Thank again to my readers and reviewers for sticking with this story!
Three days. It had been three days since her fall. Since they told the staff about her illness. Three days since she had been on the mend with instruction to take it easy. And yet somehow he had given in and allowed her wish for a walk.
Which is how he found himself mid-day strolling through the Abbey grounds with his beloved on his arm.
They took a slow pace. She was still healing as far as he was concerned. As far as she was concerned she was fine. A mild bit of dizziness. That's all it was. Except Dr. Clarkson confirmed the danger she was in. That dizziness meant a shortness of breath, and a shortness of breath meant something to do with the lungs, and Carson couldn't understand half of what had been said to him that night -
But he was grateful she had allowed the Doctor to speak with him.
He was grateful for a lot of things really: she was opening up to him. He'd been surprised to find there were still secrets between them. That there were things she couldn't say even to him. Because when it came to her, he couldn't stop himself from speaking, couldn't reign in his words or his actions. When she asked him why he'd been so glum after that incident with Grigg he told her the whole story - well almost the whole story, leaving Alice out was par for the course because even he didn't want to remember Alice - and when he was ill he told her what was ailing him. Even the other night he could hardly hold in his guilt...
"She's awake. A bit disoriented. She's asking for you." Mrs. Patemore pulled him from sleep. He practically ran to Mrs. Hughes room.
He found a chair next to her bed and sat in it. Hands folded in his lap he waited patiently. His silence hiding the very real struggle going on in his gut: they were alone and anything might happen, anything might be said; why was her nightgown so thin?
Was she cold?
Was she going to be alright?
Silly question. He already knew the answer.
"In my desk," she started, words coming achingly slow, "the left hand, bottom drawer, is a small book of addresses."
Shifting guiltily, Carson barely refrained from telling her he already knew that. Refrained from explaining that he had spent the last hours of the evening rifling through her drawers trying to find any hint of a second Hughes woman. If he had been more certain of the outcome - more certain that she was going to wake up - he wouldn't have dared. But, for once, Mr. Barrow was right. Mrs. Hughes' sister should be informed.
"Bring it to me, please." She finished.
"Is this concerning your sister?" He asked, because he had to know, he couldn't keep something so important hidden away.
If she was surprised he knew, she didn't show it, "yes, I've a letter that needs sending."
"Can it not wait until the morning?"
"No. I...I want it written, just in case."
Then she explained. Because the look on his face, wonderment confusion exasperation, had forced her hand.
And he had three days to mull it over and come to the only possible conclusion.
