Special thanks to Mona Love for letting me bounce ideas during the preliminary stages of this story. She is the reason this fic did not die on my hard drive.
This story will include, and will not be limited to: Carson/Hughes UST, the Great Thomas-O'Brien Schism of '21, hurt/comfort, time-skips, rumours, half-truths and lies. And denial. Lots and lots of denial.
~ September 1921~
A long time ago, Elsie Hughes had learned a very important lesson: life was not, and nor would it ever be fair.
"Mother Nature has a cruel sense of humour," her mother had warned. "She plays cruel tricks on the unsuspecting, you best remember that."
Futures are built on shifting sands, she had always said. One brick out of place, and everything collapses into rubble.
"What about miracles?" a young Elsie had asked.
"Fairytales. Propaganda spread by the Catholic Church," her mother had answered. "Never trust an Irishman."
Her mother was a horribly cynical woman.
And while she was often more optimistic than her mother had ever been, Elsie Hughes could never deny that at times life was in fact unfair. She lived life for so long and she knew the ways of the world. The aches in her joints, the creases on her face and the callouses on the palms of her hands were indicative of some of the wear and tear her body had endured over her many years.
She knew the ways of the world. She would never get used to it.
Mr Carson had come down to her sitting room with a haunted look on his face and had asked her to help him round everybody up. In one fell swoop, he had announced the birth of a baby boy and the death of his father. All the joy on everybody's faces had been replaced with sorrow.
Another young man dead before his time.
Mrs Hughes spent that night wandering the corridors like a ghost. Her white nightgown and robe flowed easily with each of her careful movements as she tried to keep the jingling of her trusty ring of keys to a minimum. Her long hair was tied in braid tossed over her shoulder. She held a kerosene hand lamp in front of her to guide her, the soft orange light cutting through the darkness that had fallen. She walked barefoot on the hard wooden ground because he clicking of her shoes would only interrupt the little sleep the others were managing to get.
For she was not the only one to have trouble sleeping. Instead of tossing and turning continuously through the night, she would try to help the others because she knew that for her, sleep was a pointless endeavor.
Mrs Hughes had inadvertently startled a tearful Ivy in the pantry, and after reassuring the young girl that she was not in trouble, she sent her back to bed with a gentle hug. She found a sleepy Alfred sitting on the stairs so she tugged him by the hand and sent him back to his room.
It was the embers from Thomas' cigarette that gave away his position in the the otherwise dark dining hall.
"Hello, Mrs Hughes," he said as he flicked the end of his cigarette in his ash tray. "Have a seat."
She remained by the door surveying the scene in front of her. The young man struggled to light another cigarette with trembling hands. His normally perfect hair was mussed and sticking up in every direction possible.
"You should be in bed," she told him softly.
"And so should you."
With a defeated sigh, she sat next to him and placed the lamp on the table between them. Shadows danced across his face, illuminating his bruises from the fight at the fair.
Silence passed for a few seconds before Thomas broke it.
"This family is cursed."
"I wouldn't say that," Mrs Hughes tilted her head. "It's the natural order of things. Where there is life, there is death."
"Not like this," Thomas took a drag and slowly exhaled. "First, Lady Sybil. And now Mr Crawley. It can't be a coincidence." Another shaky drag. He was trying so hard to keep it all in. "They both deserved so much more."
Mrs Hughes noticed his gloved hand for the first time in a long time. He has had it for so long, it had become a part of him and she had forgotten. "You knew them both better than anyone here."
He nodded. He had fought alongside Matthew and he had worked with Sybil during the war. They were both wonderfully honourable people who consistently placed the needs of others before their own. Within the span of a year, they were both gone. He glanced bitterly at his gloved hand. They were so much better than him. "I owe them both so much."
"All you can do now is honour their memory and never let them be forgotten," she told him. "And cherish the children they left behind."
Thomas was mulling this over when Mrs Hughes stood up. "I have rounds to complete," she reached for his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Please try to get some sleep tonight, Thomas."
Any other time he would have corrected the use of his first name. He was now Mr Barrow, the Underbutler, and he deserved it damn it. But tonight, to Mrs Hughes, he was Thomas and that was alright.
