Author's Note: This is sad, and I wrote it cause sometimes you just need a good cry.
Inspired partially by Audra McDonald's I'll Be Here (if you're not looking for a good cry, I suggest NOT listening to that song)
May 1920
The door closed and then another. They were late. Carson set down the silver fork but in his haste to reach the kitchen forgot about the rag in his hand and the apron around his waist.
Mrs. Patemore stood in the kitchen. One hand rested gently upon the counter as she stared unblinkingly at the sink. The heaviness in the air should have told Carson everything he needed to know. But he ignored it. Confirmation could only come from one source.
"She wants to see you." Mrs. Patemore said, still staring at the sink. "Only give her a moment, I think she'd appreciate getting her words in order."
Carson nodded. The rag in his hands became the only real thing he understood in that moment. He began folding it and unfolding it, walking slowly to her door. Pressing his ear against the wood he listened for any sign of weeping. A light shuffling greeted him and nothing more.
It didn't occur to him how strange he must look, standing with his ear pressed against the housekeeper's door, practically leaning against it - and that was what would have been strangest of all: Mr. Carson never leaned against anything in his life. But he didn't think how strange it was. His thoughts instead showed him her room and her desk and her most of all, strutting about as she tidied up her belongings after her long afternoon errand.
He counted to twenty then knocked on the door.
A soft "come in!" sounded from within. It took a lifetime to reach the door handle and then another to open the door.
