Second chapter of the day/night. Don't let the prompt scare you. :-)
Health: a story where the health of one character is called into question.
"Just come up and see her for a few minutes," Mrs. Patmore pleaded. "Please."
"I don't think it would be proper, Mrs. Patmore," Mr. Carson answered.
The cook was nearly in tears. "How proper will it be if she dies and you've refused to see her?"
Mr. Carson frowned. "What do you mean 'if she dies'? Is she really that ill?"
"Probably not," Mrs. Patmore admitted. "But she is delirious and I can't seem to calm her. Perhaps you might have better luck. I'll be your chaperone, Mr. Carson, if you're so concerned about propriety."
Mr. Carson wasn't comfortable with the idea of going into Mrs. Hughes's room under any circumstances, but surely no one would consider it scandalous in this situation. He nodded and accompanied Mrs. Patmore up the maids' staircase and followed her into the housekeeper's room. When they arrived, Mrs. Hughes had kicked off her sheet and blanket and her nightgown was pulled up to her knees. Mr. Carson quickly turned away, embarrassed, but Mrs. Patmore set everything to rights.
"Come here, Mr. Carson," she said, gesturing toward a chair placed near the head of the bed. "I'll be sitting right over there." The cook's chair was against the wall near the door. She sat down and pointed again to the chair by the bed. He took a seat and glanced uncomfortably at Mrs. Hughes.
"What should I do?" he whispered to Mrs. Patmore.
"Why don't you try talking to her?"
"What should I say?" Mr. Carson asked.
"It doesn't matter," Mrs. Patmore answered, rolling her eyes. "Soothing things. Just so she hears your voice."
Mr. Carson was still very uncertain, but he tried to do as the cook suggested. "Hello, Mrs. Hughes," he greeted her stiffly. "It's Mr. Carson. I'm sorry you're ill." His voice softened a little. "Everyone is sorry that you're ill. They all ask about you downstairs. I'm sure you'll be back on your feet in no time."
Mrs. Hughes's brow crinkled and she started talking. Mr. Carson couldn't understand most of what she said, though occasionally something coherent broke through. "Don't forget to put the Sauterne on ice, Mr. Carson," she mumbled.
Mr. Carson looked at the cook questioningly. "What do I do, Mrs. Patmore? Should I answer?"
"I don't think it matters. Just keep talking," she replied. "I think it's helping. And try holding her hand. Poor lamb. She's miserable."
Mr. Carson took the housekeeper's hand hesitantly, but once he had done so, he was able to relax a little, and he started talking again. He told her stories that his mother had told him when he was a child. Mrs. Hughes murmured something occasionally – sometimes his name and sometimes other things. He glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Patmore and found her sound asleep, her head leaning back against the wall.
"I hope you're well again soon, Mrs. Hughes," he murmured. "We all miss you downstairs, me most of all. Nothing's quite right when you're not well. I miss seeing you at the table every morning." Mr. Carson's voice sunk to a whisper, and he stroked her hand with his thumb. "You are beautiful, you know. So very beautiful. You must get well and come back downstairs to me. I love you and I miss you." He watched Mrs. Hughes carefully and he could see that she was finally calming. A few minutes later, she was resting quietly. She looked so different when her face was in repose than when it was animated, but he thought her just as beautiful as always. He turned again to see if Mrs. Patmore was still sleeping, but she had gone. Mr. Carson stayed a little while longer and once he felt sure that Mrs. Hughes was sleeping peacefully, he went to his own room, got into bed, and fell asleep immediately.
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Several mornings later, Mrs. Hughes appeared at the breakfast table. She was a little paler than usual, but otherwise she seemed her usual energetic self.
"Welcome back, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson greeted her. "I'm glad to see you well." He was on pins and needles. He wondered if she had heard everything he said while he sat at her bedside. Part of him hoped she had, though he had never planned to tell her how he felt. Mr. Carson feared what might happen if she knew, but a small, reckless part of him wanted to know if his feelings for her might be reciprocated.
"Thank you, Mr. Carson," she answered. Then she nodded toward Mrs. Patmore, who stood beside her. "Mrs. Patmore tells me you came to see me while I was delirious and that you got me to calm down. I'm very grateful."
"You don't remember?" he asked, his heart pounding
"No," she replied. "But I thank you all the same."
Mr. Carson quietly breathed a sigh of relief. They could continue as they were now, as though he had never confessed to her that he loved her. A glance at Mrs. Patmore, however, rattled him anew. While Mrs. Hughes had started to eat her breakfast, the cook looked daggers at Mr. Carson. She must have been there. She must have heard. Mr. Carson wondered how long he could continue to keep his secret from the housekeeper. He suspected Mrs. Patmore might punish him until he told Mrs. Hughes again, when she was awake and lucid, that she had stolen his heart. He turned his eyes back to Mrs. Hughes, watching her sip her tea. Between the dark disapprobation of one woman and the innocent beauty of the other, Mr. Carson had a feeling he would not last much longer.
The end.
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