A/N: The first six chapters of this "fic" are all one story; starting with Ch 7, they are individual prompt answers.

In answer to the following prompt from the Chelsie Pride challenge (thanks, dibdab4!):

"From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced."

CRASH!

What in heaven's name …? Mrs. Hughes rose from her chair and bolted for the butler's pantry.

"Whatever has happened in here?!" she exclaimed as she burst through the door, her brogue thick in her semi-flustered state. The scene that met the housekeeper's eyes knocked all the wind right out of her. "Oh, Mr. Carson!"

There, on the floor, lay the butler. He was conscious and was lying on his side, a gash in his temple thoughtlessly dripping blood onto his black livery. Thank goodness it's not landing on the white collar, she thought inanely. He'd be furious!

"I am sorry for the commotion, Mrs. Hughes. It seems I lost my balance for a moment." Mr. Carson made to rise quickly, waving her away with a shake of his hands, and he groaned loudly as he collapsed back onto the floor. "Perhaps not," he said, more to himself than to her.

Mrs. Hughes ignored his wave of protest, approaching him and crouching down next to where he rested on the floor. "Here, let me help you up before the entire downstairs comes to see what happened," she said quietly. The man was nothing if not proud, and she knew without even asking that he'd be horrified to be found in such an unseemly position by anyone but her - even being seen like this by her was going to push him almost to the brink.

She reached over and offered him one hand to hold as she grasped his elbow with her other. "There, now, nice and easy, Mr. Carson." She managed to get him to a sitting position on the floor and, after a moment, managed to help him to stand long enough for him to make it to the nearest chair, where he promptly slumped down in a most un-Carson-like position and closed his eyes.

Mrs. Hughes reached into her pocket and pulled out her handkerchief, moving over to the glass of water that was on the butler's desk. Wetting the cloth and squeezing out the excess, she moved back to him and crouched down once more next to the chair. She leaned forward, gently wiping away the dripping blood before dabbing lightly at the gash to staunch the flow. He seemed not to have noticed yet that it had been soiling his lapel, a fact for which she was eternally grateful at that moment, knowing his sense of confusion produced a calm that never would have been present otherwise.

"Mrs. Hughes, I assure you, I'll be just fine," he said quietly, opening his eyes. The sudden nearness of her overwhelmed him; on top of the confusion brought about by the harsh pain bouncing around in his head, he feared that if she continued to maintain such a close proximity he would soon lose all control over his movements and words, something he wasn't quite ready to have happen. Not yet, he thought, but perhaps soon.

She turned her head slightly upon hearing his words, and noticed as if for the first time just how near their faces were to one another. His breath on the side of her neck as he'd spoken had jolted her into a sense of ... awareness, she supposed … and she suddenly found herself quite flustered in a manner that was altogether not appropriate. "Just until you catch your breath, then," she said, a slight shudder to her voice.

"Mr. Carson! Whatever has happened?" came a voice from the doorway. "Should we have Mr. Barrow telephone the doctor?"

Mrs. Hughes turned sharply and saw Daisy and Madge peeking around the door jamb. "No, Daisy, thank you, I will take care of that in a moment. Mr. Carson will be fine."

"But I don't need the doctor, I just need a moment to gather myself," he protested weakly.

"Mr. Carson, I'm going to call Dr. Clarkson immediately, and there won't be another word about it! You've sustained a nasty wound to your head and I'm sure it's a great deal more painful than you've let on."

"But – "

"No."

Daisy watched this exchange in awe, suddenly realizingsomething she'd not put together before. She hadn't quite managed to clear her expression before the housekeeper turned again to face her, and she feared for a moment that Mrs. Hughes had been able to read her face as easily as she was always able to read the butler's expressions.

"Daisy," said Madge, tapping her friend's arm lightly, "let's get back before Mrs. Patmore has to come and find you herself." Just then, a bell rang in the distance, and Madge heard Anna's voice say it was for Lady Edith's room.

