A/N: A partial retelling of the night and people are starting to notice Mrs Hughes is missing... Not yet completely smutty, but we are getting there!
Thank you so much all my guest reviewers! All your comments, reviews and (kind) words mean a lot to me. All the hugs.
1.
She is draped over him, the bed is not wide enough for a strong, big man and a lass from a farm in the Highlands. His heart is beating under her ear, his arm holds her tightly, preventing her from falling on the floor. She hasn't slept much, she doesn't think. She is uneasy, daren't move for fear of waking him.
He has had a tiring night.
She still doesn't know what had possessed her to straddle him like that, to take hold of his hand and place it on her breast, while his other hand was on her bottom. She was wearing nothing but her nightgown. He had been shocked, she could see it in his eyes. He was in his pyjamas - top and bottom, vest and shorts and she had kissed him, nipped at his skin, had pushed against his hands wantonly as she undid the buttons, untied the string.
His hands leaving her body had been a break in her longing, helped her remember they had to be careful, quiet. He had shrugged off the pyjama top, had quickly pulled his vest over his head and she had been confronted with a wide chest, a smattering of grey and white chesthair, curling under her fingers.
She had wriggled out of her gown, revealing herself to him - not without trepidation. She was not a young, willowy maid. She was a substantial Housekeeper, her body was being kept in shape by endless stairs and a steel boned corset.
Her worries had been needless.
His touch was so reverent, unlike any touch she had ever felt. He palmed her bottom, his other hand closing around her breast - the offending one, the one who almost left her hopeless, but was giving her life now, was sparking sensations she could never recreate on her own, doesn't want to ever, only wants the pad of his thumb running over her nipple in the future. She wanted to hold him close, to breathe him in, to share this fire he is kindling inside her and she scooted a little closer, her sex touching his, his pyjamas a barrier that would be gone soon.
It had been a long time, longer than Downton, since she had laid with a man and his touches - as reverent as they were - were not as unskilled as those of a man unused to the act.
She knew it had been a long time for him too when she reached for him between them and he gripped her wrist, suddenly, telling her not to, for it might be over too soon, too quickly and she had put her cheek against his and had whispered in his ear that there would be no greater pleasure than to take it slow.
2.
She dressed quickly and made her way to the door and checked it.
It was unlocked.
Oh, but she didn't like what that was telling her at all.
First room on the left was Mr Carson's. She looked down the hall - empty - and knocked once, twice, three times and softly called: "Mr Carson? Mr Carson, it's Mrs Patmore?"
There was no answer. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
To find another empty room with a perfectly made bed.
A bit too perfectly to have been done by the man himself.
Beryl shook her head and went downstairs.
A nice, hot cuppa would do her good.
3.
"Has anyone seen Mrs Hughes?" Jimmy asked. The table was full of food, the whole staff was sitting around it, but the Butler and Housekeeper were nowhere to be found.
"What's it to you?" Thomas snarled.
Anna looked at him, her head cocked to the side.
"Jimmy is just inquiring, Mr Barrow, there is no need to be so unpleasant."
"I don't think anyone as seen either of them, Ivy noticed Mrs Hughes missing and according to Mrs Patmore, Mr Carson is not around either." Daisy rambled as she brought in a plate of scambled eggs.
"How would Mrs Patmore know that?" Alfred piped up.
"I don't know, do I?" Daisy shrugged and went back to the kitchen, leaving her information to stew amongst the other staff.
"What are we supposed to do?" One of the new maids asked no-one in particular.
"What we always do. We get on with our work." Mr Bates said, calmly, with authority. Nobody questioned it. Instead they started taking toast from platters and pouring tea. Thomas threw Mr Bates a dirty look, but was met with a steely gaze from his opponent. If Mr Carson was indeed to leave, it would be a battle between the pair of them and neither wants to lose.
It will keep both of them up during the night the coming weeks, until one of them is called to the Drawing Room to hear who Lady Mary has chosen. Until then, they must work, show their good will and skills.
It will not be an easy task for Lady Mary to decide who will follow in Charles Carson's footsteps.