Chapter 3

Mrs. Hughes grabbed her coat. She told Mr. Carson she would be running into town after luncheon for a few errands. Told him the house was running low on some cleaning supplies. It wasn't. She was thankful he didn't review her books like he used to when she became housekeeper. Now, he only reviewed them if she asked for his assistance. She liked that he was always so willing to help. And if she was honest with herself, she liked to watch him concentrate. When his eyes would narrow and his brows furrowed together and he'd put that pen to his mouth – She readjusted her hat and headed to his pantry.

A few days had passed since Carson met with Grigg. There had been no mention of him since and Carson seemed to get more cheerful with each passing day. The man even gave a smile to Thomas this morning. Meanwhile Mrs. Hughes became more and more anxious. She had been obsessively thinking of this meeting for days. The more she thought, the more she didn't want to help Grigg. She had a feeling he was not a pleasant character but that wasn't what bothered her as she'd dealt with that kind of lot before. She was more nervous as to how she would be able to assure herself that this man would leave Mr. Carson alone. She really had no leverage over him if it came to that, and after spending countless hours, she miserably gave up last night. This morning found her back at the beginning; not really having a plan, but still needing to see this man.

She gave two knocks and entered Mr. Carson's pantry.

"I'm just off into town. Is there anything you need?"

He looked up from his desk. "Actually, a new bottle of ink wouldn't go amiss."

"That may cause me to be late for dinner." She teased.

"Go on." He smirked and turned back to his books.


Mrs. Hughes had to plan her afternoon due to Mr. Carson's request. Should she pick up the ink before meeting with Grigg or after? She had waited patiently for days, so taking care of the meeting first was just what her nerves needed. Besides, she reasoned, she could get a treat to reward herself on her walk back.

She arrived at Grantham Arms and took a deep breath before entering. Taking a look around, there were a handful of men throughout the pub. Going up and asking each one if they were Grigg would only invite trouble, so she went to the barman.

"Excuse me; has a man named Grigg been seen around here?"

The barman gave her a blank stare. Well this wasn't going to plan. After a rather uncomfortable moment, a man at the end of the counter stirred. His clothes looked tight and his hat was pulled down to hide his face.

"Who wants to know?" He slurred. Mrs. Hughes took a tentative step towards him.

"Who are you?" He questioned. She bit her lip. He didn't deserve to know her first name, let alone use it. Not even Mr. Carson used it and he of all people deserved to.

"My name is Mrs. Hughes."

"What do you want?" He labored. He didn't look well at all as Mrs. Hughes got closer. His coat was tight around his bloated body and his face and eyes were a sickening yellow color. He reeked of alcohol and was breathing heavy. There was sweat on his brow. She took a seat at the counter, but made sure to leave one chair in between them.

"I'm here to see how you are."

He sneered. "Has Charlie been feeling guilty?"

Her eyes narrowed. She did not want to discuss Mr. Carson. To bring him up would only invite Grigg to ask how she knew him. And it would probably bring up countless colorful insults, of which she really didn't have the time, or the patience to hear.

"No, he hasn't. Please try to hold your tongue as I'm only here to discuss you."

"I've got nothing to say to you." He spat and took a swig of his drink. The environment was hostile. If she couldn't get him to tell his story and fast, this trip would have been for naught. She'd have learned nothing, she'd have accomplished nothing. Perhaps a sympathetic story would break him.

Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. She wasn't thrilled to bring it up, but had a feeling it would bridge a connection between the two of them. So, she told him of her cancer scare. How she remembered what it felt like to believe that you were dying and there was nothing to be done. How people would look at you differently, in a way you didn't want them to see you. The emotions one went through. Despair, grief, anger. How you're torn between letting others in, yet wanting to be alone. She paused after her story. Looked at him expectantly.

He shot her a look. "I don't want your pity."

"I know you don't," She swallowed. She hadn't truly relived her scare and was feeling a bit emotional. "I know you're angry. But you're only making it worse on yourself. I'm here to help you, you must understand that."

Grigg closed his eyes briefly for a moment.

"Have you been to a doctor?"

He stared into his drink.

"What have they told you?"

"I'm sick. It's my liver. Something called cirrhosis. They can't do anything."

"Surely it's not anything. They must have some kind of medicine that can help you along."

"What's the point? To prolong death? I'd rather it come as quickly as it can."

She was taken aback. What could she say to that? Before she had a chance to think, Grigg leant forward, grabbing his stomach. He let out a cry and stumbled off his chair before collapsing on the floor in front of her. Mrs. Hughes was in a panic. He needed help, now. She couldn't leave him like this. She thought of taking Grigg to the hospital, but she didn't have enough money for the cab fare and he certainly wouldn't be able to walk. Grigg let out another howl of pain. Men in the pub were starting to stare. She racked her brain. Where else was there? The answer left her breathless. There was no other option. Crawley house.

