Invite Me: A drabble about one character asking the other to…

This prompt trails off, I think unintentionally (none of the others do). No matter. I've always loved 'first date-esque' plots in fics, and this prompt inspired me to write one of my own. This one takes place immediately after the S4CS. So it's technically a beach tag! As well as a nod to Carson's time on the stage. Seriously, this fic: half a dozen birds, one stone.

This story is monstrous in length for this collection. I offer no excuses and make no apologies. I hope you enjoy.


The Brighton train platform was not very crowded for a Thursday evening, even with the addition of the Downton staff. Mr. Carson gazed around at them with pride, pleased that they all had enjoyed themselves. He'd felt it was a bit of a defeat that they had to settle for a day at the seaside, but clearly he was the only one that thought so. He himself had enjoyed the day more than anticipated, thanks in no small part to the housekeeper with whom he'd spent half the afternoon holding hands. She thought herself very clever with her postcards and her coy remarks, but he knew better. Perhaps he should resent her for trying to trick him into thinking it was his idea, but he couldn't manage it. If anything he was impressed she'd been as discreet as she was, not to mention appreciative of the fact that she allowed him to take credit for the arrangements in front of the staff, when they both knew full well who was really responsible.

He caught sight of her as he scanned the platform again. A poster on the wall had clearly captured her attention. He walked up behind her to read the advertisement over her shoulder and was surprised to see it was for the Winter Garden Theatre.

Mrs. Hughes took note of him. "Beautiful building isn't it?" she remarked.

He gave a nod of agreement. Very beautiful and very familiar to him, but she couldn't possibly have known that. She turned her attention back to the ad, inspecting the photograph more carefully. "I wonder if it's so imposing in real life."

He was surprised. It was a rather important building, architecturally and otherwise. "You've never seen it?" he asked. "Not even walked into the lobby or seen from the street?"

She laughed at him, "and what would I be doing wandering around London, poking my nose into theatre lobbies?"

"Well, when you put it like that."

"Some of us live a more rural existence than you, Mr. Carson," she pointed out, smoothing out her skirt. "Which is fine, I suppose," she added as an afterthought. For a fraction of a second she looked wistful, something he was unused to seeing in her. It occurred to him that she was always very keen to hear of his 'London stories' as she'd dubbed them. He'd never put much stock in that, thinking the two of them rather alike in attitude and lifestyle, at least nowadays. True, they were both heads of the household, but during the season he got more than his fill of London, whereas she almost never had cause to leave Yorkshire.

"Mr. Carson?" she said rather sharply, dragging him abruptly out of his thoughts.

"What?"

"The train," she explained, gesturing to the steam engine that had pulled up while he had been a million miles away. "Perhaps you'd like to get on it?"

"Right," he said, giving himself a little shake. It had been a long day in the sun, but that was no excuse for not paying attention. With one last glance at the poster he followed her aboard the train.


He listened to the wheels clickity-clack against the tracks and contemplated the woman sitting beside him. She stared out the window at the scenery passing by, looking quite content really. The sun agreed with her, and he wished that he had an excuse to reach for her hand again. He couldn't think of an explanation to give her, other than that he just wanted to hold it.

He tried as best he could to put the notion out of his mind, thinking instead about her interest in the Winter Garden Theatre poster. She kindly avoided the subject of the theatre, out of respect for him (or possibly to escape his ill temper, which flared whenever the subject was raised). He remembered back, a very long time ago now, her telling him that she'd never seen a show. Still wounded from his time in the Cheerful Charlies he had not thought this a great loss on her part at the time. Now, on the other hand, he wondered if it wasn't a shame that she'd never known the magical workings of a stage production.

They weren't to head back to Downton for a few days yet. They did have to prepare a few things for the move, but they were actually quite ahead of schedule this year, thanks to Mrs. Hughes leading the packing. There wasn't any reason they might not slip out for a short bit of sightseeing before they left. He would have to pay a visit to an old haunt and see if something might be arranged.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked his plan. He glanced furtively at the housekeeper and hoped very much that she would to.


"Mrs. Hughes, I was wondering if you'd care to join me tomorrow night for a walk." He had practiced the phrase several times in his mind, trying to find the tone that was neither too familiar nor too stilted. In his opinion he'd succeeded. The housekeeper was momentarily taken-aback by the request before breaking into a brilliant smile.