Daisy nodded and the girls headed down the corridor. As they turned the corner, Mrs. Hughes could hear Madge giggling. She let out a forceful sigh, and turned her eyes back to Mr. Carson.

"Don't you move from that chair," she warned. "Here, just hold this a moment." She continued to hold the handkerchief over the gash as Mr. Carson reached up to grab it, her heartbeat racing for a moment as his fingers brushed over hers, his eyes meeting her own with a look of something she was afraid to identify, something so close to what she, herself, was trying to cover up in her own. With a deep breath, she backed away and turned to the desk, picked up the receiver, and asked to be connected to Dr. Clarkson's office.

"What, exactly, happened back there?" Madge asked Daisy as soon as they were out of earshot of the butler's pantry. "You looked as if you'd taken a turn."

"I'm not entirely sure," Daisy said, "but it sounded as though Mrs. Hughes were Mr. Carson's wife instead of his friend, didn't it?"

Madge giggled. "Well, they dooften act like an old, married couple at that. But, truly, who would ever believe it of either of them – at their age, carrying on?"

Neither girl had noticed Miss Baxter approaching them from behind, having followed them from the corridor where she'd been privy to the conversation happening in the butler's pantry as well. Having also heard the crash she'd come at once but, seeing that Mrs. Hughes had it firmly in hand, she'd simply started to back away before catching sight of Daisy and Madge.

"From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country!" came Miss Baxter's voice. Her usually soft-spoken manner had given way to a somewhat strict tone that neither of the young women had ever heard from her before – one that, despite her words, said she thought them anything but silly at that moment. "I have suspected it of you for some time, Madge, but I am now convinced." Looking at Daisy, she continued, her voice quieting noticeably, "But I'd not have expected that from you." With a final look at them both, she shut their gossip down completely.

"I'm ever so sorry," said Daisy quietly.

Miss Baxter approached her, eyes full of kindness once again. "I know that, Daisy, but speculation about the lives of others is rarely in anyone's best interest."

"Yes, Miss Baxter." Daisy looked at Madge, who had by this time turned bright red and seemed to be backing away slowly.

"Don't go anywhere, please, Madge," said Miss Baxter, voice still quiet but the tone altogether different. Daisy knew that, despite having her back to Madge, Miss Baxter could see that the maid was trying to escape.

"But I've got to see to Lady Edith," Madge squeaked. Miss Baxter may not have been her boss, but Madge had a healthy fear of the woman that she couldn't explain. Miss Baxter was always so kind, but there was something underneath that made Madge think of Mrs. Hughes in a way that she just couldn't explain.

"Then I'll walk up with you," said Miss Baxter.

As Daisy fled to the kitchen, Miss Baxter and Madge began to head toward the servants' stairs, where they were stopped at the bottom by none other than Mrs. Hughes.

"Is Mr. Carson alright?" asked Miss Baxter softly, her caring eyes reminding Mrs. Hughes that her Ladyship's maid was more observant than most gave her credit for.

"He should be," answered the housekeeper with a sigh and a brief closing of her eyes, opening them again and sending a not-so-heavily-veiled glance of utter relief back at Miss Baxter.

Miss Baxter reached out and squeezed the housekeeper's arm for the briefest moment, then dropped her hand. "I'm glad to hear it," she whispered with a small smile.

"Oh, and Miss Baxter?" Mrs. Hughes said, shooting Madge a look that made the girl want to blend right into the floor and disappear. "Thank you … I appreciate your taking control of an atmosphere when needed." The housekeeper's voice simply oozed false sweetness, a fact that was not lost on either of the other two women.

"My pleasure," said Miss Baxter with a small nod, leading Madge once again toward the stairs.

Housekeeper material indeed, thought Mrs. Hughes as she made her way to the Abbey's door to await Dr. Clarkson's arrival. That just may come in handy one day, after all.

The End

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