Conversations with the Man Upstairs. Ch.4—Though Like a Wanderer

Time: 6:15am the same Sunday morning, 29th November 1925.

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Well…tidy enough, all things considered…Mrs Hughes closely eyes her somewhat haggard visage in the oval looking glass atop her bedroom dresser. The water in her basin and ewer was absolutely frigid this morning when she doused her face and prayed that her red-rimmed lids and the dark circles beneath her eyes would shrink away a little before she faced the onslaught of the day. Thank God for small mercies, I suppose.

She will be a little late down this morning, which is not ideal as there is still so much to organise before the family leaves for Brancaster Castle on Tuesday morning. We have dallied this year…which we could ill afford- what with Anna away, and Mr Bates more gone than here—and more oft than not in mind than body. All these cottages and gadding about the countryside…what was the point?

Mrs Hughes rarely uses a dusting of face powder, and certainly not for going to church, but today Elsie would rather cover her illness of heart with at least a thin veneer of normalcy, lest the staff should wonder…and talk. One last smoothing down of her day dress—which is one of her favourites but that she hasn't actually worn for years. Thankfully it is still trim on her and it is of a lighter fabric that is still adequate cover before the full chill of winter falls. It has the lower neckline and orange brocade that she thinks still favours her quite well. She likes to dress it against her green winter coat and her satin dusk and royal blue scarf when she can. Yes. And a brisk walk to and from church ought to serve me well, no doubt. She tucks one last strand of hair under her coiled braids. Secured and neat as a pin, she turns, albeit a little stiffly, to face the day.

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The usual clatter and bustling hum of the kitchen greet her as she enters the servants' halls. Sundays, far from being a day of rest, seem to begin with an even more harried and precise use of time than other days of the week. All is running like fast clockwork so as to ensure everyone is fed and watered before upstairs and down alike make their way to St Michael's for the early mass. But Mrs Hughes finds it gratifying to see that all is ticking along as it should be, even in her delay. They have a steady staff at the moment, although it is a much-diminished crew, and she knows for a fact that Mrs Patmore has covered for her well in her short absence this morning, as will have Mr Carson. In fact, she is surprised to not see him walking through hallways lording it about a bit more, but she spies that his pantry door is open as she mouths a silent thank you to Mrs Patmore when she passes the archway of the kitchen and makes her inevitable way towards Mr Carson's domain to offer an apology.

She stops short in his doorway at the vision of the elegant hulk of the man diligently pouring over the latest array of prospectuses for their proposed property investment. She wills her body not to wilt against the door jamb where all and sundry might observe her weary slovenliness. Still, she cannot help but pause to gaze. He has not spied her yet and her breath catches as she imagines how he will look at his own desk in his own cottage one day—finally master of his own domain and not just of a borrowed corner of another man's place. He'd be content…wouldn't he, Lord? Just as he is now…but more so…Aye, he would be that…at least...It sends a pang of the deepest longing through her chest and Elsie finds that she has to bite down hard on her lip to stop any more tears from welling in her overtired eyes. And she is so much more aware of the beating of her heart against her chest these days—a quickening—which she has been fervently hoping is not a sign of her imminent demise. But it is only now that she realises that it happens exclusively when she first sees him of a day…or when he walks towards her, precise and businesslike as ever… or should he ever brush near her on the stairs…and just whenever she thinks on him, really. And he just looks so perfect to her now, with all of his dreams spread out before him. I do want for him to have that life, Lord. I really do…all that he ever wants…he deserves it.

"Ah. Mrs Hughes. Good morning to you." He states brightly as he catches the halo of soft sunlight highlighting the edges of her neat hair styling. And the orange brocade. My favourite—it contrasts with her eyes so well. The flash of thoughts barely even registers consciously in his mind.

"Good morning to you, Mr Carson. I must apologise for my tardiness today." Her hands positioned neatly at her waist fuss a little with the blue scarf and her hat for the day, which she has yet to deposit into her sitting room ready for the walk into the village later. "I am afraid I spent a rather restless night."

"It is no matter. No doubt it is all the planning we have to finalise tomorrow before the family leaves. Mrs Patmore informed me you would still be down in plenty of time this morning. And, as ever, your maids have not let you down and it appears all is still on track for this morning."

"Thank you. And yes, I daresay Mrs Patmore ensured their compliance for me…And then some, by the looks of it, Mr Carson, if you have time to be perusing those documents now. I trust she did nothing untoward in directing your footmen and the hall boys."

"No, no. Nothing of the sort. And I am quite capable of handling the lads, thank you very much, Mrs Hughes". She smiles lightly at his proud, brusque manner as he finishes tugging down the front of his waistcoat, even when seated. So familiar…

"I would never doubt it, Mr Carson"

"Thank you, Mrs Hughes…But if the truth be told, I was a little restless myself in the wee hours of the morning, I suppose it's all of these house options. There is much to mull over… sums and such like. Anyway…I decided to rise earlier than usual, rather than fuss over an inability to sleep. I got ahead on some of my tasks this morning and all is well in hand for the family leaving, provided that no one dilly-dallies tomorrow with the final arrangements. In fact, I was considering allowing them all the proper rest they should have on the Sabbath today, Mrs Hughes, if that suits your side of affairs equally."

