Mr. Branson was sent to bring Mrs. Hughes home late the next morning. Mr. Carson was as nervous as could be, waiting impatiently for her arrival, planning what he would say to her. He hoped she would agree with his idea. He was in his pantry when she arrived. Mr. Branson left the car in the yard so he could give Mrs. Hughes his arm to walk inside. When he heard the back door open, Mr. Carson stepped out of his pantry to see her leaning on the young man as they made their way down the corridor.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Hughes," he greeted her, smiling.
She returned his smile. "Thank you, Mr. Carson." She turned. "Thank you, Mr. Branson. I shall be fine from here." The young man nodded, set Mrs. Hughes's bag down, and left.
"How do you feel? Would you like to sit down?" Mr. Carson offered her a chair.
"I would, thank you," she answered breathlessly. "It doesn't take much to tire me. Dr. Clarkson told me it would be that way for a little while." She sat down and Mr. Carson took a chair facing her.
"You'd better stay in bed, then," he told her. "We'll bring all your meals to you."
"For the first day or two, yes," she agreed. "But after that I might come down for at least one or two meals. The doctor said I should start slowly, but that I shouldn't stay in bed all day once I've settled back in here. I can eat with all of you and then after a few more days perhaps take a short walk in the afternoon when it's warm."
Mr. Carson nodded. "But don't overdo it, Mrs. Hughes. We can't have you relapsing."
"Well, I'm too tired to argue with you now, but I won't be kept locked away in the attic any longer than is necessary."
He smiled. "Of course not. Now let me find someone to help you upstairs." He went down the corridor and found a hallboy, but before he could be sent on his errand, Anna came down.
"How can I help, Mr. Carson?" the maid asked.
He motioned for her to follow him to his pantry.
"Mrs. Hughes is home and I'd like you to take her upstairs and get her settled in bed. Can you spare the time?"
"I can," she told him. "How is she?"
"Much better, though still very tired."
"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes," Anna greeted the housekeeper. "I'm glad to see you back. Now let's get you up to your room." She offered her hand to help Mrs. Hughes rise from the chair. "Mr. Carson, could you take her coat, please? I'll take care of the rest."
"Of course." He helped Mrs. Hughes out of her coat. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help, Anna."
"Yes, Mr. Carson." Anna picked up the small bag Mr. Branson had left and went to the housekeeper's side. "Lean on me, Mrs. Hughes."
Mrs. Hughes took Anna's arm and the two women made their slow way down the corridor and up the stairs. Mr. Carson watched them until they were out of sight. He hoped he could speak to Mrs. Hughes alone soon. Although he doubted her reputation would be damaged, it might not be quite proper for him to visit her room, so he would have to wait until she came downstairs in a few days' time. Perhaps he could accompany her on one of her walks.
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Mrs. Hughes stayed in bed the rest of that day and all of the next, but on her third day home she came down for breakfast. She was still pale, but looked more animated than she had since she first became ill. Mr. Carson was glad to see her in her proper chair to his right at the table and glad to see her looking so much better. It had been two days since he'd seen her last and almost a week since she'd eaten with the staff. He insisted on fixing her tea and buttering her toast for her and, just this once, she decided to let him fuss over her. She didn't like to be seen as weak, but she knew he wasn't helping her out of pity, but because he cared about her and there weren't many ways he could show it. She just smiled and thanked him.
"I'll be down for luncheon, Mr. Carson, but I think I'll take a tray in my room for an early dinner. We eat so late I think I might be asleep by then."
"That sounds very sensible," he replied.
Mrs. Hughes watched him carefully when she spoke again, wondering what his reaction would be. "I'd like to look over my ledgers this morning before I go back to my room."
Mr. Carson looked stern. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Mrs. Hughes."
"What if I say I'll only stay for a half hour?" she suggested. "Would you be happy then?"
"I still wouldn't like it," he answered. "But am I happy?" He lowered his voice. "I'm more happy than I could possibly say that you are home and on the mend."
Mrs. Hughes flushed slightly. "I'm happy to be back here… with you," she said softly, looking into her teacup.
After breakfast, Mr. Carson followed her to her sitting room. She sat down at her desk and opened a ledger. There was a stack of receipts on her desk.
"Are you quite sure you'll be all right?" Mr. Carson worried. "You're not too tired?"
