A/N Thank you for all the reviews for the previous chapter. I'm pleased to know that you haven't given up on me.
Here's the much-anticipated reunion. It should answer all of your questions, or most of them, at least. I hope you think it's worth the wait and it lives up to expectations.
Mr. Carson sat at the table, waiting impatiently, staring at the door, examining every patron who entered, hoping to see Mrs. Hughes's familiar face. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she arrived.
His immediate thought on seeing her was how greatly altered she appeared: her frame was much slighter it was than when he'd last seen her; the strands of silver in her hair were more plentiful; her countenance was drawn; the worry lines were etched more deeply into her face; and her naturally light complexion looked distressingly pale. Her clothes were worn and faded, but they were neat and clean. Her appearance concerned him, for it told a story beyond simple aging: it was evidence of struggle and hard times. Underneath it all, however, he could still detect a hint of her strength and determination, and this notion reassured him somewhat.
He rose from his seat as she approached, and she smiled and held out her hands to him. He returned her smile and clasped her hands in his own, squeezing affectionately.
"Mr. Carson," she said. "It's so nice to see you. You look well." Her smile was genuine, but he knew her well enough to detect a sadness and worry hidden beneath the curl of her lips.
"Oh, I'm plodding along, thank you. It's good to see you, too." As much as he would have liked to say so, he couldn't honestly tell her that she looked well, for she looked decidedly unwell. Instead, he resorted to polite formality. "Please," he said, gesturing towards the second chair at his table. "Sit down and join me." He pulled the chair out for her and then pushed it back in as she gracefully lowered herself into it. Then he reclaimed his own seat across from her.
"Mrs. – erm, Miss – " he began. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm not sure how I should address you. Your letter said 'Hughes.' Did you really never marry, or did you sign it that way only so that I would be sure to recognize your name?"
"It's still 'Hughes,' Mr. Carson. I never married," she informed him quietly, looking down at her hands.
This news affected him greatly, but he simply said, "I see."
At that moment, a waitress* appeared. She'd approached Mr. Carson earlier, shortly after he arrived, but he'd told her he was waiting for someone. Now, having seen Miss Hughes arrive, the young woman returned. "Sir, I see your companion has arrived. Hello, ma'am," she said, smiling. "Can I bring you both some tea?"
"Yes, please," said Mr. Carson. "And perhaps some scones?" He raised his eyebrows in question and looked to Miss Hughes for approval.
She nodded in agreement, offering a small smile. "That would be lovely. Thank you."
"Certainly. I'll be but a moment," their server informed them before leaving to procure the requested items.
Mr. Carson and Miss Hughes made pleasant small talk for few minutes. Soon, the serving girl brought the tea and scones, then left again to serve other customers. As Mr. Carson and Miss Hughes began to consume their light repast, Mr. Carson shifted the subject and the tone of the conversation. "I understand from your letter that you have something you wish to discuss, and I think it must be a serious matter. You said you're in need of a friend and a favor. I hope you know that I am – still – your friend. Naturally, if this 'favor' you speak of is at all within my means to grant, I shall do it gladly. How can I help you, Miss Hughes?"
"Thank you, Mr. Carson. You're very kind. I'm not sure I deserve such loyalty after I left my post and failed to keep in contact, but there were … extenuating circumstances." She paused, seemingly gathering her thoughts. "Let me start at the beginning. You'll recall that shortly before I left Downton, I was entertaining a marriage proposal." He nodded, and so she continued. "At about the same time, my mother took ill. A neighbor wrote to tell me. That's when I gave my notice. Within a few weeks of my return, my mother died."
"I'm very sorry for your loss," he offered sincerely, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently. "I'd no idea. I assumed you'd left in order to marry." He tried to make sense of it, but he was still confused. "But if you never married, why did you not come back after your mother died? Why did you never even write?"
"I couldn't, Mr. Carson. There's more to the story, you see. I couldn't come back, and I couldn't tell you why. Not then. But I'll tell you now." She took a slow, deep breath before continuing. "I chose to let you believe I left in order to marry, because allowing you to think that was easier than revealing the truth. You see, I had a sister, Becky. She was a lovely soul, but she was … well, she was … not right in the head. She was very pleasant and agreeable, but she was … simple – not able to earn a living or even to be on her own. My mother had always looked after her, but when my mother died … "
Miss Hughes paused, and Mr. Carson guessed the rest. "There was no one but you."
"Precisely. I had three choices. I could have continued working at Downton and paid someone to care for my sister … but I couldn't bear the thought of a stranger looking after her. She would have been miserable. Or I could have left Downton and married my friend the farmer, and Becky could have lived with us. Joe was a kind man. When I told him about Becky, he assured me she would always be welcome in our home. He promised to take care of us both. It was a generous offer, and I was tempted, but in the end, I couldn't accept."
Miss Hughes paused, and Mr. Carson gave her a questioning look.
"It wouldn't have been fair to him," she explained. "I didn't … I didn't love him. Well, I did love him, I suppose, but not in the way that a wife should love her husband. So I told him no, and he still offered to help me. He wasn't a rich man, by any means, but he gave me what money he could spare – insisted I take it – and told me that Becky and I would always be welcome at his farm if we ever needed a place to stay."
"That was quite kind of him," Mr. Carson commented sincerely. "But … if you never came back to work at Downton … and you never married … " Mr. Carson began to piece things together.