"I'll try," he concedes. Try is the key word.
Picking up her light, she maneuvered herself out of the dining hall, giving him a quick reassuring smile before exiting. She inspected the corridors and was satisfied when there was nobody lurking in the shadows. She continued on her way, only stopping when she came to a certain door with yellow light escaping from the bottom.
Of course he would be awake.
Not even bothering to knock, she pushed the door to the Butler's pantry open to find a dishevelled Mr Carson. He sat behind his desk pouring himself a glass of brandy. His robe was parted open, revealing the blue striped pyjamas that he wore underneath.
He glanced up wearily from his ministrations. "Ah, there you are, Mrs Hughes."
She shut the door quietly behind her and seated herself across from him, carefully placing her lamp on his desk. "You've been expecting me?"
He shook his head and his messy grey hair flopped over his eyes. "Not expecting," he brushed the hair out of the way. "Merely hoping." He grabbed a second empty short-stemmed glass. "Nightcap?" He had begun pouring the amber liquid before she could answer.
She cradled the wide bottom of the stemware in her lap and watched him lean back in his chair and take a sip of his drink. The dark bags under his puffy eyes cut her heart.
"Can't sleep?" She cringed at the the stupidity of the question leaving her lips. The onus of bearing the bad news had fallen onto him, and he had carried it as best he could. But now, he was crumbling. Of course he couldn't sleep.
In that moment she decided that if he needed her to keep him together, she would do so. If he needed her to catch him when he crumbled, she would do that too. She would always be there in whatever way he needed her to be.
"Everybody was so happy," he took another sip. "I had been so worried about Lady Mary; I didn't even think about her husband at all."
"It was an accident. A freak accident," she emphasized her words. "Nobody could have predicted it."
"It isn't fair."
"Life isn't fair, Mr Carson," she echoed the lesson her mother had taught her so many years ago. "But it will go on."
He finished off his brandy, and stifled a yawn. "You'd think I'd be used to that by now."
Before he could pour himself another, she placed her untouched drink on his desk. "We should try to get some rest," she stood and walked around to his side of the desk. Offering her hand to him, she pulled him up. "Come on, Ivy will be up soon to wake everybody."
He wobbled a bit as he stood and placed a hand on his desk to steady himself. Mrs Hughes instinctively looped her arm under his large frame to keep him from collapsing back in his seat.
"Goodness, how much have you had?" she teased lightly. She was not upset, far from it.
"Enough to make me tired." He opened his eyes once his dizzy spell had passed.
Mrs Hughes continued to hold him with her right arm. While Mr Carson knew it was completely unnecessary as his balance had returned, he let his left arm drape over her shoulders. Reaching over, he turned off his desk lamp and grabbed the hand lamp. Together, they shuffled to his room. She barely registered her robe slip open and the disarray he was causing to her appearance.
When she opened the door to his room, reality came crashing down. He was intoxicated and draped over the housekeeper. The lack of propriety was astounding. He quickly removed himself from her.
"Thank you for escorting me Mrs Hughes," he stood stiffly at the threshold. Before he could apologize for his awful behaviour, she had wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. Not really knowing how to respond, he let one arm wrap around her shoulder while the hand holding the lamp remained limp at his side.
"Never forget that you are not alone," she whispered in his chest.
She started to pull away as quickly as she had hugged him, but his arm kept her in place. Bringing the light up to finally take her in, Carson was shocked to see how tired she really was. He cursed himself for not noticing her grief stricken features earlier. She had remained stoic all through the day, comforting everybody else, that she had completely neglected to confront her own pain.
"Never," he reassured her.
A single tear escaped, and he caught it with his thumb and brushed it aside. He pulled away slowly, and she released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. "You should get going," he whispered, placing the lamp back in her hands.
She nodded wordlessly and disappeared down the corridor towards the door that separated the two halves of the servant's quarters. Her feet moved quickly along the cold, hardwood floor. Eventually, she made it to her room where she silently opened her door. Unbeknownst to her, another door closed right after hers shut – the occupant of the room across the hall had witnessed her sneaking back into her room in the wee hours of the morning.
