One thing I've always wondered about is when Mrs. Hughes first found out that Mr. Carson had been on the stage. There are so many possible answers to that question, and I've decided to write a few of them. They won't be posted in any particular order. Enjoy!
Mrs. Hughes made her way along the gallery, checking bedrooms as she moved toward the back stairs. When she reached Lady Sybil's room, the door was halfway open - one of the maids was probably finishing up in there. She went to step inside, but Anna came bustling out, nearly knocking the housekeeper down in her hurry.
Anna's eyes widened and she quickly hid something behind her back. "Mrs. Hughes! I'm very sorry. I should have been watching where I was going."
"That you should, but there's no harm done." Mrs. Hughes looked closely at the maid. "What is it that you're hiding behind your back?"
Anna tried not to look nervous, but she couldn't meet the housekeeper's eye. "Oh, it's nothing. Just some rubbish I found in Lady Sybil's room."
Mrs. Hughes tilted her head to one side and made it clear with one glance that she could tell Anna was lying. "Anna."
"I'll take care of it, Mrs. Hughes. Really, it's nothing."
The housekeeper said nothing, but held out her hand, palm up.
Anna was not ready to capitulate, but she didn't know how to keep her secret from her superior without getting into trouble. Mrs. Hughes was a kind woman, but she did not tolerate insubordination.
"Anna, if it's just rubbish, why are you trying so hard to hide it?"
"Because..."
"Because …?"
Anna said nothing.
Mrs. Hughes's voice was firm. "Anna, please give it to me now."
Anna's shoulders slumped as she reluctantly handed over the wrinkled piece of paper.
Mrs. Hughes noticed how distressed she looked. "Anna, whatever's the matter?"
"It's Mr. Carson. I shouldn't have…"
The housekeeper's eyebrows drew together. "Has this got something to do with Mr. Carson?" she wanted to know.
"Just don't say anything, Mrs. Hughes," Anna implored her. "Please." And she hurried to the servants' stairs, leaving Mrs. Hughes a little baffled.
Mrs. Hughes slipped the paper into her pocket without looking at it. She had a feeling it was something she ought to read only when there was a closed door between her and the rest of the house. She knew it was right to take it from Anna - it was no good to have her girls keeping secrets - but she also knew her head housemaid wouldn't have hesitated so long to obey her order if there wasn't something at stake.
It wasn't until later that day when Mrs. Hughes had a moment to herself that she took the paper from her pocket and indulged her curiosity. She sat down at her desk, unfolded it, and looked it over. It was a handbill advertising a show of some sort, with a list of a variety of performers. Cheerful Charlies, Florie Flower, Claudet Emerson, Terrible Tillie, Small George. Her brow wrinkled. What on earth could this have to do with Mr. Carson? she wondered. She couldn't quite read the date, but the paper was obviously very old. Mrs. Hughes set it down on her desk and thought for a moment, before gasping and picking it up again. No, it couldn't be. She stared at the largest letters on the page. Cheerful Charlies. Charles Carson. Mrs. Hughes folded the handbill back up and tucked it away in her desk drawer. No. It's impossible. I must be mad even to consider it. She left her sitting room and went about her day. In spite of her initial thoughts on the matter, Mrs. Hughes could not shake the idea from her mind that Mr. Carson might have been one of the Cheerful Charlies.
Over the next few days, she began to think that her outlandish speculation might hold some truth, but she was still confused by the whole situation. Mr. Carson was clearly not himself, which might indicate that he had been shaken by something that had happened recently. Had someone found him out? Anna, perhaps? And was Lady Sybil involved somehow? Or was it something else entirely? Mrs. Hughes could not work it out. After a week passed and Mr. Carson's mood had not improved, she made a resolution to find out the truth. She was ready to descend on him in his pantry with a tea tray one afternoon when he surprised her by inviting her to join him for a glass of sherry that night. Even better, she thought. They were much more likely to be interrupted at tea time than they were over an evening sherry.
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"I'm sorry to be so late," Mr. Carson rumbled as he entered the housekeeper's sitting room with the sherry and glasses. "It's all right if you'd rather drink this another night."
"It's quite all right, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes assured him. "I'm just finishing up my work."
He poured two glasses and handed one to her before sitting down at her table. They sipped in silence for a minute or so and then Mrs. Hughes spoke gently.
"You haven't been quite yourself lately, Mr. Carson."
He stiffened a little and answered her a bit sharply. "Is that so?"
They were silent again, he regretting his tone and she wondering how to draw him out without provoking him to anger.
Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Mrs. Hughes. I didn't intend to speak so. It's nothing to do with you."
"Then what is it?" she asked.
He tensed again, but kept his tone civil. "It's no one's concern but my own."