"That's right, Mr. Carson. My third choice was to leave Downton, find what odd jobs I could, see to my sister myself, and eke out a living. And that's what I did. I chose to live on a pittance and look after Becky myself. I stayed in Argyll only long enough to pack up our belongings and sell the farm, and then I brought Becky here to London. In a small village, there's not much work to be found for a woman who has someone else to care for, but a big city is different. Here, I was able to find a few jobs here and there, especially during the war, when so many women left their traditional work to take other jobs to support the war effort. At first, I took in laundry and did some mending, but I didn't earn much money doing that. Then I found a job at a dressmaker's shop. I did my sewing in the back room, performing alterations on the dresses, and Becky was able to go to work with me. I kept her busy by asking her to sort buttons and wind thread. But soon, the woman who owned the place closed up shop; she married and moved away. After that, I worked as a cook in a tea room for a time. Becky and I had our quarters above the shop, and the owner was kind enough to let Becky sit with me in the kitchen while I prepared food for the customers. But then, the tea room closed down, too. The owner took pity on me and sent me to her brother, who ran a modest boarding house. Becky and I stayed in a small room in the attics, and I did all the washing – the linens and such – and I cleaned the rooms during the day, when the lodgers were out. Becky was able to be with me while I worked, and she liked to help with the pillowcases. It took her longer to change two cases than it took me to change the bedsheets and clean the entire room, but it didn't matter. But eventually, the owner of the inn died, and his family sold the place. I had difficulty finding a position after that. As you can imagine, to find an occupation that allowed me have my sister with me while I worked … Well, it was a challenge, to say the least. Those situations are scarce, I can tell you. I'd been fortunate up until then, but eventually, my luck ran out. I haven't found another job, and it's been two months. But now my circumstances have changed. Last month, Becky passed away." As she finished her tale, Miss Hughes's eyes welled with tears, and Mr. Carson took both of her hands in his.
"I'm so sorry," he offered solemnly. "I'd no idea whatsoever – about any of this. All this time, you've been … And now you're … " He was on the verge of tears himself.
"Thank you, Mr. Carson," said Miss Hughes, smiling sadly. "I'm grateful for your sympathy and for your kind words."
Too uneasy to keep his own hands still, he released her hands. "But why did you never tell me of your situation or … ask me for help? You know I would have done whatever I could. I would have – I could have – " He struggled to articulate everything he was feeling: shock, disbelief, disappointment, sorrow, and he knew not what else.
"That is precisely why I couldn't tell you. You would have done more than you should, and I couldn't ask you to do that. But now I am asking for your help. I've nowhere else to turn. If I keep at it, I might be able to find some work here in London; it will be easier now that Becky's gone. But it won't pay as well as a job in service, and it won't be as secure. And that's why I've asked to speak with you. I wonder if you might know of a situation somewhere. I'm not foolish enough to think that I might step back into the housekeeper's post at Downton, but perhaps you might know of an open position for a housemaid or a lady's maid on one of the nearby estates – or anything at all, really. Even seasonal employment at a house here in London would be most welcome. As you now know, I find myself in rather dire straits at the moment."
Mr. Carson shook his head and chuckled, and Miss Hughes gave him a quizzical look. Lest she think that he was laughing at her plight, he hastened to explain. "Oh, Mrs. Hughes! I'm sorry – I mean Miss Hughes. No, actually, I probably should call you Mrs. Hughes once again. You see, you very well might step back into the housekeeper's post at Downton – that is, if you wish. Since you've been gone, we've had a long string of horrible housekeepers. Absolutely atrocious. One was ruthlessly cruel – had the housemaids in tears. Another was kind enough … but wholly incompetent. The next was conniving and deceitful: she falsified records and actually stole from the household accounts! The latest, a flighty young thing, disappeared only last week, without warning or explanation, like a thief in the night, leaving only a note!"
Miss Hughes's eyes were wide with shock. "Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "That's awful!"
"Yes, it has been awful. I'm certain her ladyship would be only too happy to have you back." He squeezed her hand, smiling. "We all would," he added quietly, regarding her most sincerely.
She smiled back at him, relief and gratitude evident in her expression. "Thank you, Mr. Carson. But do you really think it's possible?"
"I'm sure of it," he assured her. "Shall I speak to her ladyship on your behalf?"
"I'm not at all confident that she'll welcome me back so eagerly," worried Miss Hughes.
Mr. Carson dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense. I've no doubt she'll be thrilled. And so will everyone else." Then, in an effort to reassure her, he continued. "I will, of course, use the utmost discretion and be sensitive to your privacy. If you wish to share with Lady Grantham or anyone else the details you've revealed to me, then you may, in future, do so yourself at your own discretion. But it's not my place to do so. You've confided in me, and I don't wish to abuse your trust."
Miss Hughes smiled and looked down at her lap. "I don't know how I can ever thank you, Mr. Carson. This is almost too good to be true. I came here with low expectations, hoping perhaps you might know a family in need of a scullery maid, and I would have leapt at the chance. But this! I never imagined I might step back into my old post."
"Well, Mrs. Hughes … some things are simply meant to be," he returned earnestly.
A/N *I've read in some sources that A.B.C. tea shops were self-service, but other sources mention waitresses. I'm still not sure what to believe, but I decided to have a waitress serve our couple.
And if this scene reminds you of The Remains of the Day … Well, I did sort of hijack the idea a little. (However, you'll notice this one turns out more favorably!)
Please drop me a line to let me know what you think. I'm eager to know whether you all liked this or not.
I'm not sure how soon I'll be able to write future chapters. I have no more written in reserve, only a general idea where we're headed. But I'll promise you once more that I won't abandon this.