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?" he asked.
"Then I suppose I must believe you," she answered with a bewildered smile.
"Did someone tell you your voice was anything less than lovely?" he wondered.
"Not exactly," she mused. "But everyone marveled over my sister's when we were young and as we grew up. I had no chance against her. I didn't attempt to compete with her, and she never had a cross word for me, but I simply thought my talents lay elsewhere."
"And you learned to play the piano to accompany her?" Mr. Carson guessed.
"Yes, I did," she confirmed. "I still enjoyed singing, even if my voice was not so wondrous as hers, so I've kept at it, but only when I was alone. I didn't realize you were downstairs as well or I would not have played or sung at all."
"Then I am glad you didn't know." He smiled. "I liked your choice of song, as well. The Coventry Carol is one of my favorites."
"And one of mine as well," Mrs. Hughes replied. "It's such a lovely lullaby, although some of the lyrics are melancholy. The whole carol is written in a minor key, and only resolves to the merrier major chord on the very last note."
"You've really studied music, haven't you?" Mr. Carson asked.
"I have," she answered. "I love this carol, because if you listen to it from beginning to end you feel its melancholy, but the last note is one of hope and joy." Her eyes shone with unshed tears and she bit her lip, looking down into her wineglass.
"I can see that it affects you, Mrs. Hughes," he said gently. She did not answer. "Do you often feel melancholy, then?"
She shook her head. "Not often," she said quietly. "Just sometimes. But when I do, I hope that at some later time in my life, I will feel the joy of that final chord's resolution. Only I hope that it comes when I am not too old to enjoy it."
"Is there something you want, Mrs. Hughes? Something that will give you that joy?"
She raised her eyes from her glass and looked him straight in the eye. Mr. Carson felt pierced by her gaze. "Yes, there is something I wish for, though I do not know if it is possible that I should ever gain it. But I am sure there are other things that could bring me joy, if I only look for them." Mrs. Hughes paused, her eyes still scrutinizing his. He felt transfixed and could not move. "Do you ever feel melancholy, Mr. Carson?" she asked.
He swallowed, trying to recover the power of speech. "I do, sometimes. And I know something about seeking what will bring you joy. I never thought of it in such a musical sense; it is a beautiful analogy."
Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Well I hope we will both find what we are looking for."
"Perhaps through music," Mr. Carson mused. "Will you stop whispering the hymns now?"
She nodded her acquiescence. "If you like."
"Your glass is empty," Mr. Carson noticed. "Shall I refill it?"
"No, thank you. I think it's time I was getting to bed."
"Must you go so soon?" he asked, rising from his chair as she rose from hers.
She looked at him intently, though she felt a little bewildered. "Yes, I think I must." She moved toward the door and Mr. Carson followed. Before she could reach the door knob, he gently took hold of her elbow to stop her. She turned back to him.
"What is it, Mr. Carson?" she asked, concerned. "Are you quite all right?"
"No. I mean, yes, I'm perfectly well. But there is something I want to tell you, or ask you. I'm not sure which."
Mrs. Hughes looked confused, but had no objection. "Then tell me, or ask me, Mr. Carson. I will listen to whatever you have to say," she replied in a sympathetic tone.
He cleared his throat. "It's about that joy we both seek," he began. She nodded, encouraging him to continue. His voiced gained strength. "You said just now that there was something that would bring you joy in your later years. It is very much the same for me. You mustn't feel as though you have to say anything if it makes you feel uncomfortable, but there is one thing that could bring me joy in my later years, though it is not a thing, but a person." At this, Mrs. Hughes's eyes widened. Mr. Carson tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. At last he managed, in a whisper, "it's you."
Mrs. Hughes smiled a little. "It's you that's kept me from feeling melancholy too often, you know," she said. "And it's you that can bring me that joy I'm looking for." She paused and her smile grew. "You're my major chord, Mr. Carson."
In a flash, he had crushed her to him and was whispering into her hair. "Oh, my darling. I love you, my Elsie."
"I love you, my dear one," she said into his chest.
Mr. Carson released her from his firm grip and his hands moved up to cradle her face. Mrs. Hughes took his face between her palms. As he bent to kiss her, he did not need to pull her toward him, nor did she exert any pressure to pull him down to her. Their lips met and silent music swept them away from their earthly cares. His arms moved down to her waist and he pulled her to him as her hands moved into place at the back of his neck. Mrs. Hughes played with the hair there, and before she knew it both of her hands were buried in his hair, disarranging it entirely. Mr. Carson ran his hands along her upper arms, where fewer layers of clothing separated them. They kissed until they were both out of breath and had to pull apart. Mrs. Hughes felt a bit lightheaded, but Mr. Carson held her so she wouldn't fall, touching his forehead to hers.
"You're very good at that," she whispered breathlessly. "I've waited years for it, you know."
He chuckled. "You're very good, too," he said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "And it was worth every second I've waited."
Mrs. Hughes wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her head on his chest. "I'll sing for you every day, if you like," she said. "Not just on Sundays."
"Sounds marvelous."
After a short silence, she began to hum a lullaby, one she had heard as a child. Mr. Carson wanted to join her, but he didn't know the song, so he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the music and the feel of her voice resonating through his chest. He grew tired and buried his nose in her hair, breathing deeply, trying to fill his lungs with the scent of her. He was nearly asleep when she finished her song and she laughed softly as she nudged him awake. "Mr. Carson, I think it's time for you to get to bed," she said.
"Mmmmm…" he answered. "I think you're right. And I think you'd better do the same."
"Yes, I must," Mrs. Hughes replied, disentangling herself from him and taking his arm. They walked together down the deserted corridor, but stopped when they reached the place where they must split from one into two and ascend their separate staircases.
"Good night, my musical darling," Mr. Carson said, kissing her lightly after a brief glance around to make sure they were alone.
"Good night, my major chord." She said, with a smile, and kissed him back. He chuckled against her lips.
They ascended to their separate rooms, where they were near one another, but separated by that dividing door. Mrs. Hughes had the authority to turn the key, but she didn't. Somehow she knew that the day when she would not sleep alone anymore in this narrow bed was not very distant. She could wait a little longer.
The end.
In my headcanon, Mrs. Hughes doesn't really have this much knowledge of music, although I do imagine her being pretty good at singing lullabies. Hope you enjoyed this little bit of fluff anyway.
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