Chapter 2

On Friday the following week he failed to show up for breakfast. Elsie was late to notice this, as she was just downstairs herself, having taken his suggestion to heart to start her day an hour later than she was accustomed to. Only when breakfast had already started and none of the other servants had seen the butler up and about yet, she began to worry that something was amiss.
She briefly debated whether or not she ought to go upstairs and check on him. It was rather improper, after all. Still, she had nursed him through a nervous attack and the Spanish flu, the world wouldn't fall apart if she went in his bedroom now. Having reached her decision, she told the staff to continue with their breakfast and made her way upstairs. Trespassing through the door of the men's corridor she came to stand in front of his bedroom door. She knocked clearly, not wanting to startle him by barging in unannounced. But when no reply came forward, she gingerly opened the door and peeked inside.

He was still asleep and as her heart grew heavy with worry as she neared the bed in three swift strides. To her endless relief he appeared to be only sound asleep. Carefully she reached out and brushed her hand across his forehead and cheek. He felt a little warm, but it was obvious that this was caused by sleep and not because of any fever. Gently she began to shake his shoulder.

"Mr Carson… Mr Carson, wake up!" she urged, but he only rolled to his side and grunted, snuggling deeper in the bedcovers.
For a fleeting moment she contemplated just letting him sleep. It was clear that he was in the middle of a deep, restful sleep and he looked so very peaceful.

But he would never forgive her for it. So with renewed vigour she shook him again and called out his name. This time she managed to wake him from his slumber and he did so groggily, staring at her in disbelief.
"Mrs Hughes…" he finally managed to bark out, his voice still gruff from sleep.

"I'm sorry Mr Carson, but you´ve overslept. It's already a quarter to eight," she told him gently.

"WHAT!" he thundered, shooting upright and swinging his legs over the edge. "Breakfast to the family will be served in less than fifteen minutes… this is unheard of… I beg you to excuse me, Mrs Hughes, I'll be down instantly."

"Don't get yourself worked up," she said reassuringly. "We can always have Lily serving breakfast. Just get dressed and have a bit of breakfast yourself."
From the look he was giving her she could tell he was thinking of a polite way to get her out of his bedroom as quick as possible and she backed slowly to the door. "Just… take your time."

Of course he did nothing of the sort. He was down, fully dressed and shaven in exactly seven minutes. She marvelled at how he'd managed it. But still she loitered around the breakfast room in case he needed her assistance. After about twenty minutes, he emerged from the small dining room, where the family usually had their breakfast, his face ashen and with a noticeable limb. She was at his side in an instant, grabbing his elbow to support him. "Are you alright, Mr Carson?" she exclaimed in a hushed tone.

He began to nod, but then groaned. "Could you help me downstairs?" She noticed it was his right leg that seemed to give him the most trouble and she switched sides, allowing him to lean on her as much as possible.
Thankfully they didn't encounter any servants on their way down and she quickly helped him into his pantry.
"Would you like me to send someone upstairs to finish the breakfast service, or would you like me to do it myself?" she offered.

"No need," he shook his head. "His Lordship had already finished his breakfast and O'Brien has taken a tray to her Ladyship." Unceremoniously he kicked off his right shoe and sighed with the relief this brought him.

"Is your foot giving you trouble again?" she asked sympathetically.

He nodded with his eyes closed. "I've been up for the best part of the night," he admitted. "At one point I seriously considered chopping that blasted toe off."

"Shall I call for Dr Clarkson then?" she asked, deciding there and then that regardless of his answer, the doctor would come. She would not watch him suffer like this and do nothing to help him.

He remained quiet for a few moments and then he nodded haltingly. "Yes… yes, I think that would be best."

Before she even managed to reach the telephone she was stopped by Lord Grantham who beckoned her into his library. Barely able to hide her impatience from him, Elsie clasped her hands together in front of her and awaited his request.

"Mrs Hughes…" the Earl of Grantham began haltingly. "I was wondering if you've noticed… if you could tell me… How's Carson doing? Really, that is?

"May I ask what has brought this on, Milord?" she ventured carefully.

"When he left the dining room this morning he appeared to be in a great deal of pain," Lord Grantham explained. "And he has never left before me. It causes me to worry. He told me a while ago that he is suffering from gout."

Since he had told his Lordship himself, Elsie thought there could be no harm in agreeing. "He is, milord," she confirmed.

"How bad is it?" Lord Grantham asked anxiously? "Are his duties becoming too much for him?"

Elsie bit her lip, unsure how to answer. She hated being put in a position like this. She couldn't lie and say that he was fine. But she couldn't express her growing worries concerning his health either. Taking a deep breath she replied eventually: "You can be assured that no matter what, Mr Carson will always serve this house to his full ability, your Lordship."

In response the Earl of Grantham nodded thoughtfully, but the brooding expression never fully left his eyes. "Thank you Mrs Hughes. That was most helpful."

As it transpired, with some additional rest and a prescription from Dr Clarkson to cure the inflammation, he was more or less back on his feet by the end of the next week. Elsie was grateful for it. After her brief conversation with his Lordship, she couldn't shake off the ominous feeling that something was about to happen. There was, decidedly, a bit of an atmosphere.
October was nearing its end now and after a glorious summer, the autumn came with clouded, rainy days. Even if it was still afternoon, Elsie had turned the electric lighting in her parlour on, but nevertheless, she was still struggling to make sense of the invoices. Turning around in her chair, she tried to catch as much light as possible, but failing rather abysmally.

Upon hearing a knock on the door, she hastily put them down on her desk again and called for admittance. The door opened to reveal Mr Carson, carrying a table lamp she recognized from what had been Lady Sybil's room.

"Her Ladyship is sorting through the things that belonged to the young ladies," he explained. "This lamp is to go to the attic to be stored away, but I thought you might have use for it."

"I… oh well…" she stammered, a little taken aback.

"If I may be so bold as to venture a suggestion," he continued, "it would go nicely on the top of your desk."

A look passed between them and she knew exactly what he was up to. Her shoulders relaxed a little and she gave a small nod. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

He insisted on setting up the lamp for her and after he had left she returned to her invoices, who had become decidedly easier to read now.

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