Carson returned from his walk with one thought in mind: he needed answers that only his wife could provide. He had gone out to get some air and clear his head after that unusual display at breakfast, but found that as he tried to think on anything other than roiling images of Anna and Nanny Jenkins and Lady Edith and that bloody groom's assistant, he found his mind locked on one question. He didn't know why it was gnawing at him now. It had virtually nothing to do with the current situation, and it really didn't matter after all this time anyway. But no matter how he tried to logically work around it, he found that his heart – his ego – demanded explanation.

So, he walked straight to the kitchen, and after tripping less than elegantly over an inexplicable pile of rope, he requested that one of the girls bring tea to Mrs. Carson's sitting room. If he was to brave this conversation, he might need sustenance. He then waited in his pantry until he heard the kitchen girl heading to deliver the tray, and walked deliberately behind her.

"Do you have a few minutes, Mrs. Carson?" he asked, nodding a dismissal to Lily.

She was seated at her desk, apparently reviewing cleaning rotas.

"Can this wait until..." she began, before turning to face him and taking note of his countenance. "Oh no, I see it cannot. Well then, have a seat."

She granted him an open smile as he settled into the chair closest to the now closed door. She moved to the chair across the table from him and began pouring out the tea.

"Mrs. Carson," he said, stirring his tea calmly. "Do you think we should be concerned about Barrow bullying young Andrew?"

She smiled at him indulgently for a moment and opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again as though she thought better of it.

"Is this really what you wanted to speak to me about, Mr. Carson?" she finally asked, her eyes twinkling with unexpressed mirth.

"What? No, but I noticed this morning that he has had the boy running for him a good bit of late, and I just don't want him taking advantage of the boy's good nature or perhaps guilt over the whole broken foot fiasco," he said, looking at her pointedly.

"Well," she said, burying her growing smirk in the examination of her cup, "I really don't think we have anything to worry about on that front, but if it will make you feel better, I will keep an eye on the situation and let you know if I think you need to intercede."

"Yes, yes, I would appreciate that."

"Alright then, now that is settled," she said, placing her cup in its saucer and reaching across to give a brief squeeze to his arm rested on the table between them. "What is this actually about?"

He paused, not quite knowing where to begin, but certain that he had gone too far to turn back now. He stared off to his left, focusing his attention on a small vase resting in her china hutch. The vase was empty. He thought the forget-me-nots would be in bloom soon, and maybe he should bring her some.

"Why did you never tell me about Anna?" he finally asked quietly.

He felt, rather than saw, her stiffen as her spoon dropped and clanged heavily against her cup.

"Anna? What about Anna?" she asked taking her spoon back up and stirring again. She was almost too calm in that moment. He knew from experience that she was constructing a facade.

"Don't," he nearly whispered, "not now. You know what I'm referring to. Why did you never tell me about...Mr. Green, about what Green did to Anna?"

The air hung heavy around them. She was still stirring her tea, lifting the spoon out and dipping it back into the cup again and again. Time stretched on. He started to wonder if she was going to speak again at all, and whether he should just drop the issue altogether if she didn't.

"Mr. Carson," she finally began quietly, hesitantly. "Do you recall when I was called to testify in Mr. Bates's trial?"

"Yes, of course," he said, shifting in his seat and studying the murky contents of his cup as he swirled it cautiously in his hand. He wasn't sure where she was going with this, but it seemed to him the conversation had already taken an uncomfortable turn.

"Do you recall me telling you about the specific questions the prosecutor asked?"

Noticing that his hands had begun to shake, he moved to place his cup back in its saucer on the table between them.

"Yes. He questioned you about the conversation you overheard..."

"Eavesdropping. I was eavesdropping," she stated quickly.

"Alright. You were eavesdropping," he said.

She studied him intently, chewing her lip as if trying to determine how best to proceed without creating more tension between them.

"Did you ever wonder how the prosecutor knew to ask those particular questions? How he could have known that I had been eavesdropping on that conversation, and how damaging the contents of that conversation had been?"

He turned to her with a start.

"No," he fairly hissed. "Did you?"

"Yes, of course I did," she said lowly. She rose from her chair and crossed the room to stare intently into the looking glass. "You were the only person I told about what I heard."

This last part was spoken as little more than a whisper, but its impact was felt as a scream.

He could feel her watching him beyond her shoulder in the glass. He leapt to his feet and paced into the middle of the room and then turned to walk toward the door. It was too much. It was all too much.

He thought momentarily of leaving the room, coming back later and sorting this out after he had time to think. But he knew he couldn't leave things like this. Not this; not her.

Upon reaching the door he turned on his heels and met her eyes in the mirror. Pulling himself to his full height, he jutted his chin forward, clasped his hands behind his back, and put on his most imperious air.

"Are you suggesting that I …"

"No," she said continuing to hold his eyes in the mirror.

"I never ..."

"No," she repeated, glancing away. "I am simply stating that I wondered. I did not like having to wonder."