"Certainly, Mr. Carson," she said. "Are we going anywhere specific?"

He hoped so, but he was not willing to make promises he might not be able to keep. "Nothing set in stone, Mrs. Hughes. Just a…bit of sightseeing."

She studied him carefully, but he gave her no hints. "Alright," she said eventually. She would just have to wait and see.

He beamed at her. "Wonderful."


The next day the upstairs dinner had run long, leaving them all delayed below stairs. Mrs. Hughes had all but given up on the prospect of their little walk when Mr. Carson appeared.

"Well, they're all seen to." he said, pleased with himself. "Shall we go?"

She was surprised to see him still so keen. "Why the sun's all but set! How do you propose we sightsee in the dark, Mr. Carson?"

He smiled at her. "Well, there are these marvellous inventions called street lamps, perhaps you are familiar?"

She rolled her eyes at him, lecturing her on technology. "Yes, I'm well aware but-"

"And," he said, interrupting her, "we won't need too much light for you to see what I want to show you."

She frowned, clearly puzzled. "You are very mysterious at times, Mr. Carson. What have you got up your sleeve?"

"Nothing more clever than a postcard, Mrs. Hughes," he said pointedly.

"You caught on to that did you?"

"I am not a complete fool, Mrs. Hughes," he said, with mock indignation. "You are the only person that would have the audacity to put something on my bulletin board, and only one reason for doing it."

She laughed lightly. "You caught me then."

"This time," he admitted. "So, shall we?" He was rather anxious to get them on their way, before she changed her mind about this.

"Let me just fetch my hat," she said, a flutter of excitement rising in her chest. Calm down woman, it's just a walk, she thought, in an attempt to quell her nerves. A walk is never just a walk, her mother used to say, though in that instance she'd been warning her daughter about young lads that were keen to press their advantage, not handsome butlers that were the very pinnacle of decorum.


It was not entirely dark as they set out along the cobblestone streets, but the street lamps were lit and sure to be needed quite shortly. Once they'd rounded the corner and were out of sight from the house he paused, trying to decided if he should voice his next request. She looked at him inquiringly.

"What is it now?" she asked. He'd been rather odd all day and she wondered secretly if their afternoon at the beach hadn't given him a bit of a turn. He was all over the place since they'd come back, at times pensive, cheeky, nervous, and excitable.

"It's just…I was wondering if I might hold your hand again?"

"I've told you, you can always hold my hand," she said slipping her hand into his.

"If I need to feel steady," he said, parroting her earlier words.

"Or any other time you like," said Mrs. Hughes warmly, "I'm not fussy." She smiled inwardly at the look of relief and satisfaction on his face. She had wondered if perhaps she had pushed him a little too much on their afternoon at the seaside, but now she could see that it had been exactly what he needed. A little confidence that she would be receptive to whatever he decided to do next.

Actually, what had he decided to do next? She had no idea where he was leading her. "Mr. Carson, where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he said cheerfully, "but I think you'll like it."

She was a little thrilled at this. She was not used to not knowing things, and to her surprise she found it rather exciting to be completely in the dark for once. She squeezed his hand a little tighter as they made their way through the winding city streets. She didn't know London very well and after a few minutes she was well and truly lost. Without him, she doubted she would even be able to find her way back to the house. It didn't matter; she didn't plan on letting him out of her sight.

"Not much further now," he told her as they turned onto Drury Lane. He checked his pocket watch surreptitiously. Seven thirty. Perfect timing.

"Oh!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed, taking in the building towering above them, "this is it isn't?"

He smiled, "yes this is it. The Winter Garden Theatre."

"It's beautiful," she said, staring at it in awe. For a moment they just stood there looking up, letting the noise from the various patrons that were entering the building wash around them. She squeezed his arm gently. "Thank you," she said softly. "It's was very nice of you to bring me here."

"We're not finished yet, Mrs. Hughes."

"We're not?" she said, looking at him in confusion.

"You've only seen the outside," he remarked, "wouldn't you like to go in? Very difficult to watch the show from out here."

