This would take place during season 3, episode 3, in the midst of Mrs. Hughes' cancer scare.
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Upon first hearing the hushed conversation between Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. A coldness seemed to spread from his chest outward to his arms and legs, and immediately caused him to become shaky. He steadied himself on the doorframe and stared toward the hallway where the ladies had just been standing. It was as if all sense of normalcy had deflated from the room, and he found himself in a foreign place surrounded by things he did not recognize.
Was Mrs. Hughes ill?
He had noticed a slowness about her recently which seemed very out of character, but he blindly assumed she was being lazy. The thought now seemed ridiculous to him, for when had she ever been lazy? Mrs. Hughes often rose before he did in the morning and remained in the servant hall or kitchen after he retired at night. She kept track of the female servants and helped sort out their personal matters, approved the menus, ensured the laundry was cleaned, pressed, and delivered properly, smoothed out problems between the staff, and communicated with Lady Grantham when needs arose.
There had been numerous occasions when he, upon deciding he would not be able to sleep at all, had risen in the middle of the night to find her asleep at the dining table, paperwork sprawled in front of he. Each time he struggled with the decision of whether to wake her.
The first time, he did shake her shoulders until she stirred, groggy, and looked up at him. Her hands had immediately traveled up to her coifed hair, tracing it and tucking the loose strands away. She had cleared her throat, then hurriedly gathered the stacks of papers into her arms while mumbling disjointedly, "can't believe I … really did not intend to … so irresponsible … won't happen in the future … my apology, Mr. Carson." He had simply stood there, dumbfounded and unmoving, shocked that she was this harried after a simple mistake.
Yes, she always dwelled on even her most innocent mistakes, believing them to be signs of her weakness and inadequacy. Mr. Carson had found himself wondering about her childhood and young adult life, pondering over what her experiences had been, what particular circumstances would instill in such a hardworking woman the belief that she would ever not be good enough.
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In that moment, with his hand steadying him but a chill now settling over his whole body, Mr. Carson began to think of himself. His actions over the past week had been embarrassing, even if Mrs. Hughes was not ill. What had he said to her a few nights ago? Something about needing to pull her own weight? He had been cruel, and she had been worried and perhaps in pain, but unwilling to share it with him.
So she had endured his insult, apologized, and tried to perform her duties in a way that would please him.
Carson, you are an insufferable fool, he thought to himself.
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The next morning, Mr. Carson purposefully rose before the sun and set about on his morning tasks. He bustled around downstairs, checking each room to ensure Mrs. Hughes was not awake and working yet. Then, he carefully began completing her tasks as well. He sent the housemaids up to tend fireplaces, open the shutters, and tidy up; he let himself into her sitting room and checked the linens and china, swept, and built her fire. As he was discussing a breakfast substitution with Mrs. Patmore, he stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Mrs. Hughes standing in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her.
He wrapped things up with cook and followed Mrs. Hughes, who led him to her sitting room. She motioned into the clean, warm room.
"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, clearly attempting to hide her frustration.
"This is your sitting room."
"Mr. Carson, you know very well that is not what I meant. Who has been in my sitting room this morning, and why have they seen the need to coddle me?"
"Coddle you?" he asked incredulously, scanning his eyes around the room and making a mental note to fluff the chair pillows and fold her tartan blanket tomorrow morning.
She huffed and closed the door behind them, perhaps feeling the need to keep their conversation private.
"Mr. Carson, most of my morning duties have already been completed. I require an explanation."
He sighed.
"Mrs. Hughes, I behaved … callously … toward you a few days ago. You seemed tired, and I was rude instead of understanding. I wanted to apologize for my behav—" he began, but was cut off.
"Are you referring to the evening when I was skulking down the hallway instead of helping in the dining room? Because I quite agree that I behaved improperl—" but then she was interrupted as well.
"I will hear none of this. You work harder than anyone in this house, and I have all the respect in the world for you. I wanted to show you how sorry I was, instead of merely telling you."
She was silent. He was not sure if her eyes had been glossy the entire time, or if it happened in the last moments. Regardless, he marveled at her beauty. She reached up to wipe her eyes, and took a step back.
"Mr. Carson, thank you for looking out for me. But rest assured, I can complete my daily duties satisfactorily, without help."
Then she stalked out of the room, leaving him to stare at the unfluffed chair cushions.
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