He felt his body deflate as she turned to face him. He looked to the floor, unable to meet her eyes. Gods, this was difficult – painful to imagine that she might have felt he had betrayed her, that she could not trust him. What ever was there for him if she did not trust him?

"You could have just asked," he murmured.

She barked out a skeptical laugh that sounded almost like a sob. He felt his brow furrow in frustration.

"No, Mr. Carson, I could not," she said with a sigh. "It was a very difficult time, for all of us. It was certainly not the time to open that type of wound between you and me."

He collapsed back into his chair, reached for his tea, and downed it in one gulp, momentarily hoping he might find something more bracing than dregs in the bottom of the cup. He spent several moments trying to rein in his emotions before he next spoke.

"So, this is why you didn't tell me about Green, a- about Anna? Because you felt you couldn't trust me?"

"No. No," she said vehemently, crossing to her desk chair and pulling it around to sit in front of him. "You are getting this all wrong. Perhaps I am saying this all wrong."

He glanced up at her and then lowered his gaze to his hands placed awkwardly in his lap.

"Mr. Carson," she said, reaching out to take both his hands in her own as she bent slightly in an attempt to force eye contact with him. "You must believe me when I say this. There is no one I trust more than you. I would trust you with my life. I do trust you with my life."

"How …," he started. But then he found he simply did not know what else to say.

They sat in silence for several moments, each trying to find the words to continue, as she ran her thumbs over the backs of his hands.

"Mr. Carson, I'd like you to try and understand what I am saying. When you and I talked about those things, those things that Mr. Bates said to his wife, nothing had happened. She was still alive. There was no police investigation. It seemed there was no reason for us not to discuss it, really. And, looking back on it, I always had complete confidence that if you had repeated anything I told you, then you had a perfectly valid reason to do so. I never once thought that you repeated anything I said to you in malice or to do harm to Mr. Bates."

"I would never..."

She stood and made two laps around the room, before stopping to address her comments to the bookcase.

"I know. I never blamed you. I blamed myself. When I was called to testify, and they asked me those questions, and then Mr. Bates was sentenced to hang, well, it was clear to me that I had let them both down so horribly. Mr. Bates and Anna, that is."

"Mrs. Carson, you didn't..."

"No, I did. I eavesdropped on a private conversation and then repeated it to you without a moment's thought – just a bit of gossip on which a man's life would balance. Who's to say, to this day, who might have been listening to our conversation, who might have told the prosecutors and police just where to get that information? Who's to say?"

"So, you didn't blame me?" Carson asked, grabbing hold of the small glimmer of hope that she might be offering.

"No. Regardless of who passed the information to the prosecutors, I blamed myself. Looking back on it, I saw that I had just been so reckless. And that recklessness almost cost an innocent man his life. So, when the police came around saying they were investigating Mr. Green's death, I knew I could not be that reckless again. I wouldn't discuss the matter with anyone else."

He eyed her archly. "But you already had," he said. "You told Bates and Lady Mary about Anna's attack well before Green was even dead."

She spun towards him as if startled by his words.

"I don't know how you come by that information," she began slowly, "but I'll not deny it. I'll simply say that circumstances as they were, it was necessary that those two know."

"So, is that why you didn't tell me – I mean before the police became involved – because it wasn't necessary?"

He found himself more than a little hurt at the idea that she had just casually decided not to share something this important – something that so deeply affected not only a member of his staff, but this woman with whom his very life had become so hopelessly intertwined. That she might have made this choice to shut him out simply because she didn't find it necessary that he know tore at him in ways he couldn't have imagined. He had the sudden notion that if she didn't find it necessary to share something this significant with him, perhaps she didn't find him necessary at all.

He glanced at her and found that her brow was furrowed in concentration.

"No," she said, "that's not exactly how I would describe it. You see, I told them because it became necessary that they know, but even if I had thought it necessary that you know, I'm not sure I would have told you. About Mr. Green. And Anna, that is. Honestly, I think I would prefer if you still didn't know."

"What?" he shouted. He bounded to his feet with such force that he was propelled into the middle of the room. "How can you say that? I understand that Anna didn't want anyone to know, but I am still butler here, and you are saying you would have kept this from me even if it became necessary that I know?"

"Not precisely," she said in clipped tones that made her irritation at his outburst clear. "What I said was I would not tell you."

"Forgive me," he said after a moment, "but I'm having trouble seeing the distinction."

"If, for some reason, it had become absolutely necessary for you to know, I would have arranged things so that you found out, but I honestly don't believe that I would have told you myself."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure I could have," she whispered. "There are still things, things about that night, things about what that man...things I could never bring myself to tell you."

"I don't understand you," he said quietly.

"I think we have well established that over the years," she replied with a sigh of resignation.

"Well, help me. I'm not even certain I understand what you are saying."

"Mr. Carson, we are very different people, you and I. We view the world and our roles in it in very different ways."

"Alright," he said, willing her to continue.

"I would assume that you take the safety of the people in your charge very personally."

"Yes, but don't you? I am certain this attack on Anna affected you deeply. Didn't..."

"Yes, Mr. Carson, I must admit that it did, but I am more...practical than you."

