Nostalgia: a story where one character reminisces about the other or shares a memory with the other.

Follow up to "Music" (previous chapter)

Mrs. Hughes felt peculiarly happy tonight. She had felt unusually full of energy for several days, actually, since that afternoon when Dr. Clarkson had told her she didn't have cancer. She felt more whole and more truly herself. She knocked on Mr. Carson's pantry door and let herself in. He looked up from his desk and smiled. "Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I wonder if you can spare some time for a little sherry tonight before you go to bed."

"I certainly can," he replied. "Would you give me just five minutes?"

"Absolutely." Mrs. Hughes turned on her heel and went back to her sitting room.

Mr. Carson hurried to complete the task in front of him. He also felt different since that day Mrs. Hughes had gotten the good news from Dr. Clarkson. He thought it would pass, but currently it seemed there was very little, possibly nothing, he could refuse her. Fortunately she asked for very little, so he was only too happy to show the universe in these small ways how thankful he was that she was not about to be taken from him. She did not know that he knew about her illness, so they never spoke of it, but it didn't matter. She wasn't going anywhere, and he was more glad than he could say. Mr. Carson finished his work and tidied up his desk before taking his sherry decanter and glasses to Mrs. Hughes's sitting room.

She looked up when he arrived, and gave him a bright smile. His stomach did a little flip flop and he smiled back, his heart pounding, though he couldn't have said why. He set down the tray, poured their sherry, and handed a glass to Mrs. Hughes. He sat at her table and she pulled her desk chair over so she could face him. Mr. Carson loved it when she did that. It made him a bit nervous, but there was something bewitching about Mrs. Hughes in the evening, looking him right in the eyes. He felt again that he could not resist her, could refuse her nothing, though in this case he was not sure what it was that he could not resist or refuse. However, it was too late for any rational speculation on that subject now that Mrs. Hughes sat facing him.

There was a comfortable silence for a little while before Mrs. Hughes spoke. "Do you get to spend much time away from Grantham House during the Season?" she asked. "I mean to visit museums or parks or go to the theatre?"

Mr. Carson was surprised by her question, but he answered readily. "I try to take at least one of my half days while we're in the Metropolis. It doesn't seem right to spend several months there every year without taking advantage of the opportunity to see some excellent sights."

Mrs. Hughes nodded approvingly. "I'll admit that I'm a little envious, Mr. Carson, but I did get a chance to enjoy one of the delights of London the first time I worked in a house there."

Mr. Carson smiled. "I'm glad. Were you very young?" he wanted to know.

"I'd been in service for several years, but I was still fairly young," she answered. "Young enough to be thrilled almost beyond expression when the housekeeper allowed the head housemaid to take me to the music hall."

Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "The music hall?"

"Yes. I'd heard about it but had never seen it." Mrs. Hughes smiled at the memory of her excitement that night.

"And... did you enjoy it, Mrs. Hughes?" Mr. Carson asked seriously.

"Oh, yes," she sighed. "I was absolutely amazed. The actors, singers, dancers, costumes, and everything else were beyond anything I had ever seen."

"I'm glad you liked it," Mr. Carson said.

"I wished, and I do still wish, that I could somehow speak to all of the performers and tell them just how much joy they had brought me that evening. I'm not even sure if any subsequent experience has surpassed that one special night."

Mr. Carson looked at Mrs. Hughes intently, his expression thoughtful. "It's remarkable that a few hours in a theatre was so special and memorable to you."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Even more than that, I developed quite a crush on one of the performers."

Mr. Carson chuckled. "My, my! What would the housekeeper say?" he teased.

Mrs. Hughes laughed. "Surely you don't think I was foolish enough to mention it to her?"

"I could never think that, Mrs. Hughes," he answered with exaggerated solemnity.

"There was this tall, handsome fellow who sang a song about courting a pretty farm girl," she told him. "I can't remember the words anymore, except that the girl's name was Mary and she was feeding chickens when the young man came to call on her. I took to daydreaming about the singer coming to my father's farm in Argyll to woo me. But I would know his voice anywhere, even now."

Mr. Carson was staring at her now, blinking very quickly.

"Are you quite all right, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Hughes asked, her brows drawing together.

Mr. Carson cleared his throat and finally tore his gaze from her face, fixing his eyes on a spot just above her head. "Yes, yes. Perfectly well, thank you." He set down his glass and tugged at his waistcoat. "I'm sure you're tired, Mrs. Hughes, and I'd hate to be a nuisance, so I'll say good night."

"Wait," Mrs. Hughes commanded quietly, stopping him before he stood up.

Mr. Carson could not do otherwise than obey, although he was now very uncomfortable.

"I'm not very tired, Mr. Carson," she remarked. "And I do wish to tell you a little more before you go to bed."

Mr. Carson took a deep breath and answered softly. "Very well."

"I heard you singing the other day while you were polishing the silver," Mrs. Hughes told him, maintaining eye contact. She felt brave; he was incapable of looking away. "You were that handsome fellow, singing about Mary. It was you, wasn't it?"

Mr. Carson remained trapped in her gaze and eventually he was forced to answer. "It was," he admitted. "I hoped you would never find out."

"Why, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Hughes asked gently.

At last he was able to look away, though it was too late to hide his shameful secret now. She knew all.

"Your respect is very important to me, and now you will never look at me in the same way again."

"You're right, I won't," Mrs. Hughes agreed. "I respect you just as much as I always have and now I'm grateful to you, too, for that marvelous evening and my happy memories and lovely daydreams. I've got my wish now. I can say thank you." She gave him a brilliant smile and yet he still could only frown.

"But how can your good opinion of me not be damaged?" he wanted to know. "I wasn't respectable, Mrs. Hughes."

"Mr. Carson, you are always respectable, no matter what you are doing," she told him firmly. After a pause, she added quietly, "always handsome, too." Mrs. Hughes caught sight of his shocked expression and wondered what she could say now. She hadn't meant to go so far, but there was nothing to be done about it now."

"Mrs. Hughes, I don't know what to..." He trailed off, his face red and his voice strangled.

"You don't have to say anything, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes assured him. "If you'd rather not speak of it ever again, I will respect that wish, but I didn't think it was right not to tell you how much that evening meant to me, once I discovered the other day that I'd been living under the same roof as my daydream suitor for so many years."

"You... you think me handsome?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Now Mrs. Hughes looked away, blushing. "I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to say it aloud. But yes, I do think you handsome. Then and now."

"Well, I... I thank you."

Mrs. Hughes stood purposefully. "We needn't speak of this again. I'll leave you alone now, Mr. Carson." She made her way toward the door, but Mr. Carson stopped her with a hand on her elbow. She turned quickly to face him, her eyes questioning. She couldn't remember when he had last touched her.

"You should know, then, that I think you very beautiful. Always." Mr. Carson released her. "Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

She was silent for a few moments. "Good night, Mr. Carson," she murmured. Mrs. Hughes left the room and walked down the corridor and up the stairs.

Still alone in her sitting room, Mr. Carson was deep in thought. The easy path would be never to broach the subject again. But could he really let her slip through his fingers like that? He wasn't sure exactly what he felt for her, but the last few days had taught him that she was more dear to him than he had previously known. Perhaps she would help him understand himself. With a slight smile on his lips, he rose from his chair and took the decanter and glasses back to his pantry before making his way quietly to bed.

The end.

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