A little interlude whilst the muse was hot :) Thank you so much for all your support. I hope you are all keeping safe during this difficult time.
Mrs Hughes had been staring up at her bedroom ceiling for at least three hours, tracing the imperfections with her gaze and trying to ignore the knots in her stomach. In tandem with the churning in her gut, her heart was racing at an abnormal rate, fuelled completely by her thoughts and fears. The day had been busy, and so she had had been able to keep her mind occupied, for the most part, trying to keep herself afloat and on top of the jobs that needed completing. Due to having so much to do she had not been able to make it to the hospital as she had planned. This delay in seeing him had made her feel very nervous because although she knew that he was now awake, it felt like she hadn't seen him for so long and knew what was about to come. When she thought about her situation, a deep-rooted fear reared its ugly head, reminding her about the conversation that was potentially going to unfold with him. The fear fluctuated between the realisation that she was going to have to verbalise her true feelings towards him, but also the potential that he would reject them, both notions equally as terrifying. This conversation was going to be intimate, exposing and would leave her open to potential criticism and refusal.
Mrs Hughes, although somewhat a radical in comparison to Mr Carson, did not particularly like leaping into the unknown. Generally, what placated her about her job was that it was seemingly easy to predict, and her skills enabled her to deal with and manage most situations. There were times when they experienced something out of the ordinary, that threw a spanner in the works and made for a difficult day. However, generally, the house followed a generally obvious pattern, and they could anticipate what was going to happen with ease. The house was currently not following that course of transparency, and so, the unnerved feeling was intensified by that and the leap into the unknown that her conversation was going to be with Carson. Working in her role, some people helped her with the tasks, but this conversation was something she was going to have to do alone and be dictated by the choices of another.
When Mrs Hughes had climbed into her bed, her legs and body weary from the days before, her eyes felt heavy enough for sleep to arrive without a fight. When her eyelids closed, like iron weights had pulled them down, the first thing that came to her mind was Carson's face. Usually, as she drifted off, she thought about him, but this time it made her heart race, reminding her of what was potentially going to unfold. Those weights that kept her eyelids down released almost instantly, and her lids shot upwards so she was faced with her bedroom ceiling. The thoughts in her mind seemed to climb aboard a runaway train, gaining speed and momentum with absolutely no let-up in sight. Occasionally, they veered off into a different direction, but they always were about the same particular subject. When she played out the conversation in her head, over and over, the way she told him was different but each time the result was the same; Carson turning her down. As she tried to rationalise it in her head, she knew that it was the rejection that she feared the most. When your brain taunted you with this, the path of the vision ultimately would be hampered by those fears, and she struggled to break that cycle and show what might happen if he reciprocated. Mrs Hughes knew that her life had never resulted in positivity, her previous years marred by loss and pain, and so it was hard for her to anticipate happiness as being the result of her endeavours. Carson rejecting her feelings would be like putting a nail into her coffin, her final shot at happiness blocked off and the rest of her life spent alone. This thought had become an accepted idea in her mind previously, having been alone for most of her life, she had come to terms with it. Then, out of nowhere, Carson moved his way into her heart without any warning, and she had suddenly had something to wake up for. Someone to wake up for. Of course, she had resigned herself in some respects to never really having him as her own, but just having him by her side day after day was enough. Then, this had happened and her whole world was on the edge of turning into something wonderful or accepting what she had thought for all those years instead.
Feelings and emotions were the key facets of how your life unfolded. The way they made you feel when they were good was amazing, but then equally as dire when they did not. They made you overthink, overreact, second guess yourself and even hate yourself for feeling them in the first place. How had she ended up here? How had she amassed such strong, wonderful and horrendous feelings? Especially at her age? At this point in her life, she should be thinking about winding down and sorting out her retirement. Instead, she felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to take that leap, and the only person that could save her from the ghastly pit at the bottom was Carson. It was unsettling, feeling so open and vulnerable, and even more so when she hadn't had the conversation yet. There was so much resting on it that it was taking over her whole thinking capacity.
What would she do if he did reject her? How could she go about her day when she knew that he didn't feel the same? He would feel awkward, and possibly bad about not reciprocating, but Carson being Carson he would swallow it and carry on doing his job like before. Would she potentially have to move on and work somewhere else? Could she keep herself level enough to stay in her current job and not ache horrendously every time she looked at him? To know she would have to look at him, a one-sided mirror with the feelings bouncing back at her and hitting her square in the heart every single day. That runaway train kept on thrashing the rails, her heart in her chest, beating hard and fast on the tip of a blade, ready to fall and break when he told her no.