She turned to face him with a smirk. "I'm about to be tired of your acting like a mother hen, Mr. Carson! I've told you I'll only stay half an hour and if I'm still here after that time, you have my permission to come back in here and drag me bodily away from my desk."
Mr. Carson frowned. "I couldn't do that, Mrs. Hughes! It would be too… disrespectful."
Mrs. Hughes laughed. "I don't think it will come to that, Mr. Carson."
"Very well, if you're sure."
"I'm sure."
Mr. Carson frowned, but left her in peace. She could see from the quantity of receipts on her desk that she would not be getting through it all today, but she would feel better if she got a little of it done. She noted the time so she would know when to stop. She worked efficiently for about twenty minutes and then she felt suddenly exhausted. She put down her pen, closed the ledger, and went looking for Mr. Carson.
"I'm going up, Mr. Carson," she told him, when she found him at his desk. "I got started on that large stack of receipts, but I'm tired now."
He got up from his desk and approached her. "Do you need someone to help you?" he asked, concerned.
"I dressed myself and came downstairs on my own steam. I assure you, I am perfectly capable of reversing the process without any help." She hurried out of the room, looking over her shoulder briefly to say, "I'll see you at luncheon, Mr. Carson."
Mrs. Hughes was a little out of breath when she reached the top of the stairs, but she could feel that she was growing stronger. There was no denying that she wasn't herself yet, but she felt optimistic about her recovery. She was otherwise a strong and healthy woman, so there was no reason she shouldn't be back to her usual routine before long. As she changed from her morning dress back into her nightgown, Mrs. Hughes recalled the last thing she said to Mr. Carson. She had been so embarrassed, as soon as the words left her mouth, that she had left the room before he could reply. I dressed myself. I'm perfectly capable of reversing the process. She wasn't one to cry over spilt milk, but she couldn't help blushing again at the thought of it. She could hardly believe she had spoken so plainly to Mr. Carson, or anyone for that matter, about removing her clothing. Well, there's nothing to be done about it now, she told herself. She climbed back into bed and picked up the book on her bedside table. She had brought Alice's Adventures in Wonderland home from the hospital, but hadn't had a chance to read it since then. She yawned as she opened the cover; she wasn't sure she would make it downstairs for luncheon as she'd planned. Perhaps she'd go down later for tea. Mrs. Hughes flipped to the page Mr. Carson had marked and began to read. However, her eyes closed of their own accord within a minute and she fell asleep with the book lying open across her stomach.
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Mrs. Hughes did not make it downstairs for luncheon. After a few minutes of trying not to glance at her empty chair, he spoke to Anna.
"Anna, when you finish eating could you go up and check on Mrs. Hughes? This morning she said she would be down for luncheon."
"There's no need, Mr. Carson," Miss O'Brien told him. "I looked in on her a little while ago, before I came down just now, and she was sleeping."
"Thank you, Miss O'Brien," the butler answered. "And she seemed all right?"
"Sleeping like a babe. I suppose breakfast and a half hour at her ledgers was enough to make her tired."
Mr. Carson briefly studied the lady's maid's face for some sign of sarcasm, but she seemed sincere, although she must have been eavesdropping if she knew that Mrs. Hughes planned to work on her ledgers after breakfast.
"Shall I take her a tray, Mr. Carson?" Anna asked him.
"No, thank you, Anna. You have enough on your plate. I'll make sure she's taken care of." Mr. Carson gave a nod and returned to his food. The other servants returned to their meals and their chatter.
He knew he should have accepted Anna's offer, or asked Gwen or even Miss O'Brien to do it. He should not even be contemplating the idea of taking a tray up to Mrs. Hughes himself, but even after he had finished his meal, he was still considering it. A dozen little things might have stopped him. If Mrs. Patmore had questioned him about it, he would have asked Daisy or a passing housemaid to take it up, but the cook handed the tray to him without a second look. This might be his best chance of speaking to Mrs. Hughes alone. He'd had enough time to think since they spoke last at the hospital and he knew what he wanted to say to her.
Mr. Carson paused at the bottom of the maids' staircase, tray in hand. No one was paying him any mind. When one last glance told him the corridor was empty, he hurried up the stairs as quietly as possible. He read the small name cards on each door until he found the room labeled "Mrs. Hughes." He knocked on the door and when he received no answer he opened it enough to peek into the room. Once he had ascertained that Mrs. Hughes was tucked modestly under her blankets, he entered, closing the door behind him.
To be continued…
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