A/N: Afternoon all! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed chapter 1, reviews are my favourite thing; please keep them coming! I'm bogged down with uni work at the moment but I already had chapter 2 written - I was going to wait a couple of days before I published it but I enjoyed writing it so much I couldn't resist! Chapter 3 will be a bit longer coming because I need to consult the Christmas special and then actually write it. Before I let you get on with reading this, I feel I must draw everyone's attention to the Jonathan Ross clip "A Very Carson Christmas". Those who haven't seen it, YouTube it NOW (well... after you've read and reviewed ;) ), it's amazing! Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this - particularly the second half of the chapter; there is some fluff! L x
She was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing her coat and hat and apparently ready to go somewhere, but she couldn't remember where she was going. All the other servants were there, but they were sitting as far away from her as they could, muttering to each other under their breath, and all seemed to be on edge. Suddenly, Mr Carson stood up.
"Well, come on everyone… It's time."
As one, they stood and began to shuffle towards the door. Mrs Hughes, perplexed, hung back and asked Mr Carson in a low voice "time for what?"
He merely gave her a withering look before hurrying off after the rest of the staff. Upset and anxious, Mrs Hughes followed, but try as she might to catch up she seemed to be a step behind the rest of them all the way there.
Where 'there' was, she soon found out, to her absolute horror. One hand flew to her heart, the other to her mouth, her stomach lurching as she took in the scene before her. All the inhabitants of Downton Abbey, along with a huge crowd of strangers, were gathered some distance from, but in good view of a set of gallows. Standing on the platform, guarded closely, was John Bates.
Mrs Hughes' immediate urge was to turn and run, but before she could get more than half a pace she was interrupted by the lawyer who had argued for the prosecution.
"Ah, Mrs Hughes. We've saved you a spot right at the front. It's all down to you, after all, that we are able to give this cold-hearted murderer the punishment he deserves."
Aghast, she tried to explain that she hadn't meant to accuse him, that he was innocent and she didn't want to watch him die – but for some reason she couldn't get the words out; her brain felt confused. As she was led, helpless, towards the front, she felt people pat her on the back and congratulate her. It made her feel sick to her stomach. When she was deposited in her place, she looked over towards the crowd from Downton Abbey – but those who were not too busy crying into their hankerchiefs or each others' shoulders were glaring at her. Mr Carson was holding Anna, who seemed to be beside herself. He gave her a look that said plainly, 'this is all your fault'.
Feeling panicky now, Mrs Hughes began to look around for a pathway through the crowd; she had to escape, she couldn't stay here. But the lawyer grabbed her arm and said, in sickening excitement, "look, it's starting!"
Sure enough, Mr Bates now had a black bag over his head. Mrs Hughes felt faint, but people were pressing in on her from all sides. She tried to look away, but the lawyer grabbed her and turned her round, forcing her to watch, as if she was supposed to be enjoying it. As the trapdoor opened, Mr Bates dropped, and it felt like she was falling too – she screamed, and screamed and screamed, until-
"Mrs Hughes?"
"Mrs Hughes!"
Her eyes sprung open and her scream turned to a gasp as she scrambled upright on her pillows, looking around wildly. Anna and Miss O'Brien were standing by her bed – O'Brien with a hand on her shoulder, Anna holding her hand.
"What happened?" she asked, disorientated and unable to remember why she had been screaming.
"You were having a nightmare," Anna said gently, while O'Brien nodded.
Suddenly the memory of it returned, and Mrs Hughes, remembering the gallows, closed her eyes and resisted the urge to retch for a moment before taking a deep breath to steady herself and looking back at Anna. Even in the darkness the bags around her eyes were obvious – she clearly hadn't been to sleep yet.
"I'm sorry, Anna, go back to bed. I'm alright now. Thank you," she said, with a brave attempt at a smile and another worried glance at her.
Anna nodded and squeezed her hand before leaving the room. O'Brien stood up straight and surveyed her, saying "you're sure?"
"Yes, thank you Miss O'Brien. I'm sorry for the disturbance; I don't know what got into me. Thank you for your concern."
After she too had left, Mrs Hughes sank back into her pillows and sighed. She was wide awake now, the memory of that horrible dream going round and round in her head. She decided to go downstairs and get a cup of tea and so, slipping out of bed and finding her dressing gown and slippers, she lit a lamp and proceeded out of the door, which she closed quietly behind her.
Once in the kitchen, she extinguished her lamp and turned the lights on, filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove, then sat wearily down at the table to wait for the kettle to boil, trying to keep her mind off her dream. It was difficult, though – everything she looked at seemed to remind her of Mr Bates, or Anna, or both of them.
Suddenly, she heard the stairs creak. She looked up at the door just in time to see it opening to reveal Mr Carson, clad in a long dressing gown and slippers, his hair tousled and his eyes slightly bleary from sleep.
"Good evening, Mr Carson," she said, watching him walk over towards the chair next to hers.
"Mrs Hughes," he answered, sitting down. He looked at her discerningly. "I thought I heard you coming downstairs."
"How did you know it was me?" she asked, blushing slightly as she already knew what the answer would be.
He looked a bit uncomfortable. "I heard you…"
"Oh." She said, looking down at the table.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She looked at him, unsure. His eyes were full of compassion; she knew if she could talk to anyone it would be him. It was always him. But she worried that he would think she was overreacting; it was, after all, Anna's husband who had been sentenced to death, not hers. But then again, she mused, it was more guilt than grief that was her problem…
He met her gaze calmly. He was not trying to force her into talking, merely letting her know that the option was there and he wanted to help her. "A problem shared is a problem halved," he reminded her.