Most people, when they talk about love, can envision the first time their heart was punctured by cupid's arrow. A lot of the stories she had heard were fraught with romantic gestures, lightbulb moments and reciprocated actions and emotions that amassed into a happy relationship. Some people say that they knew straight away, that the person they looked upon was the one that they were going to marry and love. Mrs Hughes had not experienced this, and it felt like a distant cousin of the stories she read in books. The first time she saw him, he was stood steadfast at the rear of the Abbey, his hawk-like gaze rested on her and she knew instantly that he was judging her by her appearance. The hair on his head was jet black and slicked to the side in the same way it was now, the grey speckled patches erased by youth and a thickness that was lacking now he was older. The skin on his face was tighter than it was now, his cheeks fuller and firmer. The one thing that hadn't changed was his eyes, which were framed by his large thick eyebrows, a glistening which shone out from below their fluffy course mounds. It had dawned on her that he was a handsome fellow, well built, tall and he had a presence about him like a concrete giant, but that was it. In the beginning, they hadn't particularly got on in the first instance, their personalities clashing over the way things were done. Mr Carson was inherently stuck on the learnings of his predecessor, fixated on having things done in that particular way and not deviating from it. In contrast, Mrs Hughes had her way of doing things, and so they butted heads more often than not. Over time, their personalities began to soften at the edges, like the sharp edges of rocks until the flow of the stream worn them down until they were smooth. They began talking more in the evenings, they would often do things that would benefit the other, their lives becoming synergistic and intertwined as colleagues.
Mrs Hughes remembered the first time she saw him for who he was, the man that had won her heart and had taken it like a thief in the night with no warning. The house was quiet, the family had gone off to London, so only a few of them remained. They had begun the routine of getting the house cleaned and maintained, the jobs that were best done when there were fewer people within the walls. On a warm summers evening, the air outside arid and still, they were all exhausted as the heat had sapped their energy like a leach. As Mrs Hughes sat at the table, her bowl full and steaming, she had caught herself gazing at him as he ate his food. It was too warm outside for stew, but the food cupboards were running on basic rations whilst the family were away, so making a stew was the easiest food to make. It was simple and hearty. The staring she had found herself doing wasn't just an idle gaze, she was marvelling at his handsome face, looking at him and taking stock in everything that made his face whole. Just staring at him had left her feeling warm and content, like after eating a full meal, although not a morsel of food had touched her lips. A fuzzy wholesome feeling cascaded through her body, and she sighed, her stomach twisting into knots as she stared without breaking her gaze. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do for him. When he took a spoonful of stew, he briefly looked up and their eyes met. It felt like she was going to explode with pride and love, the butterflies wreaking havoc inside like little fire demons. It was not a normal tale of romance, with fawning over each other or having a locked gaze over a romantic picnic. No, she realised at that moment that she loved him whilst he was sat sipping stew at the servants dining table in Downton Abbey with not an ounce of reasoning. There had been no romantic gesture, there had been no obvious signs of build-up. Instead, it hit her square in the chest, the feelings simple, unadulterated, pure and powerful. That evening she never ate a single ounce of food, her body consumed by what she felt.
A few hours after that she had walked into his pantry to have their usual evening chat, out of habit and need more than a requirement. Mrs Hughes remembered feeling tense, unnerved and even scared about what she had realised and felt. It had left her feeling sick to her stomach. It troubled her and terrified her that he would be able to tell what she was feeling because she could barely admit it to herself let alone him. When she sat down in his pantry, he looked at her with furrowed brows and said to her 'Are you well, Mrs Hughes? I noticed you didn't touch your dinner this evening. I was concerned you were feeling a little off.' Mrs Hughes felt her heart bulge at the notion that he cared enough to ask, but then she reeled herself back in, because he did that out of courtesy and also because of her position in the home. It had temporarily made her wonder if he had felt something for her because she seemed to sense that his voice was different, that it was more caring. That's when she knew she was looking for something that potentially wasn't there, filling in gaps to make her feel better about what was happening. The weeks, months and years that followed were an uphill climb. It was always a pleasure to be in his company, but she knew her place in the home, and so she teetered just behind the line that she hadn't dared to cross.
Everything that had been between them was going to reach its pinnacle tomorrow because that was when she was going to see him. This was where it was going to start or end. It was D-Day. The constant turmoil and worry about what was going to happen would not end until she let it all out. The realisation that he could have died without ever knowing how she felt had torn her heart open, letting so much emotion leak from within that she hadn't been able to bear it. It was better to get it out there, because no matter how much stress and pain it could potentially cause, it was better than it never being released. Mrs Hughes would pick herself up like she always did if the ending was not what she wanted.
Sleep was not going to come, she had realised, and so she knew she had to make use of herself or she would think herself into a pit. Sitting up, she ran her hands over her face and then pulled the covers off of her body. The cool air washed over her instantly, and she grabbed her dressing gown and got up. After a quick wash and change, she was going to start her day hours prematurely, attempting to get ahead of herself so she could get to the hospital in good time. It would be catastrophic, after all the build-up, for him to be asleep when she got there, because she knew that if he was she wouldn't have the strength to wake him.
'You can do this, Elsie, you can do this.'