An update of biblical proportions. You know when you near the end of a 5k and you get overjoyed that you've not blown your knee out yet? That's this. My whole goal (in life, perhaps, but especially here) was to keep them true to themselves. In my opinion, they would never blurt out that they love each other in the open (maybe in the bedroom… but that's something else). They'd hide what they're saying, so that only the other one would know what they truly mean. And I hope you got that through the entire story. I thank you all, so, so much for reviewing. I couldn't have done it without you and I hope you don't find this too annoyingly happy at the end.
Chapter 8
It was now the middle of July and as miserable as it was, being in London for so long, that single telephone call had changed everything for them. It didn't happen often, but they decided during their conversation that they could continue to speak on the phone. Carson, if anyone asked, would make the excuse that he wanted to know the goings on in Downton. So, a new weekly occurrence began; he, making sure the London staff were well tucked in, would place a call to Downton. And she would sit, in his chair and tell him about her week. And he, in turn, would tell her about his. It was as if they were having their evening wine, only without being able to see one another. She would laugh about his lack of affection with the London staff, and my, did she have a lovely laugh. He could detect the annoyance in her voice when he spoke about the housekeeper, just as his voice changed a bit more harshly when Thomas was discussed. Her voice would catch on a rare occasion whenever it was time to bid each other goodnight, but perhaps that was simply due to a faulty connection. Although, when he replayed their conversation late at night, in his room, he knew it wasn't.
This was so much better than writing a letter, though they did still send letters to one another. This invention was brilliant. He may not enjoy change, but perhaps just this one device wasn't all that bad. Her blasted toaster on the other hand…
His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the drawing room bell. He made his way into the room.
"Carson, good. We need to discuss the upcoming garden party."
The garden party was a little over two weeks away. And Carson was fairly certain that he wouldn't be playing an active role in organizing the affairs. That was Mrs. Hughes' domain. Still, he could write her about this discussion. Or phone her.
"What would you like to discuss, Milady?"
"Well, we've decided to let the girls handle the garden party this year. Eventually, Mary will be… heading the house, as George grows up and we think it's best that she learns to manage one on her own. And Edith will help, won't you dear?"
Clearly there had been a disagreement between the girls over that matter as Lady Edith mumbled an agreement and Lady Mary glared out the window. Even though both were well into adulthood, they were still powerless in some regards to their parents. This sudden change for the party wasn't something he would have ever predicted and Mrs. Hughes would probably be livid once he told her.
"Shall I write Mrs. Hughes, or shall we… surprise her once we return?"
"Well that's just it, Carson. With the girls planning the party, Lord Grantham and I thought it would be nice to stay on in London a bit longer."
Stay on. Longer. How long? As if I haven't been away from everything long enough.
"I see."
"The girls will be heading home on Saturday and Mrs. Hughes can readjust her preparations accordingly. I'm sure she won't mind."
No, Mrs. Hughes would mind. She would mind very much, Milady. The servants would be very fortunate indeed, if she didn't explode once hearing the news.
"I'll let Mrs. Hughes know to expect some changes in the coming weeks. Will there be anything else, Milady?"
"No, thank you, Carson."
He paused on his way down the stairs, leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. As much as he had wanted to, he couldn't have asked her Ladyship how much longer they would be staying in London – it wasn't appropriate to ask questions. Would it only be a few weeks? What if it turned into a month? Why now? Why choose this to happen now? Why not at least go back to attend the party? Don't they understand that I want to go home? Because I miss it? I miss her. Oh God, how am I going to tell her all of this without upsetting her?
In his pantry, he sat with a heavy heart, pen in his hand. Writing would be better. Although it would take longer for her to receive the news, he wouldn't have to deal with the immediate wrath of the housekeeper. He wouldn't hear the anger in her voice as she went on a rampage about the privileged. The disappointment at their inability to understand what went into planning such a party. The grief when he'd tell her he wouldn't be returning in a week. Like he should be. She may call after she receives the letter, she may not. Regardless, he would have a few days' time to prepare how to handle the situation. And her. He sighed as he began his letter.
Carson had just finished serving the upstairs breakfast and was polishing the silver when he heard the telephone ring. His heart dropped. She would have gotten the letter today. In fact, she'd have received it several hours ago which meant she had waited. Waited until she was sure he finished serving the breakfast. Waited until she knew he would be able to talk.
"This is Carson, the–"
"How dare you not telephone me over this matter!"
It appeared that she'd taken a strong liking to the telephone over the past few months. Not that he hadn't.
"I didn't think–"
"No you didn't! Do they, or you, have any idea how much preparation goes into this event? How much I have to plan? I have to change every order I've placed and I've no idea when the party will even be! Half the food will spoil before I even get a date from Lady Mary! Whose bloody decision was this?"
