Chapter 17
A few weeks later…
Very late at night
"Mrs Patmore I see nothing complicated in this list of ingredients. Surely you can do something about it. Her Ladyship was quite insistent on this, given that it's a favourite of Lord Branksome's," Mrs Hughes tried her best to persuade Mrs Patmore to make a specific cake that was requested by Her Ladyship. She did not understand why the cook was protesting when the notice about the specifications of the menu for the small dinner party the Family were hosting was given weeks earlier.
"I daresay there won't be a wine to match this cake," Mrs Patmore replied, never the one to give up, especially when it came to disagreeing with the housekeeper.
"That, Mrs Patmore is Mr Carson's concern," Mrs Hughes replied in a sharper tone. The fact that she was nearing her legendary temper clearly evident.
"Now if I had the store cupboard to meself then I could have done something about it," the cook continued now breaking her gaze with the housekeeper and staring ahead.
"Don't ye get there Mrs Patmore. That'll be over my grave. At least not while I'm housekeeper!" Mrs Hughes was now holding on to her patience by a thread, her brogue more pronounced
"Ye will go ahead with this Mrs Patmore. I had Her Ladyship to revise the menu three times. Three times! And all because ye said, ye cannae do this, ye cannae do that. Ye dinnae think the courses matched. But I'm telling ye, this is final and this is the menu ye'll cook in a week's time! And I wouldnae hear one more word of yer complains," Mrs Hughes burst out as the final ounce of patience slipped out if her grasp, her brogue much pronounced, her face fixed into the steely "Hughes glare" (as the maids called it).
The Cook stepped out of the Housekeeper's sitting room with a loud huff muttering loudly, "Let's see about it Mary Queen of Scots."
"I heard that," Mrs Hughes called out to the leaving Cook, still fuming. She heard the Cook's heels click till they reached the stairs and then die away. She was the last soldier standing, everyone else having gone to bed hours before. Several events had to be planned, ranging from many dinner parties, a large house party and two hunts, all to be held within the course of a month. And to add to all of it, the Dowager too was having her own series of events, possibly to beat an old rival. And the weight of all of it was falling on Elsie's shoulder's resulting in several sleepless nights.
It was all too much and she was feeling it in her body now. She was becoming weaker after every night that she's stayed await to meticulously plan the functions, that doesn't seem to end. She got up from her desk and sat herself down on the settee. After a moment's thought she removed her shoes, her feet aching after standing for most of the day. She would never do this, lest anyone would see but tonight it was only her and she was reminded of it by the serene yet haunting silence that had engulfed the corridors. She leant her head back on the settee but once again reached down to remove her stockings, to feel more comfortable. When her tired feet touched the cold stone floors of the night, see sighed. The cold seeming to dissipate the tiredness in her feet a little. A chill ran up her spine but she didn't care, closing her eyes as she leaned back on the settee again.
A rustling sound echoing not very far away, brought Mrs Hughes back to earth. She sat up straight and listened. The corridor must be dark except for the tiny candle outside her room and the last time she checked it was almost over. Footsteps. Mrs Hughes was now fully alert. They didn't sound like the sure steps of someone coming to grab a glass of water or something else in the night. There was something so uncertain about them. Pausing moving and then moving. Mrs Hughes was never a woman who was afraid, of darkness, myths or people. But she couldn't stop the instinctive reaction of her rapidly beating heart. Quietly she padded across the room in her bare feet and poked her head out of the open door that one angry Cook had not bothered to close.
Through the darkness she saw a flash of white which gave her an involuntary start but within seconds she realised what, or rather who it was. With a furrowed brow and a slight smile. A totally paradoxical response to the surprising sight ahead of her.
To be continued…
Thank you so much for the reviews. They are quite like my life blood when it comes to this story and I'm ever so grateful for your responses, even though my tight schedule doesn't allow me the time to thank all of you personally. And also thank you to the guest reviewers! I'm not very sure about the accuracy of my attempt to write what a Scottish brogue sounds like. I hope it's convincing if not accurate : ) I watched season 1 quite recently and in one episode (episode 4 if I remember correctly) Anna informs Mrs Hughes, who is speaking with Mr Carson, that Mrs Patmore is throwing up a riot about the store cupboard key and in the background Mrs Patmore can be heard referring to Mrs Hughes as Mary Queen of Scots and I had written the beginning of this chapter and I couldn't say how delighted I felt to get that tiny detail right. I'm not one for cliff hangers but I had to make a slight cliff hanger to spice things up once in a while. And no it's not an angsty cliff hanger. See you soon in the next chapter. I promise to post as soon as possible.