It had been awhile since she'd last made a bed, but her muscles remembered the movements. Several of the staff were ill with the familiar round of early winter colds. There was a new maid to be trained. It was with this maid that Mrs. Hughes was making the large bed in the Princess Amelia room. Mrs. Hughes looked up in time to see the maid in the motion of slapping the pillow heartily. Recognizing that particular pillow, Mrs. Hughes tried to stop her.
"Helene, not-"
Too late, the weak stitching gave out and the pillow released its countless feathers to the air. It was at that moment that Mr. Carson walked into the room. The downy feathers began to settle on every surface in the room, including their clothing. The plumes seemed to have a particular affinity for the material of Mr. Carson's jacket.
"Helene," she said, "fetch a dustpan and a very slightly damp cloth."
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hughes," Helene was bravely trying to hold in her tears.
"It's not your fault, Helene. That pillow should have been repaired days ago. Go on now." Mrs. Hughes was kind, but firm.
Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes simply looked at one another. His eyebrows were raised, but his expression did not otherwise change. She looked back with exasperation in her eyes. Neither needed to say that there was no fault here. Simply another inconvenience. He turned his back to her and began plucking the largest feathers off his front. Speaking to one another in the type of silent shorthand only present in people who've worked together for years, she immediately went to him and began to extract the feathers from his back. With an economy of movement, they made short work of what was able to be done with just their hands. About done with his back, she asked,
"Was there something you needed, Mr. Carson?"
He shook his head. "It's all right, Mrs. Hughes. I'll see that the matter is taken care of."
Taking the offer of help, she replied, "Thank you, Mr. Carson."
She stepped in front of him and held out her hand to take the extracted feathers from his. He deposited them and raised his chin, silently requesting she give the front of him a once over. Noticing that he'd been unable to see the feathers near the top of his chest and his shoulders, she began removing them. Though organized as usual, her thoughts were seven different places at once. Which was only about two more places than usual. The morning routine was the tightest of the day, with the least room for adjustments. She quickly made the necessary changes in her mind, frowning slightly.
"Well," she sighed, "That's about as good as we're going to get. You're presentable enough, but you'll have to get one of the boys to brush-" she stopped, suddenly aware that he'd placed his hands on the underside of her forearms. She looked to his face, a question on hers. And saw an expression she'd never dreamed would be directed at her. His face was like thunder. Or perhaps intense confusion? Maybe both? Before she could even think, she tried to take a step back from him. But his hands wrapped around her elbows, easily able to close completely around their circumference.
Frankly, she was terrified. He couldn't possibly be angry about feathers. She knew he wasn't. He'd been resigned about the matter only moments ago! What had changed in mere seconds? She worried something was wrong with him. She'd watched her grandfather have a stroke and he'd certainly done some strange things during the crisis.
"Mr. Carson?"
His hands tightened.
"Mr. Carson!" Louder now, "What on earth is the matter?! Are you ill?"
The muscles in his jaw clenched once. Twice.
And then he thrust her away from him, releasing her.
Bewilderment written on her features, she rubbed her arms.
"I-" he began. Stopped. Straightened his shirtfront. Looked her in the eye and said, "Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Hughes." He stepped out of the room as Helene was returning.
Mrs. Hughes' mouth was agape. She was grateful for Helene's hardworking nature as the maid immediately began cleaning up the feathers, hardly sparing the housekeeper a glance. It gave Mrs. Hughes precious seconds to recover her composure. What had just happened? Other than illness, she couldn't think of a single thing to have caused his bizarre behavior. Shaking her head as though she could physically remove the incident from her mind, she continued with her morning. Mrs. Hughes was left utterly confused and entirely unsure if she would ever find out the reason for this extraordinary incident.
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