Pride – His Voice

"You're making it your own," his voice lifted in an almost lyrical tone. She arched her head over her shoulder as she continued to hold a hammer to a nail she was tapping into the wall. She noticed his head slightly down and tilted to the side, a crooked half smile about his lips, and his eyebrows slightly raised exposing merriment in his eyes. If she did not know better, she would think that he looked proud. Is he proud of me, she wondered.

"I am, Mr. Carson," she replied.

"May I help?"

"Would you hand me that photograph just there?" she asked indicating a frame on her desk. He entered her sitting room. Her sitting room. For it was now, finally, hers. Though he had been in the room countless times before, it was only to discuss matters of the house. Mrs. Goode was pleasant enough, kind enough, but also old enough to be his mother. But Mrs. Hughes, she was his equal now. In every sense of the word both generationally and professionally. He hadn't many friends and he hoped that she might be one of them.

He retrieved the picture – a scene of her homeland – and handed it to her. She carefully hung it, straightening it so that it was perfectly arranged.

Mr. Carson took a turn about the room inspecting the trinkets and personal effects that she had begun to sort. He discovered a box of handmade lace doilies that lay waiting to be unpacked and placed on a shelf or the back of a chair. He wondered if they were her handiwork. He noticed one photograph in a very decorative frame that rested on her mantle. He carefully ran his forefinger over the top and then down the corner of it carefully inspecting the subject.

"This woman? She is very lovely. She must be your mother," he surmised.

"How did you know?"

"The resemblance is striking," he murmured. His face dropped when he realized what he had said. He hoped that she had not heard him. He never wished to embarrass her and he certainly had not meant anything untoward. It was a simple statement of fact.

"Well, she was a lovely woman, Mr. Carson. Both inside and out. And if I resemble her in any way, I shall gladly accept that as a compliment," Elsie cheered. Once again, she soothed his ruffled feathers. She seemed to have a knack for that, he noticed.

Later that evening, Mrs. Hughes still had a few boxes to unpack and Mr. Carson returned to her sitting room. His had completed his duties for the evening and the younger staff had retreated off to their rooms. Only Mrs. Patmore still rattled about in the kitchen, finishing her menus for tomorrow's evening meal. Mrs. Hughes was arranging items on her open china cabinet when she heard Mr. Carson clear his throat announcing his presence.

"I...I...have something for you, Mrs. Hughes," he stuttered as he handed a prettily wrapped box to her. She made to sit on a chair and offered her swivel chair to him. "I didn't wrap it of course," he continued. "Or else it would have looked like a child did it." He laughed nervously. Mr. Carson never seemed nervous she noted. What had gotten into him, she wondered.

"Mr. Carson, you needn't have gotten me a present," she said half-heartedly. She loved presents, though he did not know that. Yet. She proceeded to tear the paper away carefully and open the box. She pulled back the thick brown paper inside to reveal a lovely tea set. She set the box on the floor and pulled out a delicate china teapot, four teacups and saucers, a creamer, and sugar pot to match. "Mr. Carson, you shouldn't have," Elsie said genuinely moved. It had been years since anyone had given her a gift such as this. "It must have cost a fortune," she asked as she delicately inspected the teapot.

His chest puffed up a little and his chin jutted forward just the slightest bit. Her happiness at his gift pleased him. "It was my mother's," he answered. She looked up from the teapot at him.

"I couldn't possibly," she protested. "Haven't you a sister or a cousin to whom you might like to pass it down?"

Mr. Carson looked down to his shoes. He hoped his gift had not been too intimate, too forward. He intended it as a friendly gesture. He desperately needed an ally in the house and he and Mrs. Hughes seemed to get on so well. She seemed to tolerate him better than most and he profoundly enjoyed her company. She had taken to her training so very well and for the first time Downton would have a relatively young butler and housekeeper at the helm.

"I have no brother or sister or close family, Mrs. Hughes," he spoke quietly to his feet. He paused a moment before looking up at her. "I wanted to," his voice quivering slightly, "That is to say, I am pr…I mean, I wanted to congratulate you on becoming Housekeeper. Not many women have accomplished what you have so quickly in their careers," he finished sounding every inch the proud friend. "And every housekeeper should have a proper tea set. I noticed that you did not. So I thought that, well..."

"I thank you Mr. Carson. Very much," she accepted his gift and his explanation.

Mr. Carson made to leave. "Oh, Mr. Carson, perhaps you will be my first guest for tea?"

He simply smiled in answering and left her room.

TBC…

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