Author's Note: I struggle with this episode every time. It's part of why this has been so delayed and so short.
Warning: Mention of sexual assault, but nothing explicit.
Spoilers for Series 4, Episode 3.
"Mrs. Hughes?" She clutched at the fabric of the dress meant to replace Anna's, the woman on the verge of trembling. But any reaction of hers was all thanks to anger. Anger and revulsion and pain. "Are you all right?"
The butler was oblivious. She could have been harsh and thought him stupidly oblivious, but how was he to know? Mr. Carson hadn't been there when that monster had attacked Anna. Nor had she. If she had, she wouldn't need this dress. And that poor girl would not be crouched in her office, far terrified to do anything.
Stop that. Now. She needed to get back to Anna. Anna could not be left alone. Not with that monster still in the house.
"Quite all right, Mr. Carson, thank you." Elsie ignored the small pang she felt for lying. It was necessary, end of story. Anna had sworn her to secrecy and, personally, she was still reeling from the shock of it all. Even a hint of the truth might lead to more than she could manage at the moment.
"Are you sure?" Why are you doing this? He rarely took such a vested interest, not when it came to checking in on her. Was he looking for an excuse to complain about the opera or something else altogether?
Whatever it was, she didn't have time for it.
"Mr. Carson," Elsie had begun to snap before inhaling patience back in. She couldn't lash out, no matter how much she wanted to. Besides, he was hardly deserving. There only one person in this house deserving and–– and if she wanted to keep that a secret, she would have to get on with it, "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson. It's been a trying day."
"Did you at least enjoy the show?"
Not in the least. How could she? Bile threatened to rise at the thought of listening to Dame Nellie while Anna was left downstairs. Of course, if she said anything of the sort he would become confused, he would want to understand her. And that was the last thing she wanted. But what to say?
"Dame Nellie is a well-rehearsed singer." A 'well-rehearsed' singer? Yet there was no time to berate herself for such a stupidly awkward statement. "Now, if you'll excuse me."
Giving him no chance to stop her, the housekeeper carried on toward her sitting room. She hoped that the butler's complaint reached someone else's ears, lest he tried to talk to her again tonight.
Little did she know, it wasn't a complaint that moved him tonight.
Rather, it was concern.
_._
Charles would not be able to follow Mrs. Hughes back to her sitting room. Not immediately. But he did want to do something. He thought she seemed different tonight, carrying an unusually harsh tone. As for her comments, they went far beyond acerbic or dry. There was something wrong.
He'd been pulled away by silly trivialities, managing last minute duties of the night. But he found himself puzzling over her throughout every task. This wasn't how she treated her health scare. And she didn't act like this whenever she got sick. This was something different.
Was she that upset over his treatment of Dame Nellie? She didn't seem as bothered as Lady Grantham, but that was the only thing that made some semblance of sense. But that didn't make, even if it was all that he had. No, he would have to go to her if he wanted to find out. He would've preferred to piece it together alone, but that was proving to be ineffective tonight.
By the time he brought himself to her sitting room, she was alone and he remained clueless. Why had Mrs. Hughes needed that dress? And why were her eyes glued to a corner of the room, oblivious to his knock?
"Mr. Carson?" So much for oblivion. "Was there something else I could do for you?"
"Well," What now? Asking her what was wrong would lead nowhere. Mentioning the opera only brought grimaces. She looked to be upset, possibly in denial over something. He might've been unaware of the signs before, but he'd gotten better at reading her over the years. Not perfect, never perfect, but better. "Now that you mention it,"
"Yes?" Why did she have to sound so defeated? So detached? Was it really only about Dame Nellie? But she hadn't made any allusions to that, none of her normal quips, nothing that hinted at what was wrong.
So, what was wrong? What could he say that would make a difference?
The man looked around the room, wondering if there was some clue in here. Something that would give the truth away, if not something that would help her.
Truth be told, as he took in the sitting room, he found himself suddenly distracted by something he hadn't noticed in a long while. Something that had nothing to do with the opera.
"I don't suppose you'd be interested in some toast?"
Charles blinked back his shock, taking a moment to realise he had been the one to make the offer. He'd only been thinking about it, he had no intention of suggesting the idea!
So much for helping. He probably only made things worse.
The butler waited in silence for the pithy remarks to come forth. But there was nothing for him. She was normally quicker when it came to putting him in his place, why were they stuck here, drowning in the silence?
At long last the housekeeper huffed out something. It wasn't mirth. Nor was it dismay. He really didn't know what to call it, but it escaped into the air all the same.
"You can help yourself if you'd like," Blue eyes drifted back to the corner, her answer apparent at once. "But I've no appetite for it."
The man couldn't help but inwardly sigh. Oh, he certainly made a difference tonight. Quite. If by making a difference that meant he'd managed to put his foot in it and ruin the evening.
Perhaps it would be best to call it a night before he made any more foolish messes.
Yes, that was undoubtedly better.
"Well, perhaps another time." Charles didn't want to leave so soon but it looked like he had no choice. "Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes."
The housekeeper gave a nod, keeping silent. He waited a moment, just in case she had something else she wished to say. And when nothing else happened, he took this as his cue to depart, pivoting around and heading back toward the door.
"Mr. Carson,"
The butler paused in the doorway, unsure of what to do next, "Yes, Mrs. Hughes?"
When she remained silent for over a quarter of a minute, he took this as yet another cue. Gradually turning back to his dearest friend, he did his best to patiently await her response.
"There will be another time." Her eyes were back on him and he had to confess to feeling the smallest hints of relief. That haunted air of hers had not subsided. But it had eased, if only a little. "I promise."
Author's Note: No official inspiration today (suffice it to say, my sister was too shocked for words). Just a dab of optimism amidst the gloom.
Regardless, I do hope you have a lovely day. 'Till next time.