Chapter 2

"It's being here now that's important. There's no past and there's no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can't relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don't know if there is one."

-George Harrison

There are plenty of trees on the grounds, and Carson had never paid much attention to them. It is only when he is awaiting Lord Gillingham's arrival when he notices one for the first time in years. The staff is lined up outside the main entrance, Mrs Hughes on his left, awaiting the inevitable arrival of their guest, when his eye catches something rustling in the distance. Taking a small step forward to better his view, he turns his head ever so slightly in an effort to be discreet. He furrows his eyebrows even more at what he finds.

When had that tree gotten so large?

He recalls a time when he had been about the same height as the tree. He vaguely remembers when it had been planted, and now it must be the size of the Abbey. He curses himself for not noticing sooner. He is the Butler. It is his job to observant, to be aware of the little details for it is the little details that make things remarkable. Yet he somehow missed how much the tree had grown. He had missed the time that had gone by.

A dust cloud appears closer and Carson breaks from his reverie. Taking a careful step back, he curses himself for his lapse and hopes that nobody else had noticed.

Mrs Hughes had noticed it all. She always notices.

At the end of the day, she pokes her head in his pantry. He's staring again. Gently knocking on his door so as to not startle him, she says, "May I come in?"

He jumps. "Mrs Hughes, how may I help you?"

"I was hoping you'd join me for a nightcap," she remains hovering at the door.

"Already? But it's only..." he glances at his clock. "Oh."

She had originally hoped that he would tell her if something was amiss. Clearly, something is amiss and he is not telling her. Closing the door behind her, she takes a few steps towards his desk. "Mr Carson, is there something bothering you?"

"It's nothing." He wants to tell her not to worry, but one look at her and he knows it is pointless. She came for answers, and she will not leave without them. "Have a seat," he sighs resignedly.

"You've been rather pensive lately," she says gently.

He snorts. "By that you mean that I've been distracted."

"I have no control over how you decide to interpret my words," she teases him.

"The opposite is also true. I have no control over your interpretation of my words."

She is surprised by this. It had never occurred to her that he would way of her judgement. She searches his face for answers. "Mr Carson, what have you been thinking about?"

He hesitates. "Do you remember that conversation we had? The one about the future?"

She nods slowly, not fully comprehending the direction of this particular conversation. "That was a very long time ago."

He ignores her comment. "It got me thinking." Mrs Hughes waits patiently for him to elaborate. "About the future, that is."

When it is clear that he isn't going to continue, Mrs Hughes prompts him. "And what have these thoughts entailed?"

"I've realized that as you get older, the things around you get older too."

"Things get older too?" Mrs Hughes snorts. "This is the profound conclusion you've reached after staring at trees and leaving ink blots in the ledgers? "

He should be insulted, but he's embarrassed more than anything. "You noticed that?"

"Of course I noticed! You always write with a heavy hand when you're in a thinking mood!"

"Not that," he shakes his head. "The other thing. The trees."

Mrs Hughes wrings her hands in her lap. "You've never shown an interest before," she finally admits. "It seemed out of character."

"Do you think the others noticed?"

"The others don't know you like I do."

And with one simple phrase, she wipes away all of his agitation. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right," she states matter-of-factly. "Now will you stop avoiding the issue at hand?"

He grimaces. The hope that she would forget is erased forever.

"You don't have to tell me, Mr Carson, though, I do wish you would," she says softly. "All I ask for is an acknowledgement of the existence of a problem."

"Like the acknowledgement of your health scare?" His words are a sharp slap across her face and he regrets it immediately.

"That was years ago." Her tone remains even but her expression hardens.

"Still, you never told me," he accuses her.

"You tricked Mrs Pattmore into telling you before I had a chance!"

"Please, Mrs Hughes," he rolls his eyes, his voice raising. "You were only ever going to tell me when you were already on your deathbed!"

"Mr Carson, that is beside the point!" she cries indignantly. She is bristling. How dare he bring that up! She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions at bay. "It is obvious that you do not wish to broach this subject, and I will respect that as long as if you extend the courtesy of respecting me as well."

Guilt washes over him. "That is not what I –"

"I know it's not," she cuts him off and stands to leave. "It's getting late. I will bid you good night."

"Mrs Hughes," he calls after her. She turns around and waits expectantly for him to continue. She watches as he tries and fails to come up with the adequate words. The confusion and the uncertainty that have taken over prompt her to speak.

"One piece of advice, Mr Carson, if I may?" she asks hesitantly.

Carson nods. "Always."

"You'll never notice the present, let alone be able to consider the future, if you are trapped in the past."

And with that, she turns around and exits his pantry, leaving him behind with nothing but his seemingly never-ending muddled thoughts.

A/N: The problem with multi-chaps is that you have to live up to the first one. Thanks for the support!