"More practical?" he asked, shuffling from one foot to another.

She sighed. It was clear to both of them that her explanation was going nowhere. He wondered if what she was saying even made sense to her.

"Mr. Carson, I wouldn't have told you because I wouldn't have wanted to be the one to cause you that pain."

"Pain?"

"Yes, pain. The pain of knowing that a man like that could come into our home and do something so, so...vile and unspeakable to Anna – our Anna – and then just walk away," she said, her voice beginning to rise. She pinched the bridge of her nose and he noticed that her eyes were growing damp. He wondered if he shouldn't just call a halt to this conversation before it went any further.

"Mr. Carson, I am aware that you must recognize that the world outside these walls may contain unimaginable horrors," she said. He wondered if that statement wasn't just a tad melodramatic for someone who was constantly being described as practical. "But this particular horror...I didn't want it to taint..."

She had crossed her arms and begun pacing a circle so tight that she was nearly spinning in place.

"I couldn't protect Anna from...I couldn't protect Anna. I couldn't protect Mr. Bates from the pain of knowing what that monster did to his wife, from the guilt at not having been there to stop it, from the all-consuming rage and fear and disgust. I wanted to protect you from having to face any of it. And if I couldn't protect you, then I wouldn't be the one to deliver the blow."

"But, why would you feel that you needed to protect me?"

"Not needed, so much." She paused to eye him while gnawing on her lip. "Wanted. I wanted to protect you from having to suffer that type of blow to your view of...I don't know – the world, justice, chivalry, propriety. I don't really know exactly."

"Fine, wanted, but the question remains: why?"

She released a deep ragged breath – the kind of exhalation one ordinarily reserves for an idiot child or an adult who is being irritatingly, and perhaps purposely, obtuse.

"Because, quite simply, Mr. Carson," she said, turning to meet his eyes. "I love you."

Suddenly, it seemed there was no available air in the room.

At that moment, at that very moment, there was a knock on the door as someone pushed in.

"Excuse me, the..."

"Not another word, Mr. Molesley," Carson said firmly, without taking his eyes off his wife.

"But..."

"Not one word," Carson demanded. "Now, step back through that door and close it behind you. And then you stand in the hallway and do not let anyone, and I mean anyone, so much as glance in the direction of this room until I call you back in here."

Mrs. Carson shut her eyes and bit down on her bottom lip as if trying to fight back the peals of laughter threatening to erupt from within her at any time. Carson had never found his wife more enticing than he did in that moment.

Molesley tripped past the door, pulling it shut with a crash.

Mrs. Carson sniggered for a moment before finding her self-control.

Carson took a step towards his wife.

"Now, Mrs. Carson," he nearly whispered, "would you mind repeating what you were just saying?"

She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips.

"Repeating?" she asked.

"Yes," he said taking another step closer and finding the courage to take her hands.

"What I was just saying?"

"Yes."

"Very well," she said. She sighed and closed her eyes, as if bracing herself before breathing out, "I love you."

Carson stood in a state of nearly suspended animation for several moments, staring at her as he tried to find his voice. He blinked in an attempt to contain the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

"Well," he eventually said, "that's good then."

She eyed him skeptically, with a sudden air of hesitant nervousness.

"That's good?" she asked, licking her lips and glancing towards the corner of the room.

"Yes, that's very good." His heart was beating so fast and loud in his ears he was sure it could be heard in the village. He felt a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He thought for a moment that this was just how he felt before he collapsed in the dining room that time during the war. He wondered if he was about to collapse again.

She studied him expectantly for a moment before carefully extricating her hands from his grasp. He all-but fell two steps backwards, as if the loss of contact left him reeling.

"Perhaps we should check and see what Mr. Molesley needed," she said, quietly attempting her most professional tone.

"Must we?" he murmured. "Oh, yes, I suppose."

As she walked past him towards the door, he reached out to stop her, touching her arm and running his hand down to grasp hers. They stood for a moment, hand-in-hand, facing away from one another. He barely noticed that she seemed to be holding her breath.

"Mrs. Carson," he said in shaky tones.

"Yes?" she asked tightly.

He forced out a labored breath, working to push aside decades of denial and doubt and fear.

"I love you too," he finally said, voice cracking only slightly. "More, I'm afraid, than I could possibly find words to adequately express."

For a moment, she seemed to make an intense study of the door knob, and then suddenly all the tension dissipated from her body.

"Well," she said quietly and with an almost mischievous smile, "that's good then."

"Yes, I think it is," Carson said wistfully. "I think it's very good."

She took a deep stabilizing breath and gave his hand a final squeeze, before releasing it and opening the door.

"Mr. Molesley, what is it we can do for you?" she asked the man who she found standing nearly at attention and guarding the door exactly as instructed.

"Ah, the police are here to see Mr. Carson," he said. "They say they have some additional questions about Mr. Smythe."

"Who?" Mrs. Carson asked absently as she stepped into the hall.

"The groom's assistant," Carson muttered, scrubbing his hand over his face as he walked towards his pantry.