"Of course I know how much work you do in the weeks ahead of this. I can only assume it was a joint decision between her Ladyship and–"
"After running the house for over four months alongside of Thomas, who knows next to nothing about how a house is run, you'd think they could have spared me this! I've no idea what Lady Mary likes or how she wants this party to appear. I can't even pretend to get started – I'll have to completely toss everything!"
It had been years since Carson had seen Mrs. Hughes this upset. He had a strong feeling that the majority of Downton was overhearing her tirade into the phone, all crammed in front of his pantry's two doors with their ears pressed firmly against the painted oak. Then again, the kitchen staff could probably hear her without having to strain to listen. He sighed.
"I know, Mrs. Hughes. If I could –"
"And there's another matter! Why aren't you upset staying on for God knows how long?"
"Who says I'm not? Just because I'm not falling to pieces into the phone does not mean –"
"I am not falling to pieces!"
This was not how he planned this conversation would go. He could hear her heavy breathing through the receiver. What she needed was time to calm herself, as she was clearly wound up from the hours of waiting to speak to him. She was much too stressed, too anxious. He had been growing worried about her as the months went by. Worried about her workload. Worried Thomas was giving her a hard time; that she felt lonely at night. He just wanted to go home. Home, to where he'd never refuse a night cap with her again. This whole 'adventure' gave him serious reconsideration for retirement. In fact, it looked quite appealing anymore. I'd walk out of this place today, if I didn't require housing from these people.
He wasn't sure sitting in silence was such a good idea. But, she hadn't let him finish a sentence yet. He took a deep breath. He'd rather not say this aloud, not during the day, when anyone walking past his pantry could hear; but calming her was his priority.
"Mrs. Hughes, take a breath and sit down, because I know you're not." His voice lowered; he would be sacked if anyone heard what he was going to say. She was the only one he trusted. The only one in which to discuss the negative aspects of the family. "Now, listen to me. I know the family may not exercise understanding in such matters, and I recognize what they've now carelessly decided has literally ruined all the work you've spent weeks doing, but you still have time. You have time to work on a new party, and with Lady Mary and Lady Edith returning home in a few days, I think, given the extra few weeks, you have enough time to plan a lovely party that her Ladyship would envy."
His ears were burning with such negative talk of the family, but he knew from experience that it's what she most wants to hear when they burden her with too much. He's never given in to such talk, but the telephone gave him courage. Or, perhaps because he wasn't there to give her a sympathetic look, to reassure her with his touch, he had to rely on his words. He took another breath, thankful that she was listening to him, and no longer shouting.
"And I am quite unhappy with their extended stay in London, but I'm powerless to do anything about such a thing."
"But you–"
Gentle, now. "No. You know that Mrs. Hughes. As unfair as that is. As unfair as our lives have been of late, there's nothing I can do. If I had my choice, I'd be home on the evening train. But they simply wouldn't allow that."
"It wouldn't hurt to ask."
He paused to open his pantry door. The hall was deserted. Still, his voice was barely above a whisper as he sat back down. "They wouldn't understand. They're a bit… naïve when it comes to morale of the servants. They don't understand how much work we do. They don't know what work is, and they probably don't even understand the term 'exhaustion.' I know, you've said all this to me before. So, you should be thrilled that I finally agree with you."
He figured that would get a rise from her. It didn't. Try humor, she likes your humor.
"Besides, with me away, you can purchase all kinds of terrifying contraptions that I would otherwise forbid from the house. Go out and buy some kind of strange electric… whatever. I don't even know what they make anymore."
Please, stop chewing on your lip and agree with me.
"I did see an advertisement for a kind of dryer for your hair that you plug in and–"
"Please. I don't need to know how it works."
Carson's visits to Grigg steadily declined, especially with the family continuously living a care-free lifestyle in London. In fact, for Grigg's last week of life, Carson wasn't able to see him. He knew the end was quickly approaching, and he knew he should visit, but he didn't want to. He rang Mrs. Hughes late one evening – he wasn't even expecting her to be awake – with his doubts, along with his excuses. He didn't have the time, patience or energy after such long workdays in London. He felt guilty, selfish. Wondered if he'd be damned to hell over his lack of compassion and sympathy. She had reassured him that what he felt, and did, was perfectly acceptable and not damnable. That he easily carved a place out for himself in heaven by simply supporting that intolerable man for over a week. He asked if he should attend the funeral. She asked if Grigg would attend his. Thinking for a while, he knew the answer. No, he would not. Grigg passed away soon after that phone conversation and was buried a few days later. He did not attend.
The weeks had dragged on and they began to phone each other regularly, always late at night. Mrs. Hughes was under an immense amount of pressure, as Lady Mary had no idea what even went into a garden party, yet didn't object to telling Mrs. Hughes that she wasn't pleased with certain arrangements. Carson put up with the name calling because she was stressed. She was tired. And he hated when she was tired. His mind got the better of him late at night, after he was lying in his bed. What if her illness could come back if she became overly tired? It was an absurd notion, but it didn't stop his mind from running wild. He didn't sleep very well on those nights.