The barman had helped load Grigg into the cab. Mrs. Hughes was on her own to get him into Crawley house. She wildly thought of using the entrance to the servants quarters but that was much too far of a walk. Grigg was alert and in less pain, but still needed someone to help him walk. She held him as she led him to the door. She rang. Once, twice, three times. The door opened.

"May I help you with something, Mrs. Hughes?"

Oh, God. Molesley. She shot him a pained look.

"I need Mrs. Crawley."

He closed the door. Her mouth hung open. Really? She thought. He can't even leave the door open? God, I hate – the door opened and Mrs. Crawley was there at once to help them in. As she led Grigg upstairs she called out for Molesley to get Mrs. Hughes some tea as she waited. He hurried off.

Mrs. Hughes walked up to the window that overlooked the back garden and stared out at the arrangements of flowers. She was alone. In the sitting room of Mrs. Crawley's house. This had all gone horribly wrong. She had just wanted to see this man off. Perhaps help him help himself, but not actually invite herself along for the journey. How could she explain this to Mrs. Crawley? How could she justify bringing a man through the front door of her house? It was nearly five o'clock. She should have been home by now. What must Mr. Carson be thinking? He's going to know. He has to know where she's been. She bit her lip to keep it from quivering.

Molesley entered with a tray. "Here Mrs. Hughes, please have a seat."

She sat more for the comfort than his request. "Would you like some sugar? Or lemon?"

"Please, Mr. Molesley. Let me be." Her voice was hoarse as she stared at her hands. He bowed and left.


The clock read quarter past six when Mrs. Crawley descended the stairs. Mrs. Hughes rose as she entered.

"Mrs. Crawley, I do apologize. I had no right –"

She smiled, "Mrs. Hughes, you had every right. This man is ill, gravely ill. Thank you for waiting. Please, sit down and tell me what's happened. Molesley has gone to get both of us some tea and sandwiches."

The last thing Mrs. Hughes wanted was tea or a sandwich. She was quite uncomfortable in this kind of position. As Mrs. Crawley took her tea, Mrs. Hughes explained that she became aware of Grigg's condition through a mutual friend and met with him at the pub because she was concerned. She told of how the doctors believe he had cirrhosis and that he was in despair. Mrs. Hughes had no knowledge of the disease but was certain that there was medicine to at least help his condition, if not cure it, to which Mrs. Crawley agreed. She assured Mrs. Hughes that she would be able to help Grigg.

"I've called for an ambulance to take Mr. Grigg to the hospital. They should arrive within an hour. He is resting comfortably, so there is no need to worry. They will take good care of him, and you can visit him tomorrow if you wish."

Mrs. Hughes was grateful beyond words; however she did not envision a visit occurring anytime soon. "Thank you, Mrs. Crawley for everything you've done. I do appreciate it. But, if you don't need me for anything else, I'm afraid I must get back to Downton."

"Please, Mrs. Hughes. Let me have a car drive you."

Mrs. Hughes smiled weakly. "No need, Mrs. Crawley. You have been more than gracious. A walk would do me good."


The walk back was torturous. Mrs. Hughes reflected that there had only been a few times when she had truly feared Mr. Carson and they all stemmed back to when she was new to the house. She hadn't truly known him in those early years and somewhere over the past twenty, Mrs. Hughes believed she came to know everything there was to know about Mr. Carson. She could read his expressions, his moods, his actions. Knew what he would say if someone broke a dish. The look he would have on his face when a dinner had gone smoothly. Why he shared his evenings with her. But this situation was so fragile, so unique that she realized there was a part of him she didn't know at all – the part that contained his past. She only ever heard him lose his temper when someone failed to live up to his expectations. She never saw it and it was never directed at her.

The house came into view and tears began to form in her eyes. She's completely failed him; completely failed his expectations. He's upstairs serving the family. She should feel relief, but it only means she must wait for his wrath. He's been fuming for some hours now and he's had no way to break his anger. He'll lose his temper with her in a way she's never seen. What would she say, what could she say? That she went behind his back to try to protect him, when he didn't need it? When he took care of it, himself? Now they're forced to deal with the situation together, a situation in which he had closed the book on two days ago. How could he forgive her? She wouldn't be able to take it if this broke their friendship. She couldn't lose the one constant in her life that she held above all others.

She enters the house and heads straight for her sitting room. She closes the door quietly behind her as she takes off her coat. Takes a deep breath. She's beginning to calm down when the realization dawns on her.

She's forgotten the ink.

She lets out a sob and collapses onto the settee. Out of all the things that have happened today, it's this that finally breaks her.


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