"What do you mean, 'Sold Out'?" Mr. Carson was incredulous. "A child with flyers was practically begging for punters this morning at the train station."

"He must'a done a good job." The man at the ticket desk just inside the large wooden doors said, not very helpfully. The church's foyer was packed with people, but Carson didn't think it looked like a capacity crowd.

"Here." Mr. Carson dropped a few shillings onto the desk.

"What's this?" The man looked insulted. "I'm not some git at a restaurant that you can bribe for a table, sir."

"You are raising money for a charity, are you not? That is for the refugees, not for you." Carson informed him before turning back into the crowd to find Mrs. Hughes. She had been waylaid by a pack of acquaintances upon their arrival. Mr. Carson found that he was not very upset to find the concert sold out. He hoped Mrs. Hughes would feel the same.

"Mr. Carson!" A strong, Scottish voice, which was not Mrs. Hughes', cut through the noisy crowd. He followed the voice to the woman standing next to Mrs. Hughes, who was looking mortified by the scene her friend had just caused.

"Mr. Carson, this is Mrs. Giles." Mrs. Giles grabbed Mr. Carson's hand and shook it emphatically. She was obviously the alpha female of the pack. "She spearheaded the clothing drive. I was just telling her that you might have a contribution." Mrs. Hughes was gratified to see his face color slightly, but Mr. Carson did not let her attempt to tease him interfere with his manners.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Giles. Mrs. Hughes speaks very highly of this church's generous community." Mr. Carson turned to Mrs. Hughes. "A community that has managed to sell out the concert. I am afraid we will have to find some other way to fill our evening, Mrs. Hughes."

The smile she returned upon receiving this news told Mr. Carson that she was not at all disheartened by the prospect. His heart skipped a beat as he began to consider the myriad of possibilities offered them by a Friday night in the London Season.

"Oh, but I've some extra tickets, Mrs. Hughes. I always buy extras, just to help the cause." Mrs. Giles interjected into his mind that was all a flutter with new plans for the evening. "You and Mr. Carson are welcome to two of them. All I ask is that you make a small donation to the fund."

Unable to decline this kind offer, Mr. Carson headed back to the desk and the grumpy ticket non-salesman. "Don't ask," he told the confused man as he placed four shillings on the table and walked back to the ladies at the main door.

Having paid for their tickets twice, Mr. Carson now found that he didn't really wish to attend the concert at all. He wanted to talk to Mrs. Hughes all night in a dark corner of a pub or restaurant with just enough light that he could see her smile and just enough noise that they would each have to lean in close to hear the other speak.

The interior of the church was almost as packed as the foyer. Once again, Mrs. Giles took control and ushered them down to a pew midway down the aisle. The seats were filling quickly. Nodding apologetically to the short man in the pew directly behind him, Mr. Carson sat where he was bid, sandwiched between Mrs. Giles and the high wooden end of the pew. Mrs. Hughes was on the other side of Mrs. Giles. Unable to rescue him, she smiled reassuringly to Mr. Carson as the bossy woman talked animatedly to him about the plight of the Russians.

He took his kidnapping in stride until he saw an opportunity. "Miss, you must take my seat." He offered quickly to a bent and ancient woman who was walking slowly down the side aisle, scanning for a place to sit.

"I thank ye, lad. And me old bones thank ye." The woman accepted gratefully.

"I'll go stand in the back, ladies." Mr. Carson informed Mrs. Giles and Mrs. Hughes, offering the former a small bow and the latter a rueful half smile.

A handful of other late comers and gallant gentlemen were standing in the back of the church. Carson took his place with these as the choir began to funnel in. Someone handed him a psalter, which he opened and leafed through, disheartened. This was not exactly the evening he had envisioned. Who asks a woman to a date at a church? He rebuked himself. It had taken being separated from her for him to realize that he did,indeed consider this a date.

The pedal tones of the organ began to sound and the final arrivals took the seats that were saved for them or joined the small crowd in the back. There weren't too many of them in the back, so Mr. Carson was surprised when someone was standing inappropriately close to his right side. Before he could say anything, a small, feminine hand reached out and took hold of one side of the psalter. Mr. Carson was about to pull away and relinquish the book entirely when he recognized that hand.

"Mrs. Hughes. How did you come to lose your seat?"

"I offered it to another old lady."

"That was very kind of you, but I wish you would not refer to yourself as old."

She could not resist jabbing him in the side with her elbow. "I wasn't. I meant a second lady, like the one you offered your seat to, arrived."

"Oh, yes, that makes sense too."

He did not see the infinitesimal shake of her head as the music leader took the podium and announced the first hymn… "Psalm 147. Praise Ye the Lord, For He is Good."

He held the book as she leafed through the pages. After finding the correct spot, she took hold of her side of the psalter and he dropped his right hand, allowing her to step closer to him as they shared the book between them. The back of her shoulder was touching his chest, conducting the rumbles of his voice down the length of her body. Thoughts most inappropriate for the setting flooded her mind.

Mr. Carson was glad that he recognized the first few hymns. He was able to fumble through the words and tunes well enough that she never suspected how distracted he was by her closeness. To him, the spot on his chest where her shoulder leaned against him felt like a point of radiating heat. With every inhale he could smell a light scent of lavender which could only be coming from her. He was becoming very light headed.

Carson had lost count, but after the third or fourth song, a church elder stood forward to offer a prayer for peace and for comfort for refugees all over the world. The next song was "Scots Wha Hae". Not even halfway through the first stanza, people began to rise to their feet. Under the cover of the commotion caused by the congregation rising and singing what many considered their national anthem, Mrs. Hughes tugged at Mr. Carson's sleeve. With a motion of her head, she mouthed the words, "Let's go." He did not need to be asked twice.

They left the psalter in the foyer and slipped unheeded out of the church onto Pont Street. "It was turning a little nationalistic in there. I was afraid they might remember you were English."

"So we left for my sake? I thought you were worried that I would discover your secret." He adjusted his hat on his head before holding his hand out to her, pleased by how natural it felt to do so.

"What secret is that?" She took his hand in hers, thrilled to note that he had made the offer of a hand this time.

"Perhaps Mr. Branson isn't the only rebel at Downton."

"He certainly isn't the only one whose country is occupied by the English. Have I blown my cover as a Scottish spy?"

"Your cover was blown a long time ago. I've had you pegged as a dangerous revolutionary for some time."

"Oh? What gave me away?"

"The toaster." Laughing, he squeezed her hand. "Speaking of toast, are you hungry? I know a little place."

"Lead on, Mr. Carson. I'm all yours this evening." This evening and always.

TBC...

A/N I hope you are enjoying the fluff. I'm not sure how much longer Charles can go without flubbing it up.