The garden party was now only a few days away. Mrs. Hughes' seemed to be managing very well, even with Lady Mary's inexperience and Lady Edith's lack of assistance. She deserved a magnificent glass of sherry when it would all be said and done. They both did. There had been no discussion about a return to Downton and his patience was wearing thin. Her words haunted him as he made his way to the drawing room.
It wouldn't hurt to ask.
Let's see how this fares then, Mrs. Hughes.
"Milady, I was wondering if I could have a word?"
"Certainly Carson, what is it?"
"Well, I have an old friend coming into Ipswich tomorrow. I was wondering if I could have a few days off to see him."
Carson couldn't even remember the last time he had told a flat out lie, especially to the family. His face was flushed, he knew it; he could feel it. Damn it, his palms were sweating too. Thankfully her Ladyship was far more interested in her crocheting than his appearance.
"I don't see why not. But do remember this Saturday is the Milner's ball. Please be back in time to prepare for it."
"Of course, Milady."
That was ludicrously easy, he thought as he all but bounded up the stairs to his bedroom. Should he tell Mrs. Hughes his plan? She'd be so pleased. Hell, he was joyful. Maybe I shouldn't, give her a pleasant surprise. He dug a suitcase out of the closet. He had a feeling she liked that gray suit he occasionally wore…
Five months. Well, five months in three days, but he wasn't counting. It had been five months since he'd been away. Since he'd seen Downton. Seen his pantry. His bedroom. Her sitting room. Her. He was a bundle of nerves as he sat on the train. He never did tell her. It was better this way. He wanted to surprise her; there weren't many surprises for them anymore at their age, and when surprises arose, they were rarely pleasant. He gripped the handle of his suitcase tighter as the sun shone on his face. Being away from her for so long allowed him to finally be honest with himself. There was no denying it. He loved her. For a while, he wasn't sure what love even entailed. Soppy words? He could probably muddle through some phrases to please her. Kissing. He could definitely handle that. Being close to someone? He knew it wouldn't be easy, but if anyone could open him up, it'd be her. Passionate… well, passion. He blushed at that. There were multiple kinds of love, and while he believed he felt all of them for her, he felt the most important kind of love was knowing you couldn't live without the other person.
It sounded loud and heroic. Soppy even, he thought with a chuckle. But it was true; he wasn't sure where he'd be in his life without Mrs. Hughes. And to imagine his life without her, whether she remained a friend, or became something more, could bring about such a pain in his heart. He didn't care if she only wanted to be friends. He would be perfectly content with that. But he felt something more. Something was developing between them, and he hoped today would be the day to discover if she believed that as well. The train pulled into the station. He felt queasy but happy. Terribly, terribly happy.
Downstairs was bustling with activity. It was incredibly warm down there, and a bit hazy, but smelled wonderful. Carson was thankful everyone was busy either preparing or carrying food to notice him. It gave him time to stop in his pantry. His smile vanished as he shut his door. It was a mess. It would take days to sort through the piles of paper. He checked the silver closet; how could they get something so simple, so wrong? He had his work cut out for him once he returned for good. He only marginally minded. He found his way to his mirror. Started smoothing out his hair. Adjusted his tie. Found a brush and scrubbed at his suit. Argued that he only wanted to look presentable; that he was past the years of looking handsome. Took a deep breath. Turned to leave when he noticed his telephone sitting quite close to his chair.
She sat here. Sat here and went through all her beautiful emotions alone, in front of the things that were only ever used to him. His pantry didn't smell of her. She hadn't left anything on his desk, only the place of his telephone told him she was here. One day, when he'd leave Downton for good, he would take that telephone with him. Wouldn't bother hooking it up, just place it somewhere where he could look at it. Remember how much it meant to him. Them.
It was bright outside as he made his way to the grounds. He wanted to surprise her, sneak up on her. Not frighten her; there would be no teasing today. He wondered how he'd avoid her gaze, unless he could come at her from behind. He looked all around the party, and she was nowhere to be found. Carson couldn't loaf about; people would want to speak with him. Ask him how London was. Thomas would probably ask if he bought a place of his own. Then, he saw her. She was standing in the same place where he comforted Lady Mary about Mr. Crawley, under that large tree. She wasn't facing the party. She had changed her dress. It looked very nice on her. One day, he'd tell her.
He threw up a prayer that she wouldn't turn around as he slowly and quietly made his way to her. His heart was in his throat. He was close now, the wind carried her scent and he could see her jaw working that lower lip. She was lightly wringing her hands and he watched her for a moment, not saying a word. She had no idea.
Carson took a few steps. Stood directly behind her. Almost touching.
"It really does seem to be a lovely party."
