A/N: This cracked me up and wouldn't leave me alone, so I simply had to write it.
_._
"Mr. Carson," She had cryptically requested his presence with just six words:
"There seems to be a problem."
At the time, he should have been concerned. He had been concerned, actually.
But, it was not quite the appropriate level of concern.
It had been a brief, "Is something the matter, Mrs. Hughes?" and an inquisitive tilt of his head - but nothing more. Had he been truly concerned, he would have caught the fact that she had paused a moment, biting her lip whilst attempting to not wring her hands.
(Of course, he was always drawn to her lips, so he did catch that bit at the least. However, the not-so-subtle wringing and general aura of "For the love of God, we have a problem" was definitely missed)
And, unfortunately, the rest of her actions had to be swept under the rug - the bells were now ringing. The household, as always, was now requiring his undivided attention.
Which brought him to her sitting room several hours later, standing in the doorway and waiting hesitantly for an answer to whatever had been going on earlier. For it was now, in the stilted atmosphere of her domain, that he could begin to categorize this situation as one where he should probably have been more concerned from the start.
After all, it had been five minutes of standing in this spot and she still didn't dare to address the official problem.
Had he had been sitting, Carson would have been far past the edge of his seat.
As it was, he now only felt inclined to take another step further into her domain. He was not the fool who dared to leap audaciously over boundary lines, but she had explicitly invited him on the grounds of acknowledging some sort of household problem. And that invitation meant that the subject would have to be addressed relatively soon, if not within the next few minutes.
So, it appeared to now be time to bring out the necessary, potentially impertinent, questions.
"Is it something involving Mr. Barrow?"
"No." That line of thought seemed to distract her a bit from her concerns, and he felt a tinge of relief at this. Nothing against Barrow, not anymore really. But it did make it easier if the one servant in the house liable to cause scandal was, in fact, refraining from doing as such.
"Is it something that involves one of the children?" Though she had little caused to be around them, it was still a possibility. And, personally, if something were wrong with the children or with Nanny, she should go straight to her Ladyship instead of waiting around for his approval.
"No- no, nothing with the children." Thank heaven.
Still, even though there was no problem with children or even with Barrow, something was clearly bothering her. And, though he was not willing to accidentally spark the Scottish Dragon's wrath by prodding too much too soon… there was still the urge to outright ask just what it was that was troubling the woman before him. An urge that grew larger by the minute.
Unfortunately, the only problem with that plan was that it had a very high probability of bringing forth that infamous glare that could intimidate even Lord Grantham. And, with all the confusion this situation was bringing forth for him, Mr. Carson was simply not interested in bringing that into the fold just yet.
So, it was with trepidation that he waited for Mrs. Hughes's eventual answer.
Trepidation that soon shifted into hesitation.
Hesitation that was eventually outweighed by the need for propriety and resolution.
"Mrs. Hughes," He had to break the brewing silence at hand, for the suspense could actually have been killing him by this point. "Is this a matter involving some form of scandal?"
She sighed, inadvertently giving him his answer.
"It's not exactly scandal, no."
He was steeling himself for anything by this point. Simultaneously, he was just as prepared to admit to being at a complete loss with the situation at hand. He did understand her general need to understate any indecorous matters at hand, as he himself had a hard time navigating through the incorrigible depths of scandal. But there was also his waning patience on that matter that was calling for action.
Fortunately, right as he was about to outright demand a straightforward answer, she decided to just explain the whole situation.
In a further cryptic tone, that is.
"It's more bloody annoying than anything, if I'm to be quite candid." He did a double take at this, unable to handle the shift in mood and taking note of her colloquial slip. While an annoyance was far more easier to manage, her behavior hardly seem to categorize this as a simple annoyance.
"What on Earth do you mean?"
She sighed once more, letting her head drop a little before redirecting her to the ceiling.
"Take a step outside, Mr. Carson. Take a step outside, shut the door, give me a moment and you'll soon see."
Was he absolutely confused by her sudden instruction?
Certainly.
Was he still going to obey the beautiful, exhausted woman before him?
Undoubtedly.
"Now, just do as I said and all will be made clear." He could barely make out her voice through the now closed door. This whole charade in itself was trying enough. But, seeing how they were already this far into whatever this was, he could remain patient with the matter for a few more moments.
"Excuse me, I was looking for Mr. Carson," It was plainly and loudly spoken through the door, uttered with the tone of someone's who has already had a long day even though it's only been an hour.
He raised an eyebrow at this statement, re-adjusting himself as he waited for this scene to hop out of the Lewis Carroll novel it currently seemed to reside in.
"Mrs. Hughes, I'm right here."
"Just give it a moment, Mr. Carson. And don't even think of opening that door just yet." Which seemed to thoroughly contradict her previous statement of requesting his presence in the first place, but even Charles Carson knew by this point in life not to mention this.
And so he waited.
And continued to wait.
Luckily, it only took a few more seconds for a peculiar noise to sound. It sounded to his ears like a very poor at attempt of producing sound, and he glanced around - intrigued. It seemed to be emanating from the ceiling, but just what was it exactly?
Isn't there a white knight
Upon a fiery steed?
The unfamiliar American voice, a voice that seemingly spoke with a gravelly and - in his opinion - unnecessarily intense tone, began to echo throughout the vicinity. There was no reason to this sudden bombardment of noise, and it only seemed to crescendo into further chaos within the hall.
It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet!
For the life of him, he could not understand where on Earth that attempt at sound was coming from. At first it seemed to be the ceiling was the root of the problem, but now there seemed to be an army of discord marching through the area, permeating any and all surfaces, leaving no sanctuary of silence in its wake.
I need a hero!
I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night,
He glanced around the space, eyes still scanning for any sign of what on Earth could possibly be the source of such cacophony. So distracted was the butler, he almost missed Mrs. Hughes's next remark.
"You can come in now, Mr. Carson!"
"What did you say, Mrs. Hughes?" He couldn't help but raise his voice in response, losing her words to the sound of what he found to be a foreign monstrosity of noise.
He's gotta be strong
"I said,"
He's got to be fast
"You can come in now!"
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight!
Well, that was all the invitation he ever needed.
Hands fumbling for the doorknob, he opened the barrier as expediently as possible.
I need a hero-
The music cut off right as he stepped over the threshold, and he firmly shut the door - embracing the blessed silence for a solid minute before eventually releasing a sigh of relief. The chaos had apparently come to an end.
She could only tiredly look up.
"Every time I've searched for you this morning, that is what I've been greeted with." Questions began to flitter around his brain at this notion, and he could only shake his head in disbelief at the utter logic and reason that was nowhere to be found in this situation.
"But what does it mean, Elsie?" He was shaken enough he hadn't even noticed the slip. In response, her weary head simply dropped into exasperated hands. Having been wondering this exact thought ever since this started, Elsie now had some personal theories. But, still, the housekeeper couldn't bring herself to properly respond. Not just yet.
"Never you mind, Mr. Carson. Never you mind."
_._
A/N: I have other scenarios that play with a similar line of thought, because it's absolutely hilarious in retrospect. But for now I'm content to leave it be. If you're interested in the possibilities, let me know.
In any case, have a lovely day :)