"Charles Carson, don't be ridiculous! We can't waltz in there with all those people?" What on earth was he, mad? They didn't have the money, at least not the sort that they can afford to throw away on this sort of thing. Even if they had, neither of them was remotely dressed for it in their work clothes.

"You're absolutely right, as usual, Mrs. Hughes," he said, plainly anticipating her reaction. "Better go round the back."

Before she could object he led her around the side of the building and they slipped through an open gate into a back alley.

"Mr. Carson, are you sure about this? I feel like we shouldn't be here." The whole thing had her feeling nervous and he gave her a reassuring pat on the arm.

"Not to worry, they're expecting us." He knocked smartly on the back door and gave her a conspiring smile. A moment later the door swung open, revealing a very short man, dressed all in black and sporting a rather impressive grey moustache.

"Charlie Carson! I'm so pleased you actually came!" exclaimed the man, practically bouncing up and down. "I wondered when I woke up this morning if our conversation weren't all a dream."

"As real as can be, Eddie. Is everything in order?"

"Yes, yes. Come in, come in!" Eddie said excitedly, "And you must be Mrs. Hughes. Charlie told me you'd be coming of course, but he completely failed to mention how beautiful you'd be! My my!"

"Eddie!" snapped Mr. Carson, appalled at his friend's lack of manners.

"Didn't mean a thing by it Charlie, you know I didn't!" he insisted. He turned to Mrs. Hughes, "Goodness, he's touchy when it comes to you isn't he? You know I didn't mean nothing by it luv, happily married I am. Some of us theatre folks are! Contrary to popular belief!"

Mrs. Hughes could only gape at the animated fellow that barely came up to her shoulder. He spoke about a mile and minute and had far too much energy for one person. The only coherent thought she could muster was that he might get along very well with Mrs. Patmore.

"Well, don't stand in the doorway looking like bumps on a log! Come on in! Show's about to get started."

"After you," said Mr. Carson, stepping aside. Not knowing what else to do she swallowed nervously and followed Eddie through the backstage door.

Inside was dark, cramped and about ten degrees warmer than it had been outside. Mrs. Hughes felt Mr. Carson's hand on the small of her back as he guided her down the twisting passage.

"Stage left wing, just past the prompt corner, straight up to the catwalk. There are two chairs set up as close to the proscenium arch as possible." Eddie whispered. Mrs. Hughes looked to Mr. Carson in bewilderment, but he seemed to know exactly what his friend was saying.

"You're a marvel Eddie, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Once you're up, you'll have to wait until it's all over before coming back down or I can't guarantee I won't hit you with the curtain. Or a set piece. The fellas they got on the rigging for this one are right idiots Charlie, I'm telling you."

"Just keep the roof from falling on our heads and we'll take care of the rest." Mr. Carson insisted.

"Sure thing," grinned Eddie. The sound of instruments tuning filled the air and Eddie gave a little jump. "Alright, that my cue to get into position. You kids have fun now, I'll see you after."

"This way," said Mr. Carson with a smile. Mrs. Hughes was still speechless and thoroughly overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle around them. Every which way, actors and stagehands were running about, paying them absolutely no attention what so ever.

He led her to the corner of the wings via the most direct route possible. It was strange that even after decades of being away from this place he still knew exactly how to navigate it as if he'd been here yesterday. She, on the other hand, looked completely flummoxed and followed him blindly. He stopped short. "Oh," he said looking up. "How well can you climb a ladder in your skirt?"

"What!?"

He frowned. "It may be necessary. I hadn't thought of that."

"No" she sputtered, "I mean…I can climb just fine, but why-"

"Perfect, follow me."

"Mr. Carson, I'm not sure I understand what's happening."

He turned to her, his warm brown eyes searching hers. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

She stared up at him in astonishment. What an incredibly strange evening this was turning out to be! He looked so worried and so sincere. How could she allow him to think that she didn't trust him? "I do trust you, Mr. Carson. Without a doubt."

"Here then," he said, placing her hands on the wall. "Feel this?" She did. There was a series of rungs bolted to the wall that extended upwards. "Just climb up until you reach the platform. I'll be right behind you."

There was nothing for it; she did as she was told. The rungs were sturdy and surprisingly easy to climb. In no time at all she was up the platform. He appeared behind her, panting ever so slightly.