Her mouth dropped but she didn't turn around. She looked as if she were about to cry, then her face lit up in a way he had never seen before. Such a beautiful smile. It had been a long time since he had seen her smile.
"It was missing something, but I think I've found what it was."
She waved her hand slowly behind her back. He moved to stand next to her and grasped her hand, bringing it between them.
"I'm glad. We wouldn't want all your hard work to go to waste."
He cocked his head to look down at her as she turned her head to look at him. They stood, side by side, gazing at each other. Waiting for five months was absolutely worth the delirious feeling he was now experiencing. Five long months, but he hadn't counted. She turned to face him, still holding his hand.
"Mr. Carson, I–"
"Carson!" Lady Mary called out as she made her way toward them. He noted Mrs. Hughes expression. She looked devastated as she watched who was headed their way. She withdrew her hand. She had spent nearly twenty years voicing her dislike for Lady Mary. Said she never understood why he adored her. He did, he adored Lady Mary. But he didn't love her. He loved the woman by his side.
"I can't believe you're here! Does Mama know?"
"No, she doesn't. And I'd appreciate your discreetness on this matter."
Lady Mary wore a smirk, "Of course; your secret's safe with me. But I was wondering if you could–"
Time to show where you stand, old boy.
"Milady, with great respect, I'm afraid I cannot possibly do anything until I discuss how this house has handled my absence with Mrs. Hughes."
Mrs. Hughes stared up at him in wonder. He felt his heart might burst.
"Of course, Carson, I understand. Perhaps later this evening?"
"That would be fine, Milady."
They walked, hand in hand. They didn't go to the servants' quarters. Didn't go to the hall. Didn't go to his pantry or her sitting room. They walked for a long time, in content silence. Occasionally, someone would tighten their grip on the others hand. Eventually, they found themselves facing a dirt path into the woods. She tore her hand from his as she kept walking, heading down the path. He leaned against a tree, watched her.
She stopped and stood quite still on that path. He loved this time of the year, and this time of the day. The woods were so much darker than the rest of the world and the green of the trees contrasted the black of her dress quite nicely. She turned, suddenly, and ran to him. Ran straight into him. Put her arms around him. Buried her head in his chest. He was stunned. Wasn't quite sure what to do with his arms. Thought of asking her if he could return her hug, but decided that was foolish and would ruin this moment.
He stood there, hugging her. In his wildest dreams, he couldn't have imagined this. That she would take the lead in the very complicated and subtle dance the two of them had performed for the past eight months – well really, the past twenty years. He was always the one to do so. Offer his arm, kneel before her, hold her hand, sit side by side, come so close to kissing her. The wind picked up a bit and he tightened his grip on her. Rested his forehead on the top of her head. So soft.
He wasn't sure right away. But after a bit, after he heard her sniff more than once, he was certain his vest and shirt were wet. He had only ever seen women sob when they cried. But, she wasn't sobbing. Her shoulders didn't move; she wasn't making a scene. Beside the occasional sniff, and his now damp vest and shirt, he would have no idea. Say something. Say anything. Tell her you love her. That you're sorry. That you–
"I missed you."
He was silent. He wanted to let her speak. Wanted to know her feelings. Hoped they were a mirror of his own.
"So much, Mr. Carson. I've missed you so much." She was speaking into his chest but he could hear her, clear as day. She fell silent after that.
"Mrs. Hughes."
"I don't want this." He stiffened. "I don't want our lives to be like… this. I don't want to spend the rest of our lives serving others. Having to answer to someone you don't truly care for. Having to be separated for three months, every year. Not able to make our own decisions. Not able to care for one another, because of the bloody impropriety of it all."
He brought his fingers under her chin and raised her face so that he could look at her.
"Before all of this, before Grigg appeared, before I was sent away; I never dreamt of retirement. I wouldn't even know what to do with myself."
She gave him a small smile. "You would learn."
"That's true, and now I think it might work. It might work out very well. But, I'd have to have a very good teacher to help me gain the courage to leave Downton."
Her smile widened into a grin and she fixed her eyes on his tie. "I think I know someone who would be interested in helping you. But you would have to tolerate the fact that she may not know everything about caring for a house."
"She wouldn't need to care for it. Only run it."
She was playing with his tie. "Oh, I think she's quite good at running a house. But she would need help learning how to build a fire. How to decanter wine. How to tie a tie. Set a table correctly. Polish silver. And, I think she'd like to start her new position as soon as possible."
He felt himself tearing up. "I don't see a problem there."
She bit her lip and met his gaze, holding onto his tie. "Can we… teach each other?"
"I think so."
A moment passed. She gently tugged on his tie. He lowered his head and she raised her chin. He paused then, wanting to remember this for a long time.
"May I, Mrs. Hughes?"
She smiled. "Yes."
They were friends. But they were also much, much more than that.
