Fortune will protect me as I walk on distractedly.
X
"Mr. Carson, a word, if you would"
He stops, and knows he should turn around. Charles Carson is many things, but a coward is not one of them. Except it is, he admits. He is faced with the reality cowardice brings him every single day of his life.
He doesn't turn; he waits for her to walk around him.
"Yes, Mrs. Hughes?" he says. His voice does not betray his fear. 'I am sorry. I am so, so terribly sorry' he thinks, and wishes she could read his mind in this particular occasion, as she has done so many times before.
"Good morning" she starts, and by the way she looks at him, he doesn't get the impression she will start yelling at him in the middle of the servant's hall. He sighs, somewhat relieved.
"Good morning"
"Mr. Carson, I was wondering if it would be possible for me to take my day off today. I know it's quite short notice, and my next day off isn't for another week, but something came up which I must tend to immediately" her voice, he notices, is calm and even, but she doesn't look at him. He begins to wonder what the spot right above his right shoulder has that's so fascinating.
"Is everything alright, Mrs. Hughes?" he thinks of her sister, whom she has, he remembers, stopped talking about for a while now.
"Quite, Mr. Carson, thank you. An old acquaintance of mine is passing through Downton today, and would like to meet with me before going back home"
He hesitates for a moment. He doesn't remember her meeting with any old friends in many, many years. In fact, the last time she ever talked about non-Downton related acquaintances had been a very long time ago. Before the war, even. He just cannot remember whom it was that she had gone to see… Maybe it was the same person this time?
"In that case, Mrs. Hughes, I think we can manage without you for today" he nods, and a small smile graces his features, and for a second, it is like nothing happened the night before.
"Thank you, Mr. Carson" but she does not see his smile, he realizes, as she turns around and walks away.
He spends the whole day without her, but she's in his thoughts constantly; permanently, even. But today there is a nagging in the back of his mind – he is annoyed because he cannot for the life of him remember whom she had gone to the village to see all those years ago. Does it matter?, he asks himself countless times, and the answer is most quick to come: of course not. But it is just one of those things that simply do not let your mind rest. Like a song you are trying to remember the name of, and the lyrics are stuck to your head all day.
He thinks about what he said to her the night before, and wonders how he can make it up to her. Maybe he should just apologize? But then again, the both of them were the masterminds of reticence. However, they had never been in such a hurtful situation before… He debates it the entire day.
When he retires to his pantry after dinner, she still hasn't come back. He worries – Elsie Hughes is a very sensible woman, surely she knows it does not do for the housekeeper of Downton Abbey to be out in the village at such a time. But what if something happened to her?, he mutters to himself. What if this friend of hers does not see fit to accompany her home? Will she walk all the way back alone?
As he sits down in his armchair, his heart sinks. He remembers it now. The last time she had gone to the village to meet someone, it had been Joe Burns.
X
She walks. For miles, she walks. It helps her not to think, not to feel. She walks until her feet hurt, until she is certain she cannot possibly walk another step. And then, she keeps on walking.
She doesn't think she has ever lied to him before. Omitted the truth, perhaps, or given him versions of the truth, but certainly not telling lies. She wonders if she should feel guilty. To hell with it all, she snorts, in a most unlady-like manner. It's not like he cares about her feelings getting hurt.
She knows she is probably overreacting. They had both had a very tiring day, and he had every right to be frustrated. But his comment had been the kind of thing she would expect from Thomas, or O'Brien, even – but not him. Never him.
She loses track of time. She has no idea where she's going, all she knows, all she's been thinking about ever since the night before, is that she needs to get away. From him, from herself.
She is tired; she has been tired for a long time. Retirement is not an option; she knows she will be a housekeeper until the day she dies. Not because she adores her job, but because it is simply more practical than having to find any other means of income. And after all, hadn't she promised herself over thirty years ago she would not die in a farm?
This is as good as it gets, she says to herself, ignoring the curious looks of the people around her. But is it enough?
She does not eat all day, but does not feel any need to. She does not talk, either, barely a word spoken since she left the house; she knows her voice will be raw come morning. As the sun sets, she knows she should head back to the house.
But she keeps on walking.
X
A.N.: First of all, I would like to offer my sincere apologies for taking so long to update. As I said in the previous chapter, I decided to begin writing this right at the end of the semester (it's called procrastinating), and only now did I find the time to write this part. Second, thank you so very much for the wonderful, wonderful reviews. I am extremely flattered at such praise and even more grateful for all the constructive criticism I've got. I think I got around to answering everyone, and if I didn't, I'm sorry - will try to next time around (hint, hint). I hope you are not too disappointed at this chapter, and, as always, let me know about any mistakes I might have made. Reviews are, of course, most welcome.
