I cannot deny that I enjoyed writing this chapter immensely. Not all that unusually, this has turned out to be one of those occasions when I say it's going to be a oneshot and then post another chapter the next day. And just to clarify, the title of the last chapter is only meant to refer to Mrs Hughes: I think we've established that quite a few of us can, and do, fancy Mr Branson. T for a tiny bit of language.
You Can't Fancy Mrs Hughes!
"How old do you reckon Mrs Hughes is?"
Well, for a start he should have known better than to ask Miss O'Brien that. Though that question would have probably earned him quite a funny look from any member of staff, the lady's maid's face was arranged in a state of such disbelief as he hadn't thought it possible for human lineaments to display.
"An 'undred years old, I expect," she replied- he should have also predicted that she'd be unhelpful- stubbing out her cigarette and raising her eyebrows at him, "Why? Who wants to know?"
"No one," he replied hastily, "Just I heard her saying she's "getting too old this job", yesterday," he invented wildly.
Of course, she had said nothing of the sort. The point of being an old battle axe was that she didn't ever say things like that, and by the look on Miss O'Brien's face she didn't believe it for a minute either. But- luckily for him- she got up and moved away; though it was likely to be to go and tell the rest of the staff that he was asking funny questions of a personal nature about Mrs Hughes. He sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair, now left alone in the servants' hall.
Why he was even thinking about Mrs Hughes, and her age, was quite beyond him. As he had been increasingly of late. Recently he had noticed that she was making an effort to keep an eye on him- ever since she'd had words with him about Lady Sybil. That was another thing; why wasn't he thinking about Sybil? Surely he should be thinking about the woman he'd been warned off, as opposed to the one who'd done the warning? The housekeeper was nothing to him; merely someone else, yet another person, who was present in his place of work. But then, why were his thoughts still concentrated on her?
He shook his head until he felt mildly disorientated. If his Ma could see him now, or see what he was thinking, she'd wallop him good and proper. Come to think of it, if the housekeeper could see what he was thinking, she'd probably do exactly the same. On the point of age as well, there probably wasn't too much difference between the two women.
His thoughts, looking for some explanation for their oddity, wandered back to his first encounter with the housekeeper. On his first day Mr Carson had walked him around the servants' quarters and introduced him to the rest of the staff. Through the crowd of housemaids- whose attention he was quite pleased to see he captured- emerged a stern-faced lady, a handsome woman, but a stern-faced lady all the same. Perhaps it was the confidence he'd gained from the housemaids' approval of his appearance that induced him to wink at her, or maybe it was his undervaluing his life. And, oh the look he got in return! It nearly had him legging it out of the house, down the drive and back onto the train that had brought him there! He could safely admit that in that moment she made him feel as if he were a complete arse. Mr Carson had given him a look of both exasperation and moderate pity.
Ever since then, he realised- though to do so was not really in his character-, he had been trying to get back into her good books: offering her lifts to the village in the motor; holding doors open for her; raising his hat to her if they passed each other in a corridor. And it transpired over the next few weeks that she wasn't a witch; despite Thomas and O'Brien swearing that she was and her having a stare that could almost kill. She had quite a healthy sense of humour really; though he could tell by the way she had her eye on him when he talked to any of the housemaids that flirtation was a rationed commodity. Unless, he thought with an inward smile, it was directed at her; he got the distinct impression that she found hat-raising quite charming! For God's sake man, he thought; what's happening to you? You can't possibly fancy Mrs Hughes!
Please review if you have the time!
