Chapter 4

The sacred day had arrived when the oh so mighty Mary would return.

Mrs Hughes had heard nothing from Mr Carson in relation to escorting Mary back; hence had naturally come to her own melancholy conclusion.

She was profoundly troubled by the scenario. She worried about how he was handling the news alone, he never copped well with death at the best of times, let alone in morbid segregation. The only way she could physically console him was through the medium of written word. She found this incredibly frustrating and difficult to come to terms with, she simply couldn't gage if she was helping him or not. In truth all she wanted to do was to hold him, to console him as she had done previously, to physically touch him, to let him know she was there for him. But with these restrictions she couldn't have the impact she desired. It left her feeling profoundly disconnected and troubled.

The days leading up to Lady Mary's return had been incredibly busy, guest rooms had to be prepared for the influx of visitors, food orders had to be dealt with, the whole house required a through spring clean. Mrs Hughes was most certainly kept busy. However unlike with previous occasions, she was much slower and less authoritative within her approach. The work was most definitely getting done, just with less vigour and drive than usual.

Everyone could see that something was not quite right with the housekeeper it was evident in her whole demeanour.

Mrs Hughes was getting older yes, but her decline was not because of age or because of illness, Mrs Hughes was suffering from the agony that was a broken heart.

She had lost an awful lot of weight and had become incredibly pale and weary, aging her somewhat… how she missed him so.

Trying anything to save her sanity to hold onto even a hint of Mr Carson's shadow, she had decided to sit where he had at the head of the table for meals. It reminded her sincerely of him, she would often procrastinate rubbing the arms of the seat, her eyes closed deep in thought, feeling that bit closer to her love.

When dinner was served, she was less talkative than in previous years, barely eating she had lost much of her appetite.

In the evenings she had made the conscious decision not to socialise with the others, as soon as dinner was over she would say her goodbyes and excuse herself. She was not up to mingling anymore.

Many of her evenings were spent writing to Charles, imagining him, many a time she wondered around his pantry, stroking the furniture as she went past, picturing his silhouette at the other end of the table, reminiscing on times gone by. Lost in the love that never was.

One evening a few days before Lady Mary was to arrive, the servants as usual were enjoying their dinner after a hard day's work, Mrs Hughes was understandably was looking rather glum and inward as she glanced at the food with her natural empty expression.

She couldn't explain what was happening to her, it was like all her life had been squeezed from her person and left her with a shell of the woman she once was.

She almost felt she was grieving herself.

Taking the first sip of the soup she was suddenly and curiously stopped in her tracks, she could feel the stance of a heavily built man behind her, slightly bothered by this heavy prescience she began to turn around instinctively to investigate ;

'Good evening Mrs Hughes'

a voice resonated in a baritone quality.

Her eyes hadn't even set eyes on him but it was utterly unmistakable.

Feeling like her breath had instantly been taken away at the shock she dropped her spoon in her bowl spilling soup all over the table and herself.

Completely shaken she felt tears building up inside of her, knowingly, she turned around slowly, tearfully.

'Mr Carson' she whispered breathlessly.

He had come back after all...

Still have a few chapters left of this.