"What now?" she asked, exhilarated by their little exertion.

"It's time the lady was shown to her seat," he said cheerfully. "I believe that's them over there."

He pointed at two chairs on a far platform beside the wall. Between them ran an open catwalk, with a low railing on either side.

"What if I fall?" She didn't want to admit to being afraid, but it did look rather rickety.

He grinned at her. "What if a bomb goes off? What if we're hit by a falling star?" he teased.

"You are impossible," she said incredulously. "Absolutely impossible."

"I'll be right behind you," he promised her, "and it's much stronger than it looks."

Gingerly she stepped out on to the catwalk and took a few experimental steps. When it became clear that the structure was sound she grew more confident and made her way happily across.

"It was easy!" she exclaimed when they'd reached the other side.

He beamed at her. "You're quite brave, Mrs. Hughes, and a very good sport."

"You didn't give me much choice, Mr. Carson."

"Indeed. Now, here we are madam," he said in his best butler voice, "your seat for the evening." She had to suppress a giggle as he took her hand and guided her carefully and completely unnecessarily into one of the chairs. He sat down next to her, never letting go of her hand. She'd told him he could hold it whenever he liked, and he certainly wanted to now.

She watched everything below with fascination. They were sitting some twenty feet up along the side, with a great red curtain extending out across the front of the stage. She could see men moving large panels of wood into various positions, carefully marking out the angles. Beyond the red curtain she could hear the muffled sounds of people in the audience talking and finding their way to their seats. She couldn't see them of course, but there was a buzz in the air that she couldn't begin to describe.

"Now, will you explain all of this to me?" she said, eyes dancing in excitement.

"We're here to watch the show," he said. "You said you'd never seen one before and when I saw you looking at the poster I thought you should. Eddie, as you may have guess is the stage manager, he helped me arrange our rather unusual seating for tonight. Eddie was one of the only bridges I didn't burn when I left."

"You performed here?" she asked quietly.

"For a short time. At the height of our act, it was part of a revue here." It was more detail than he'd ever shared with her about his time as a performer. He'd changed in this respect; no longer was he angry or upset when looking back on this chapter of his life. He'd eventually let go of his shame when it became clear his past didn't bother anyone but him. She had made it clear it didn't bother her. If anything she was tickled by the thought of him singing and dancing for people.

A man on the platform directly opposite of them pulled a pulley, lifting a huge flat depicting an ocean all the way up above the stage.

"Was he serious? Eddie, I mean," asked Mrs. Hughes.

"About what?"

"Being hit by a set piece."

Mr. Carson laughed. "Eddie's always complaining about the rigging, he's a perfectionist extraordinaire on the subject."

The lights started to dim, and a hush fell over the audience. "It's starting," she whispered to him, squeezing his hands in excitement. They could see the actors taking their places behind the curtain. There was nothing quite like those few moments before the curtain was pulled back. The atmosphere was indescribable, but he knew she could feel it just as he could. Then the overture started and they were swept away. The show was a new one; it had only opened a week ago. The Beauty Prize turned out to be equal parts funny and convoluted. There were so many characters it was difficult to keep track of them all. The show centred around two lovers, kept apart by a series of increasingly ridiculous complications. The story line was contrived and the musical numbers mediocre at best, but she watched in starry-eyed delight as the production unfolded. There were so many moving pieces that all fit together so perfectly, and the effect on stage seemed quite marvellous to her.

"They're wonderful," she whispered to him.

"Who?" he asked, glancing around at the performers and stagehands as the entire set changed from a kitchen to the deck of ship in a matter of moments.

"All of them," she said, unable to tear her eyes away, "it's incredible. Like magic."

He'd hoped she would like it, but she was even more taken with it then he had imagined. By the end of the third act it was impossible to say which of the two of them was more enchanted, her watching the performance or him watching her.

As the curtain closed for the last time she turned to him. "Mr. Carson, I don't even know what to say."

"I'm glad you liked it. I wanted to get you a seat in the real audience, right down there, front and center but-"

"No," she said tenderly, shaking her head. "No, these are the best seats in the house." She leaned over to kiss him gently on the cheek and was delighted to see him blush a brilliant shade of pink. "Thank you," she whispered, "it was wonderful. And Mr. Carson, if this is your idea of courting a woman it's working."