"Well… Alright then. Yes please." She gave in, taking a shaky breath as she thought about how to phrase what was bothering her.
"I'll make some tea," Mr Carson said, leaving Mrs Hughes to think about what she was going to say. When he came back with two steaming cups of tea, she took one from him with a smile that came out more like a grimace and cradled it in her hands, letting it warm her up.
He sat across from her. Seeing that she didn't know where to start, he asked, "Was the bad dream related to what was upsetting you earlier?"
Mrs Hughes didn't even bother to deny it this time; he always knew when something was bothering her, as she did him. "Yes," she replied.
"What was the dream about?"
She took a deep breath and set her tea down on the table. "Mr Bates."
"Ah. What happened?"
Mrs Hughes took a moment to compose herself, before beginning to tell him about the dream. "We were all in here, in our hats and coats. Everyone seemed to be avoiding me. You said it was time to go, and when I asked you where, you ignored me. You all walked off and I followed, and we ended up at… at Mr Bates' execution. You went to stand with the rest of the staff and the family, but that damn lawyer who twisted all my words in court dragged me off to the front. He said they'd saved me a special spot, he said because it was all down to me, and I saw you comforting Anna and you glared at me, and I tried to run away but they grabbed me and forced me to watch as he... as…"
But she found at this point she could not go on. Her voice had grown slightly hysterical as she'd talked, her eyes had filled with tears and there was a lump in her throat preventing her from speaking anymore. She blinked furiously, angry with herself for showing emotion to Mr Carson like this, and once again looked down at the table, unable to meet his eyes.
Just then, she felt him take hold of her hand. Her heart beat slightly faster. She looked up again, and the expression on his face was so tender that she wasn't able to stop a tear leaking out.
"Elsie…" he said quietly, his low voice soothing, "It was just a dream, it wasn't your fault…"
"It was though," she choked, "in court, I had to tell them what I told you at the time. How he called her a bitch and threatened her. They didn't give me a chance to explain, mine was probably the evidence that convinced the jury, and I don't think I can stand the guilt. Thanks to me and my inability to keep my mouth shut, an innocent man, a good man is going to die!"
Mrs Hughes was crying properly now, but she found she didn't even care. In spite of her sorrow, she could feel that getting it all off her chest was doing her some good. And so, when Mr Carson moved his chair round the table so he was next to and facing her, reached out and pulled her into his arms with a gentle "come here", she didn't object, but buried her head in his shoulder, taking comfort from the softness of his dressing gown against her cheek, the smell of him and the feeling of his arms around her, and sobbed.
"It was the fault of the prosecution, not you," he murmured into her ear, "they should be the ones feeling guilty. You were under oath, you had no choice, and they didn't ask for a fair account. Don't upset yourself about it; I've never known anyone kinder or less likely to knowingly and willingly condemn an innocent man than you."
His words were calming and Mrs Hughes felt her sobs begin to recede. He stroked her hair as she calmed down, and when she felt him gently kiss the top of her head, she couldn't help but smile slightly into his dressing gown. He was acting more affectionately towards her than she'd ever seen him act towards anyone else, but she found she did not mind a bit. She'd always had feelings for him, and if she hadn't been so preoccupied she would have been beaming like an idiot. Now was hardly appropriate for such things, though.
Having stopped crying altogether now, she reluctantly pulled away and looked into his eyes. He met her gaze steadily, waiting for her to say something. His hands had slid from where they had been protectively placed around her shoulders down her arms and he was now holding both of her hands in his. She looked down at their linked hands.
"Thank you," she whispered. She couldn't explain to him what it had meant that he had allowed her to tell him how she felt and hadn't brushed her off, but had even eased her cares and provided the shoulder to cry on she'd so desperately needed.
She didn't need to explain, though. He knew, because he knew her almost as well as she knew herself. He smiled at her and patted her hands.
"There's no need to thank me. I was concerned; I'm glad you confided in me and I hope I managed to help?"
"Yes, you did," she replied, with a slight smile of her own.
"In that case, might I suggest you go back to bed? You need some rest."
Mrs Hughes nodded, and Mr Carson stood up, pulling her with him.
"I'll escort you. I want to make sure you get to bed alright and I need to come back down here to clear up the cups anyway."
She began to protest but he shushed her, squeezing her shoulders and saying, "I insist."
She looked up at him with the intention of thanking him again, but her words got lost as she caught her breath. They were standing very close together and he was looking at her very intensely, with something incredibly caring in his eyes. They stood for a moment, simply gazing at each other, until the clock on the wall chimed 3am, bringing them back to their senses.
Mrs Hughes turned and left the kitchen, Mr Carson following her up the stairs and into her room. He took her dressing gown and slippers from her and put them away, ushering her into bed. She slipped back between the sheets and settled back onto her pillows, feeling much more relaxed than the last time she'd been there. He walked over to her and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Thank you, again, Charles," she said, stifling a yawn even as she said it.
He smiled down at her again and it warmed her heart to see it. He reached out and ran a gentle hand through her hair, then, to her pleasant surprise, leant forward and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.
"Goodnight, Elsie."
Her eyes were half closed by now, and the last thing she heard before she fell into a thankfully restful sleep was him tiptoeing out of her room, shutting the door with a quiet click behind him.