Chapter 3 - Memento
She never minded London, not really. She even enjoyed it, on occasion. However, for good or bad, Downton, both the estate and the village, were her home now, and something inside of her settled and sighed as the lot of them bustled back in through the servants' entrance.
She breathed in the familiar smells of the hallway off the kitchen that she walked dozens of times over the course of a given day and grinned a little ruefully.
Because, of course, 'twasn't just the house she'd missed over the past few days, as she'd gotten Grantham House buttoned up with her skeleton crew of senior housemaids and footmen.
She'd missed her tea being made exactly so, since Mrs. Patmore, the only one who rightly knew how to make it to her liking, had headed back to Downton before she had;
She'd missed Daisy and Madge and the lot of them sighing and giggling over Ivy's trip to America, because the former lasses were back in Downton's kitchen, ahead of the family's arrival; the latter, on her way to grander adventures; and, of course, she'd missed –
"Ah, Mrs. Hughes, you've arrived home at last," Mr. Carson's sturdy, livery-clad form hurrying towards her as she entered her office, shedding her traveling jacket
"As if there was a doubt, Mr. Carson? Worried I might rob the train and make a runner?" She grinned back at him as he followed behind her, handing her coat on the rack.
"No one knows better than I, Mrs. Hughes, that you have both the organizational skills – and the stealth – to pull off such a heist, if it fit morally into your wheelhouse," he arched his eyebrow at her in such a way that made her stomach swoop, dip and reset.
It was a look that advised her he knew precisely whose idea it had really been to go to Brighton last week.
"You must be thinking of someone else, Mr Carson, I've about as much stealth as a bull in China shop," her heart pounded in her chest; she wasn't sure where the conversation would, could go. Just as she'd not understood, not really, that her motivation to give the staff a truly relaxing day could lead them together, to the ocean's edge.
Or that a teasing offer to take his hand could become earnest before the very sentence was through.
And that she'd be loath to let go, at all, once she held it tightly in her own.
Had she really teased him about being unsteady? What of her? She found herself, again, struggling to find her internal footing.
"Are you quite alright, Mrs. Hughes?" That beloved crease between his eyes, a visual punctuation that she'd been quiet for longer than she realized.
She tried to recover, unpinning her hat. "It must be that stealth you speak of, Mr. Carson. It's nearly like I'm not even here."
He grinned, and she suddenly felt a bit better. It was a smile she knew. It was just him. And it was just her. They'd been doing this for years, decades, and it was highly likely things wouldn't change a'tall, not really. Something in that soft center of her chest regretted that, but the rest of her liked it just fine.
She hung her hat up, then heard something clatter to the floor. Saw something small, and light and pearlescent, the size of a pence.
"Allow me," he swooped and bent to retrieve it, a small smile of a different sort on his face.
"What is it?" She stepped closer, just a little.
"Something you've brought back from Brighton, Mrs. Hughes," he held his hand out, and she opened her palm. Briefly, warmly, his fingers pressed the object into hers.
On it lay a tiny, almost perfectly round shell, gleaming in creams and beiges, with that sheen from the sea.
She laughed. "It must have gotten caught in my hat ribbon. I'll have to clean it better next time, I expect."
"You could consider it an unexpected memento from the sea," he suggested.
"I certainly could, Mr. Carson, but I best also make sure my best new hat isn't infested with sand."
"That would never do, Mrs. Hughes," he smiled at her again, then at the shell in her still-outstretched hand. She closed her fingers around it, dropped her hand to her side. "I'll leave you to get settled, have Mrs. Patmore bring you a tray."
"I thank you, Mr Carson, and I'll not dally long. Busy days, with the family arriving home tomorrow."
Once he left, she sat at her desk, placed the tiny shell on her blotter. Contemplated it for a minute, as it gleamed up at her.
And wondered what else she'd brought back from the day on the beach, unawares.