He jumped a little at her accusation, clearly flustered. "I didn't mean to be so- wait…working?"

She regarded him with some amusement. "That was the point of this evening, wasn't it?"

He looked down at their entwined hands. "Yes, I believe it was," he admitted.

"Then consider it a success, Mr. Carson."

He met her eyes again, and saw no embarrassment or reason to be flustered there. She was, as ever, steady and sure of herself. And sure of him, he could see that now. She gazed at him so lovingly and there was nothing more that he wanted to do than…

"May I?"

"Yes," she said, leaning in. He cupped her cheek and kissed her softly. It was gentle kiss from a gentleman, for he worried, even now, about frightening her. She kissed him back with purpose, trying to validate every feeling he'd ever had for her. Her response worked, and he let go of his fear. He pulled her close, kissing her with all the passion he'd kept locked up for so many years. She melted into him, for there was no magic, staged or otherwise, that could compete with his kiss.

"Oi!" yelled Eddie from below. "Are you two quite finished?"

They broke apart, both half laughing, half shocked. The stage manager was grinning up at them. "I mean you can stay up there all night if you like but-"

"We're coming down!" exclaimed Mr. Carson, before his friend could finish his, likely rather scandalous, sentence. He took her by the hand and let the way back across the catwalk. Gingerly they climbed down the ladder to the floor.

"Well, looks like you two enjoyed it. Did you catch any of the show or were you too busy making eyes at each other?"

"Eddie!"

"The show was wonderful," said Mrs. Hughes, putting a calming hand on Mr. Carson's chest. "Everything was wonderful."

"I'll bet," Eddie grinned. "Now I'm sorry, I've got to go whip this lot into shape," he said gesturing at a few of the stagehands, "or they'll have hit the liquor before everything is tidied up. You know what they's like. Not respectable like you and me, eh Charlie?"

"If you say so," said Mr. Carson reaching out to shake his friends hand. "Eddie thank you again for this."

"Anytime," said Eddie, "just invite me to the wedding, alright? I'm only teasin'! Sort of! Alright! Good night!" With that Eddie bounded away, yelling at the crew about this and that.

"You'll have to excuse him," Mr. Carson murmured. "He's a good sort, really."

"I can see that," said Mrs. Hughes. "Not to worry, he's charming."

"There's a nice word for it," said Mr. Carson. "Come this way." He put his hand on the small of her back again and led her through the narrow corridors until they reached a door that deposited them outside. They both took a few large gulps of the evening air, feeling very changed and very happy with how the evening had gone.

"We ought to head back," he said, regretfully.

She slipped her arm around him and looked up at him happily. "Lead the way."

They walked back towards the house in comfortable silence, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, hers wrapped around his waist. It took longer, and wasn't as easy to walk this way, but they didn't care. He just wanted to touch as much of her as possible.

They both instinctively stopped before they came in sight of the house. He bent to kiss her again, revelling in this newfound privilege. Then he pulled away and looked at her almost shyly. "I don't want to rush this," he said hesitantly.

"Then don't." she said simply. "There's no need." Her eyes twinkled merrily, "but twenty years could hardly be called rushing things."

He blushed. "You know what I meant."

"I do. And I quite agree," she said sensibly. "Don't worry, we'll sort it out at our own pace."

She was so practical about absolutely everything. He loved her for it. Gingerly he brushed his fingers across her cheek, sending a little shiver down her spine.

"You're marvellous," he said, "do you have any idea how much I love you?"

She pretended to think about this for a moment before reaching up and pulling him into and adoring kiss. One that would leave him with absolutely no question as to how much she loved him. When they finally broke apart, breathless, she smiled at him. "I think I do, Mr. Carson. I think I do."


The end. Whew! Are you still with me? I hope you liked it. Leave me a review and let me know. Next one is Join Me.

By the way, the theatre and the show are both real. The Beauty Prize debuted at the Winter Garden Theatre (Today known as the New London Theatre) on Sept. 5th 1923. Apparently it was very mediocre, but would probably still be somewhat impressive to Mrs. Hughes unrefined tastes.