Short drabble this time!
December 9: O Christmas Tree
Pairing: Mr Carson/Mrs Hughes
Rating: K
"Mr Carson?" Elsie Hughes asked. "Whatever are you still doing down here?"
"Oh, Mrs Hughes." Mr Carson seemed somewhat surprised to see Mrs Hughes. After all, both of them were retiring to their rooms late. Mr Carson had been standing idly in front of the towering Christmas tree, which dwarfed him greatly, and the older worker was simply gazing at the naked tree. Boxes surrounding him and the tree resembled fallen stones from a once-magnificent fortress. Elsie smiled to herself: growing up in Argyll had given her a long-lasting imagination.
"What are all these boxes for? Are they really all the ornaments?" Mrs Hughes asked.
"They are, actually," Mr Carson said. "Miss Sybil and Mr Branson carried them all down from the attic."
Mrs Hughes emitted a sound of approval. "The two of them have been working very hard," she said. "Especially Mr Branson."
Mr Carson's upper lip twitched a bit: Mrs Hughes was well aware that Mr Carson did not hold a soft spot for the young and reckless Tom. Nevertheless, he tolerated him, and Mrs Hughes did understand that Tom was a decent character, most evident when he was with Sybil.
"When will we start trimming the tree this year?" Mrs Hughes asked.
"If all the lights test well, then tomorrow afternoon the family might begin decorating," Mr Carson said. "Although," he added with a nostalgic sigh, "I do enjoy seeing the tree as it naturally is, before it is weighed down with all of those heavy ornaments. I like seeing it just after the lights are put on, when there's that soft glow. I always thought it was a bit like an angel's halo."
Mrs Hughes beamed. It was a rare treat to see this rather gentle side to the stern-faced right-hand man to Robert Crawley. "I never took you as the poetic type."
"I'm not, Mrs Hughes," Mr Carson said to the contrary. "But I do enjoy the little things in life from time to time."
"It's good to know that you aren't always swept away in work," Mrs Hughes noted. "Sometimes it seems that the both of us are nothing but workers."
"That is true," Mr Carson agreed.
"But that's why I like Christmas," continued Mrs Hughes. "Briefly, our occupations and social standings are forgotten, and people seem happier."
"I see your point, Mrs Hughes, I really do," Mr Carson said. "The social order of the world will always remain, but sometimes it is relaxing to forget those walls are there."
Mrs Hughes looked at her watch. "It's quite late. The two of us should get to bed. The day won't start later tomorrow."
As if on cue, Mr Carson had to suppress a yawn. "Quite right, Mrs Hughes. The tree will still be here."
"Of course it will. Do you need anything before going up?" Mrs Hughes asked. She was conscious of Mr Carson's health concerns, which were numerous. There was the heart attack in the middle of dinner a few years ago, and then the wretched bout of flu ...
"No, no. I'm fine."
"Then shall I put some supper on a plate for you?"
"What? Excuse me, why would — ?"
"Because you were too busy running the house to actually sit down and eat it. But I saved you a plate. It's in the refrigerator. Would you like me to put it in the oven for you and heat it up?"
Mr Carson blinked in surprise. "That – that's very nice of you, Elsie. Thank you. But I'll go down and heat it up myself. You should get straight to bed."
"Just as long as you promise that you'll do the same as soon as you're finished eating," Mrs Hughes said in her usual, knowing tone of voice. "And should call me Elsie once in a while, like you just did. It's nice to hear my given name every now and then."
Mr Carson blinked once more, gazing at his colleague in slight confusion. "Did I call you 'Elsie?'"
"As a matter of fact, you did," Mrs Hughes said. "But it's alright. The tree will not fall on you and smite you because you called me anything but 'Mrs Hughes.'"
Mr Carson smiled and gave a short laugh. "I suppose you want me to slip up more often?"
"Well …" Mrs Hughes feigned serious mulling over the offer. "Frankly, I'm astonished that you remember my name."
"Of course I remember your name," Mr Carson said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Why, if I forgot your name, who am I to call myself your partner?"
Mrs Hughes could do nothing but smile at that.
"And just so you remember, my first name Charles," Mr Carson said in addition.
"Charles or Charlie?" Mrs Hughes said teasingly.
Mr Carson found himself fairly flustered by this. "Erm … just Charles is fine," he decided.
"'Just Charles is fine,' then," Mrs Hughes said. She turned to go up the stairs to her bedroom, but then craned her head back in Mr Carson's direction.
"Now, you remember to eat that supper I took so much trouble to save for you. It was especially good tonight. You don't want to wake up in the middle of the night with your stomach making noises like bear."
Mr Carson laughed and waved Mrs Hughes down. "I promise I will eat. Now you go up. It's not right of me to keep you."
Mrs Hughes nodded. "Make sure you do. I'll be checking tomorrow whether you did so or not."
Mr Carson laughed again. "Nothing gets past you, does it, Mrs Hughes?"
"No, it most certainly does not," Mrs Hughes said.
She swallowed a yawn: the hectic activity of the day had left her awfully fatigued. "Good night, Mr Carson," she said to him.
"Good night, Elsie," he replied.
Steadily, she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom about three stories up. She had no way of knowing that as she slipped underneath the sheets, Charles was enjoying his warm food and thinking of Elsie Hughes at the same time.