"Let me check my day list before we are seated for breakfast, but I believe it is a wise move for all of us. I was intending to leave the late work to the girls. Madge can oversee it well enough. And apart from the family's bedrooms, all other room turnovers can wait until they have left on Tuesday morning. I thought I might try to retire a little earlier tonight, myself." She eyes him closely and cannot help but worry for the lack of rest he must have had last night. "Perhaps you ought to do the same, Mr Carson, if you slept so poorly last night."

"No , no… I think it best if I handle the family's dinner tonight and lock up, rather than Mr Barrow. He will have too much to complete tomorrow, along with Mr Bates to ensure his Lordships suits and hunting kit is all in order. Mr Molesley has offered to help with Mr Branson's so I think Andrew and I can adequately serve the family dinner tonight.

"Yes, Mrs Patmore assures me it is a simple enough affair. Well,… I had best be about it. I'll see you in at breakfast shortly."

Carson's brow crinkles a little as he finally sees beyond the vision of Mrs Hughes' quiet figure bathed in morning light and captures the heavy lilt of weariness imbued in all her movements. I hope our outings have not tired her unnecessarily. But he knows she hates him fretting after her health, so he would never dare to mention it.

"Indeed, Mrs Hughes." Urgh. You could at least have said you would look forward to it—you dolt! But again, his mind barely heeds the content of his heart as he turns his diligent focus back to the list of figures on his desk.

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The early walk into the village is frigid, but it is the invigorating traipse that Elsie needs to clear her head. The mist has yet to rise from the grounds of the Abbey that are still frosted in morning grey. By mid-morning at least she is sure that the rising sun will have melted the crisp blades of grass to a glistening green once more…But even those days are numbered…Elsie thinks as the chill of winter is most surely taking a greater hold of these rapidly shortening days. She breathes deep tendrils of cold into her lungs until it smarts in a line upside her temples and dewy steam mists before her eyes in return.

Mr Carson walks a half body width away in his customary and preferred position beside Mrs Hughes. He too enjoys the briskness of the morning as he recalculates his thinking about the four contenders for their guest house purchase. He has a preference here as well but wants to lay the options and figures all out before Mrs Hughes before he makes his own desires known. If she did not suggest the option for taking early retirement he would dearly like to speak with her on it tonight. But tomorrow will serve just as well, I suppose. She had said there was no need to rush into anything. He feels the cold tendrils of the air burning in his lungs and the clear thoughts of his future by her side make him puff his chest up even further as he revels in the delightful pang of contentment the whole notion gives him. Eyes and head held high, he only just registers in time the sudden slipping away of the sureness of Mrs Hughes presence by his side.

On a reflex his right arm snatches outwards and captures Mrs Hughes by the elbow just before she completely loses her footing on the glassy surface of ice set amongst the gravel that has yet to melt away in the morning sun.

"Oh!"

"Mrs Hughes! Here you are…I've got you. I've got you."

"Do you?" Her heart blurts aloud before she has full control of her faculties, and then she fumbles for her composure. "Thank you,… Mr Carson." She pauses to catch her breath a little, swallow the lump in her throat and let her heart settle a little from the shock, quite glad that the understaff had already made some distance between them as they hurried along at a greater pace to make it into the warmth of the village church sooner. "I'm sorry, That…that was quite clumsy of me." Unfortunately, her heart is yet to quieten to a respectable level as Mr Carson is still gripping her quite firmly about her elbow as he caught her up just in time. He has come about to face her squarely and his other leather gloved hand is absently rubbing up and down on her opposite arm, just below her shoulder. He peers down seriously towards her face, which is showing the most delightful pink blush across her cheeks and her nose is a little rosy—peeking sweetly out from the rest of her white chilled complexion.

"Are you quite all right, Mrs Hughes?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr Carson. Noh bones broken." Although, she has jarred her back quite painfully—not that she would ever let on about what exacerbated that situation overnight.

"Good, for I would hate for you to be hurt. Perhaps you would like to take my arm for the rest of the way into the village. The paths can be quite slippery at this time of year."

"Yes…they are."

"Well, are you ready to walk on now, Mrs Hughes?" he asks with quiet pragmatism.

"If you insist, Mr Carson…Thank you," she finishes softly, still embarrassed by her unsteadiness…and what it says about her advancing years and diminishing capacities.

And although her path is steadier for the rest of the journey into St Michael's, Elsie feels like she is still tottering on the edge of an abyss filled with imminent pain. And the precipice only sharpens and her breath catches in her throat once more as they come into view of the edge of the village where Mr Carson gently releases her arm with a final query about her stability from there on—and for the sake of propriety—for he absolutely will not have anyone gossip or cast any aspersions about the housekeeper of Downton Abbey.

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A/N: I was unsure about ending this chapter here, but I do hope to have the next part of this up very soon. Thank you for your continuing support. BTF.