"I see." Mrs. Hughes sipped her sherry and tapped her feet on the floor in no particular rhythm.
Mr. Carson watched her carefully over the rim of his glass. "Hmmm."
She looked up. "What is it?"
"What are you up to, Mrs. Hughes?"
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Up to?"
Mr. Carson smiled a little. "You never give up that easily. You must be up to something."
At this, Mrs. Hughes couldn't help laughing a little. "If you must know, I was thinking."
"About?"
"About how to get you to tell me what's troubling you."
"And have you come up with some clever plan?" he wanted to know.
She sighed and shook her head. "I'm afraid not."
Mr. Carson refilled his own sherry glass and silently offered Mrs. Hughes another, which she accepted.
"Won't you tell me, Mr. Carson?" she tried.
"I would rather not."
She sighed. "I'm sure it can't be that bad, whatever it is."
Mr. Carson said nothing, but looked extremely uncomfortable, tugging at his waistcoat and clearing his throat. "Mrs. Hughes, I hope in the time we have known each other, I have earned your respect."
Mrs. Hughes wondered where this was going, but she answered readily, meeting his eye. "Certainly you have! I'm not sure if there's anyone I respect more."
He was still and silent for a few moments, caught by her expression. "I should like to keep it that way," he murmured.
"Mr. Carson, I can't imagine what you might be capable of that would lose you my respect. We're none of us perfect. We all make mistakes."
"Nothing like this," he replied.
"Have you been stealing candlesticks, then?" she asked him teasingly.
Mr. Carson grimaced. "Not candlesticks," he murmured. Mrs. Hughes was so surprised that she couldn't think of any reply. "Food."
"Well… I'm sure you had a good reason," she speculated, when she had found her voice.
He frowned. "A reason? Yes. But a good one? I don't know if I can be the judge of that."
Mrs. Hughes set her sherry glass on the table. She wished she could find some way to comfort him - he was clearly in distress. She repeated her earlier question in as gentle a voice as she could muster. "Will you tell me?"
Mr. Carson looked into her eyes and, seeing only sympathy and concern, he nodded. He didn't speak, however, as he wasn't quite sure how to begin. Seeing this, Mrs. Hughes got up from her chair and walked to her desk, opened the drawer, and took out the handbill she had taken from Anna. She handed it to him.
"You were a Cheerful Charlie, weren't you?" she prompted, sitting back down.
"I was." He was quiet for a little longer, tracing the letters on the paper with his finger. "For a few years, that is, until the other Charlie started stealing from the theatres. Then I left the stage and went into service."
"So what's happened to bring this all up again?" Mrs. Hughes wanted to know.
"The other Charlie turned up in Downton last week. He threatened to tell his lordship about my past if I didn't help him."
Understanding dawned on her. "So you took food from the house to feed him?"
Mr. Carson nodded. "He was on the run from the law and I put him in an empty cottage and fed him. But he wanted money, which I was not under any circumstances willing to give him. So he came to the house and demanded to see his lordship."
Mrs. Hughes gasped. "The cheeky devil!"
Mr. Carson couldn't help smiling a little at her reaction. He ought to have known that telling her the story wouldn't be as dreadful as he had feared. "Indeed. I'm only glad most of you were down at the pub that day so there weren't many witnesses to that little scene."
"What happened?"
"His lordship gave him twenty pounds and sent him packing, under threat of prosecution for theft and blackmail."
"That was well done of him."
"It was. Then he refused my resignation and that was that. The only other people present were Lady Sybil, Mr. Bates, and Anna, so I felt fairly safe." He set the handbill on the table. "Where did you get that?"
"I caught Anna coming out of Lady Sybil's room with it. I think she was trying to protect you by destroying it before someone else came across it."
Mr. Carson was surprised. "Protect me?"
"She must have known how little you would have liked for anyone else to find out."
"That was very kind of her," he murmured.
"But she acted rather guilty, so I made her hand it over to me. I'll throw it on the fire right now if you like."
He picked it up again and looked at it for a long moment before rising from his seat and approaching the fire. Mrs. Hughes moved to stand beside him. He dropped the handbill into the flames and they both stood watching it turn to ash.
"Thank you for your sympathy, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "You've been very kind."
"Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Carson," she replied.
They stood together looking into the fire for a little longer before separating for the night.
Mrs. Hughes lay awake for a little while, wondering what Mr. Carson might have been like when he was young and earning his bread by singing and dancing. Mr. Carson prepared for bed more slowly than usual, hardly believing he had confessed so much. Both of them knew, however, that their friendship had changed in some subtle way, as they stood together watching the fire. They neither moved nor spoke, but each felt great comfort in the other's presence. And both looked forward to the next day, when they would be side-by-side again, the same as always, but now somehow different.
The end.
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