Mrs Hughes collapsed on her bed and she finally allowed herself to cry. She shed tears for the young man who had lost his life before his time, the young boy who would never know him, and the woman who was no longer a mother. She thought of poor Lady Mary and the warmth that Matthew had known that was sure to be replaced by ice. She hugged a pillow to her chest and silently prayed that Lady Mary would eventually thaw for the sake of the child.
They were not her family, but that did not mean that she wished tragedy upon them.
And because carrying the weight of the world is exhausting, sleep soon overcame her without her noticing. It was only a few hours later, when Mrs Hughes was roused by the scullery maid's quick rap on her door, that she realized she had managed to get some sleep. Groaning, she hugged the pillow more tightly and buried her face into it. The morning had come too soon.
After quickly getting ready, Mrs Hughes took her seat at the Servant's table. Other than the kitchen staff who ate separately, she was the first to arrive. Everything felt heavy, her head, her arms...The knife she used to spread butter on her toast must have weighed a ton. For a brief second, a feeling of regret passed over her. She really shouldn't have wandered the house all night; she knew that it would take days, maybe a full week, before she fully recuperated. However when Alfred came slugging into the kitchen with his eyes half shut, she stifled the feeling. There had been others who had needed her.
Soon, Jimmy and Thomas appeared, and a gaggle of maids followed soon after. Soon, the table was full, Mr Carson being the last to arrive. Other than a few muttered greetings, the staff ate in silence.
The first of the bells rang, signally the beginning of another hectic day. It saddened her how sad it was. Although Matthew Crawley had died, it was just another day.
She managed to catch Mr Carson before he went to serve breakfast.
"Mr Carson," she called out as she descended the stairs and he ascended them. His pace slowed until they were were standing with two steps between them.
He looked up at her, his brow furrowing quizzically. "Yes, Mrs Hughes?"
"How are you?" she asked softly.
"As well as can be expected," he responded. Searching her face, he found that her eyes were still slightly puffy. "And yourself?"
"The same," she shook off the small bitter smile that had briefly appeared. "Do you remember what I told you last night?"
"I could never forget."
She nodded her head. "Good."
Without any further ado, they continued with their daily tasks. Mr Carson continued up the stairs, and Mrs Hughes continued down, passing a lurking Miss O'Brien at the foot of the stairs. The heavy atmosphere that weighed heavily on the house prevented Mrs Hughes from chastising the ladies maid as she normally would have.
To her credit, O'Brien had a legitimate reason for being at the foot of the stairs, but the scene that had unfolded before her had stopped her in her tracks. Their encounter had been brief, but poignant and it left her mind reeling. Had they always stood that close together? O'Brien frowned as she recalled a dishevelled housekeeper slip into her room sometime between late night and early morning. She hadn't given it much thought then, but evidently the woman had been with Mr Carson.
A little bit further down the hall, but still within O'Brien's earshot, Mrs Hughes pulled Thomas to side.
"Did you have any luck, Mr Barrow?" she asked him, referring to his insomnia.
Slightly startled that she was bothering to talk to him, he simply nodded.
"I'm glad to hear it," she said with a reassuring smile before walking away. An icy laugh escaped O'Brien as soon as the housekeeper was out of earshot.
"You're just made of luck, aren't you, Thomas?" Miss O'Brien taunted. She knew that he fancied himself as a victim, but in all her years, she had never come across anybody as lucky Thomas Barrow. No matter the cards that were dealt, he always managed to get away with anything.
She absolutely despised him for it.
"It's Mr Barrow to you," he said through clenched teeth.
"Of course. How could I forget? You're a mighty underbutler now!"
"I suppose I should be thanking you," he replied evenly, walking closer to her. "It never would have happened without you."
He had expected her to scowl and have a vile retort. Instead, she smiled sweetly. It was pure saccharine – it set Thomas' nerves on edge. "And you best remember that...Thomas."
She turned on her heel and continued on her way. Thomas remained behind for a moment and followed her up the stairs.
In all his years working at Downton, Sarah O'Brien had taught Thomas Barrow one very important lesson. It was possibly the most important lesson of all.
Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer.