"Mrs. Hughes, do you know who is responsible for hanging up an indecent amount of mistletoe downstairs?" Mr. Carson asked her at breakfast.

"No, I'm not sure," she answered.

"I really must have it taken down today. It is very distracting." Mr. Carson paused and cleared his throat. "To the staff, that is."

Mrs. Hughes's eyes twinkled. "I hardly think it's a great problem, Mr. Carson. I caught a glimpse of Mr. and Mrs. Bates kissing in the servants' hall yesterday, but that's it."

"Still," he argued. "Just because they're not kissing doesn't mean they aren't thinking about it."

"I'm beginning to think it's you that's distracted," she told him, raising her eyebrows. "Memories of Miss Neal under the mistletoe, perhaps?"

"Certainly not!" Mr. Carson bristled.

Mrs. Hughes raised her hands in surrender, smiling. "Very well," she agreed. "And perhaps you'll be pleased to know that I removed the mistletoe from my rooms."

"Your rooms?"

"Yes, I found some in my sitting room and I took it down." She lowered her voice. "There was also some hanging in my bedroom. That sprig most certainly had to go."

Mr. Carson's eyebrows drew together. "I think we have a prankster in our midst," he grumbled. "There was a piece of it in my room when I woke up yesterday morning and I also took some down from my pantry."

"Really! Well, I hope I'll discover who might have concocted such a plan. When it comes to scheming, there is one person I would always suspect, but this seems rather too lighthearted a sport for him. The worst it could cause is a little embarrassment. At best he might even be doing someone a favor."

"I suppose," Mr. Carson replied skeptically. He returned to eating his porridge, still annoyed. However, with her teasing about Alice, Mrs. Hughes had unwittingly provided him with a plan that might help him get his strange daydreams under control. He had loved Alice at one time, and had kissed her a few times, though never under mistletoe. But he thought he could imagine himself young and in love and replace his frustrating pursuit of Mrs. Hughes with memories of Alice.

While he stood watching over the family at breakfast, Mr. Carson put this plan into action, or tried to. He conjured up Alice's face and form and imagined himself much younger, and chasing her around the theatre. He never caught her, but he did not find this upsetting. He really had no wish to catch her. As Mrs. Hughes had once urged him to do, he now remembered Alice fondly, but she was no longer part of his life and had not been for some time. He was amused, then, when his daydreams moved in another direction. He still sought to catch Alice under the mistletoe, but they were at Downton Abbey now, and Mr. Carson himself was a little older. Alice ran up and down the stairs and ducked through doorways to avoid him. It made him want to laugh, but he betrayed none of this as he stood at attention in the dining room. However, he soon had to repress a scowl, rather than laughter, for after just a few minutes of pursuing Alice all over the house, she faded from view and he found himself shadowing a young Elsie Hughes.

Upstairs breakfast ended and his imaginary search continued as he made his way downstairs, both he and the vision of Mrs. Hughes growing older, until she looked just as she had this morning. She escaped him time after time, until at last he managed to trap her in her sitting room. He closed the door and advanced on her, but this time she held her ground. He reached for her shoulders, but before he could touch her she shook her head and pointed to the ceiling. His eyes followed her gesture to see that there was no mistletoe. Apparently this Mrs. Hughes had taken it down, just as the real Mrs. Hughes had done. His dream continued and he found himself frozen in time, staring at her, taking in every detail of her face, his eyes dwelling on her lips, while she looked right back at him, a slightly amused expression on her face. Then at last he backed away from her, leaving her alone in her sitting room.

The daydream dissipated and Mr. Carson sat quietly in his pantry, his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands. He didn't feel well at all. His legs trembled, his breathing was shallow, and his mouth was dry - almost as though he really had been running all over the house for hours, in search of Alice and then Mrs. Hughes. He considered feigning illness and going back to bed, but he knew that would never do. Mrs. Hughes was sure to come check on him and he preferred to avoid her for the present. Fortunately, after a half hour alone in his pantry, Mr. Carson felt more himself and was able to go about his day as usual.

By the end of the day Mr. Carson was no longer avoiding Mrs. Hughes and he brought sherry to her sitting room. "Would you like some?" he asked.

She greeted him with a smile and laid down her pen. "I'd love some." She took the glass from him and they both sat down. "You might be surprised at what I found when I came in here after breakfast," Mrs. Hughes remarked.

"What's that?" Mr. Carson was curious. He almost choked on his sherry when she pointed up toward the ceiling, just as she had in his daydream earlier in the day. He looked up and found that now there was mistletoe hanging in her sitting room, just above where she was sitting. He found himself staring at her again, and now that he was in her true presence he could see that his imagination had conjured her up exactly as she was. Every detail of her face, her hair, her dress, and even her posture was the same.

"I think we have a persistent prankster on our hands," she commented, clearly amused.

Mr. Carson shook his head a little to clear it and tried to behave normally. "Whoever he is, I hope he tires of this nonsense soon," he grumbled.

"If he replaces any mistletoe that is taken down, I'll admit that could get pretty tiresome," Mrs. Hughes agreed.

Mr. Carson drained his glass. "Speaking of tiresome, I'll say goodnight now, Mrs. Hughes. It's been a long day."

She rose with him. "It has indeed. Good night, Mr. Carson."

#####

When Mr. Carson entered his bedroom he almost cursed aloud. The mistletoe he had removed that morning had been replaced. He climbed up on a chair immediately and pulled it down. This time instead of leaving it on top of his bureau, he tossed it in the bottom drawer in disgust. This was simply not acceptable. He changed into his pajamas, but once he was in bed, he lay awake again thinking about kissing. His imaginings of kissing Mrs. Patmore, Daisy, and even Alice, were all distant memories. Every invention of his mind now involved the evasive and stealthy Mrs. Hughes. Occasionally he caught her, but for varying reasons he was still unable to claim a kiss, or even to touch her.

Mr. Carson had months ago stopped denying to himself that he loved Mrs. Hughes. It was difficult to admit it privately. To speak of it to her or to anyone else was unthinkable. It was not that he felt ashamed. Sometimes he found being in love inconvenient, but he couldn't bring himself to be sorry that he was, even if he never told her. Even more impossible was the idea that he could be ashamed of loving her. That could never be; he had not in all of his years met anyone as lovely and spirited as Mrs. Hughes. No, it was not shame that held Mr. Carson back, but uncertainty. He had been in love once before, but he was much younger and the path to happiness clearer. He had courted Alice. He had hoped to marry her. He had planned to leave the music halls and find a way to take care of her properly. If they were fortunate, they would be blessed with children. Once those dreams were dashed, Mr. Carson had entered service, where the rules were different. If he had known her when they were younger, if he had met Elsie rather than Alice, might he be a grandfather by now? As it turned out, he and Mrs. Hughes had developed a true and satisfying friendship that had recently begun shifting and changing. But what was he to do with his lately discovered love? It was likely that he was overthinking it all, but he knew no other way.

When he finally fell asleep, Mr. Carson's dreams were filled with Mrs. Hughes, and at last he caught her under the mistletoe and kissed her. Sometimes she would then flee from him again, but other times she would stay with him and he would whisper words of love to her and all of his waking inhibitions would leave him. In this fantasy world there were no rules and no reason for them to stop at kissing. She was just as eager as he was and they were both carried away.

Mr. Carson awoke out of breath and sweating the next morning. He hadn't thought he could be more disquieted than he was the day before, but today he was extremely uncomfortable, both physically and mentally. He could hardly believe his eyes when he noticed that the mistletoe he had torn from the ceiling had once again been replaced. He checked his bottom bureau drawer and found the crumpled sprig he had tossed out yesterday. Mr. Carson left the mistletoe as it was this time. He needed to conserve his energy to face the day and to face Mrs. Hughes. He dressed quickly and went downstairs.

Once again, without even trying, he found himself under the mistletoe with Mrs. Hughes. She did not bother to assure him he needn't kiss her. She had done so enough times the day before that it was understood at this point. However, Mr. Carson had some difficulty focusing on whatever she was asking him. He was distracted by everything about her - her eyes, her lips, the way she moved. He wondered what he could possibly do to get through this day and, for that matter, all of the days after it. It was not even time for the servants' breakfast and already he could think of nothing but kissing Mrs. Hughes. Avoiding her never seemed to work. For one thing, there were times when his work required that he consult with her, and for another, even when he tried to avoid her the rest of the time, she was so active throughout the house that they crossed paths regularly. The only thing that worked was shutting himself in his pantry all day, but that had its pitfalls. If Mrs. Hughes learned that he had shut himself away, she would check in on him to make sure he was all right. Mr. Carson wondered if it might be possible to do the opposite, to spend as much time with her as possible, following her on her rounds, visiting her in her sitting room, and taking her tea and sherry. There was such a thing as too much of a good thing, after all. Perhaps if he spent every possible moment of the day in her presence, it would cure, or at least lessen, his obsessive thoughts.

Mr. Carson was successful at his attempts to spend every possible moment with Mrs. Hughes. However, he certainly did not cure himself; it only made things worse. She noticed that he was following her, but she said nothing about it. She also felt his scrutiny and it made her nervous. She often found Mr. Carson staring at her, but she did not find his reactions to her flattering at all. He spent much of the day looking very uncomfortable or outright scowling. Mrs. Hughes had never known him to hesitate to speak to her when he didn't approve of something she had done, and she wished he would just come out and say why he was so displeased. This secrecy and restraint was quite unpleasant. Hearing him tell her how disappointed he was in her would not be comfortable either, but it was something she could manage. When she had no idea what displeased him, Mrs. Hughes felt unmoored. She tried to draw it out of Mr. Carson, but as determined as he seemed to follow her everywhere, he seemed curiously hesitant to talk to her more than was strictly necessary.

By lunchtime, Mr. Carson was aware that his idea of curing himself with a surfeit of her was ridiculous to the extreme. He heard everything she said, because he liked to hear her speak, but he found it difficult to actually listen. And as for watching her every move, there seemed to be no help for it. He couldn't stop himself. However, if he was to be uncomfortable no matter what, he thought he might as well be with her as not.

#####

Mrs. Hughes was alone in the servery looking through the linens. The dressing gong had rung, but dinner would not be served for almost an hour, so she could do some work in here without getting in anyone's way. Before she had been working for very long, though, Mr. Carson appeared.

"There you are, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "I've been looking for you."

She smiled. "Well, here I am. What is it?"

Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "Actually, I can't remember anymore. I'm sure it will come to me later."

Mrs. Hughes nodded and returned to her work, but she could see in her peripheral vision that he had not left the room. He was watching her again and a quick glance told her that he was frowning. All at once she was tired of putting up with his silent disapproval and she turned to face him. "Mr. Carson, I wish you would just tell me what I've done wrong," she told him.

"Done wrong?" Mr. Carson questioned, truly confused.

"Don't think I haven't noticed that you've been frowning at me all day," she explained, exasperated. "It seems you're even following me around in order to make it clear just how much you disapprove of me."

"No, that isn't it at all!" he sputtered.

"Then what is it?" she wanted to know. "Why the dark looks?"

"I-I'm just preoccupied," he answered.

Mrs. Hughes narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe you."

Mr. Carson couldn't think of anything to say. He was dismayed that not only had his plan to cure his obsession failed spectacularly, but now he'd made her angry, and possibly even hurt her.

"Leave me in peace, please, Mr. Carson," she requested. "You're just making me uneasy."

"But-"

"I don't want to hear it. Come see me when you're ready to tell me the truth about what I've done that has you so annoyed." She waved her hand, trying to shoo him from the room.

"All right, I'll tell you the truth," he told her with a sigh.

Mrs. Hughes was a little worried by his weary tone and she relented. "Thank you, Mr. Carson," she said gently. "I'm listening."

Mr. Carson approached her and tried to decide where to start. He had imagined many times how this conversation might go, but in his mind it never started with an argument between them. He sighed and let his head fall back as though looking to heaven for some inspiration. His eyes then fell on the sprig of mistletoe that he had forgotten was still hanging in the servery. Mrs. Hughes stood directly beneath it. Mr. Carson walked slowly in her direction until they were standing nearly toe-to-toe. For the first time all day, a little smile crossed his lips. He looked into her wondering eyes for a moment before he bent down and kissed her. Mrs. Hughes gave a tiny gasp of surprise at first, but she did not resist him. Her hands came to rest on his chest and she kissed him back.

It was fortunate for the pair beneath the mistletoe that Mr. Molesley and Miss Baxter were chatting quietly as the footman made his way to the servery. At the sound of his voice in the corridor, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes sprung apart, fortunately before they were discovered.

"I'm just coming to see if that small silver tray got left up here last night, Mr. Carson," Mr. Molesley explained as he entered.

"Yes, very good," Mr. Carson responded distractedly.

"Oh, um, Mrs. Patmore was asking for you just now, Mr. Carson." Mr. Molesley began searching the room for the missing tray.

"Thank you, Mr. Molesley. I'll go see her now." And Mr. Carson left the servery without a backward glance.

Mrs. Hughes wondered what on earth had just happened. She went back to sorting through the linens. She felt a bit dazed, but she had every intention of demanding an explanation from Mr. Carson. However, she would not ask him in the corridor or at the dinner table. This was a conversation that could only happen behind closed doors.

To be continued…

Please leave a review if you can spare a few moments.