In Response to Guest Reviewers: To the guest who questioned which 'dangerous revolutionary' was being referenced, your review gave me much needed laughter, thank you! Moreover, gah, the idea of cold toast is just –– yup, nope, not even going to describe it. Moreover, my headcanon is that he not only replaces her toaster, he will (many, many years down the road), purchase one for a certain cottage.
Author's Note: This is for my 'sweetest spirit under the roof'. She has been gone for quite some time, but it touches me to say that I still see her in kindness and in smiles.
Warning: There is a canon character death mentioned in this, and with that comes some understandable angst.
Spoilers for Series 3, Episode 5
"Are you all right, Mr. Carson?" He dazedly turned in the direction of that lilt, taken aback. He was the butler of Downton Abbey. There was no reason for anyone to ever sneak up on him, ever.
But this is an unusual circumstance, isn't it?
There was no point in denying it. He might have denied it normally, might have shouted and screamed until he was blue in the face, but he couldn't. All he could see was that sweet smile that should still be here today, that by all rights should be here today.
But he couldn't wallow in that. He needed to answer Mrs. Hughes's question. She wouldn't say anything else just yet, she would give him time to respond, but she would ask again. And whether she asked him now or later, it wouldn't change the situation.
It wouldn't alter the truth.
"I knew her all her life, you see." He had known those blue eyes, that kind smile, for almost twenty-five years. It may not have felt all that long before tonight, but he certainly felt each and every one of those years now. "I've known her since she was born."
Charles could remember everything, memories reciting themselves off like wine lists. Watching her toddle through the halls. Witnessing her get into the most well-meaning of scrapes. Exploring every crevice, voicing every question she had, treating everyone with kindness and respect. She had been a guinea a minute much like her sister. But with Lady Sybil had come a special sort of kindness no one could ever hope to replace.
He wasn't expecting Mrs. Hughes to take his hand into hers. In fact, it took him a moment to recognise the unfamiliar sensation. He'd been forced to look down, his comprehension startled –– delayed. But when he realised it was tender desperation reaching out to him, it only felt natural to reach out and grasp it in turn.
They remained like this for as long as they could, weeping shudders threatening to break the sentiment. And when it was time for words, when sentiment had to give way to something else, "I know anything I say won't make a bit of difference, not now,"
"But it will, Mrs. Hughes." Charles blinked back pain, grief giving way to a muddled smile. It wasn't a proper one by any means. But it was something. And that in itself made a world of difference. Because when he looked back at her, when he was reminded of that enchanting spirit that was already sorely missed, he realised another truth: "It will."
Author's Note: Short and sweet, just like the brilliant woman who inspired it.
I sincerely hope you found something in that and that you have a lovely day! 'Till next time!