Chapter 2

The wine cellar

Another busy day came to its end when Mrs. Hughes closed her ledgers and turned off the light in her sitting room. She locked the door and checked that everything was in order. There was no light coming from Carson's pantry. A rather unusual thing, but him resting was what she wanted after all. She caught Mrs. Patmore in the kitchen. She was sitting at the small table on the left wall, glasses on, reading through some old recipes.

"You should really go to bed. Remember all the work we have to do tomorrow with that party" Mrs. Hughes said. For once there was no butler to send to bed, but the cook.

Mrs. Patmore stood with a sigh. "Don't remind me of that, please. It will be a nightmare as it is. No reason for me to dream about it."

Mrs. Hughes shook her head at the cook. "Has Mr. Carson gone to bed?" she asked, ignoring Mrs. Patmore's statement.

"No" the cook answered. Mrs. Hughes raised her eyebrows in surprise. Mrs. Patmore pointed down the hall towards the stairs that led to the cellar. "He went to the wine cellar for some reason, mumbling something about the wine ledger not making any sense."

Mrs. Hughes let out a sigh that was partly exasperated, partly angry. What was that man thinking going to the wine cellar for whatever bloody reason at this hour?

"I'm off to bed" Mrs. Patmore declared.

"Good night" Mrs. Hughes replied, her mind already being in the wine cellar, because that was where she headed when Mrs. Patmore had left.

Downton's wine cellar wasn't a comfortable place. It was rather chilly down there. Chilly and dark and just not comfortable. She could hear him and from the sound of clashing bottles she thought about him counting all the bottles or rearranging the whole wine cellar. Because that would be exactly the kind of thing Charles Carson would do at this hour. She didn't bother knocking. As soon as she spotted him behind some shelves, she walked in. He looked up at her, slightly confused by her presence. "Mrs. Hughes?" he said. "What on earth are you doing down here?"

She stood with her hands on her hips like she would do it if he was a maid she had caught. "I was going to ask you the very same, Mr. Carson." She had added an icy undertone to her voice. She wanted him to know that she was angry.

"I found an inconsistency in here" he pointed at the ledger in his hands with his chin "and I wanted to get to the bottom of it." Why exactly was he justifying his presence in the wine cellar? She had no right to question his actions. Well, maybe she had that, but he somehow felt she shouldn't.

"Can't that wait until tomorrow? Besides, you'll catch your death if you stay in here too long" she pointed out.

"Mrs. Hughes" he began, but was cut short by the sound of the door closing and a key turning (or being turned, he couldn't tell). Mrs. Hughes jumped a few inches in the air, almost startled to death. "What in heaven's name…?" she started and turned around to investigate. The door had fallen close (or had been closed, she couldn't tell), but not just that. It was locked. "Mr. Carson, please tell me you have got the key for that damn thing in here" she said, turning to face him.

He swallowed. "I fear I have left the key stuck in the keyhole."

Her jaw dropped a little. "You…" She stopped herself from calling him an oaf. Insulting him would do no good in their current situation.

"Don't you have a key?" he asked.

"No, I don't" she snapped. "And even if I had one it would be useless since the keyhole is being blocked from the other side." She sighed. She had wanted him to rest and now they were both trapped in the bloody wine cellar.

"They know we are here, don't they?"

"Mrs. Patmore knows, but she is upstairs in bed. Exactly where we would be by now if you hadn't decided to come down here."

"Are you saying this is my fault?" he grumbled. "May I remind you that I didn't ask for you to come down here to disturb my work by mothering me… again." He hadn't meant to say that. He didn't mean it at all. He was grateful that she cared about his health since no one else, apparently himself included, did. But it was too late. He had awakened the Scottish dragon. He could tell it from the way her eyes started to sparkle and from her mouth that had turned into a thin line.

"Mothering you?" she repeated. "Mothering you? Call it that if you like, but I daresay someone has to if you wish to live a little longer." Her voice had calmed dangerously, the sound of it threatening him.

His words had hurt her. He knew she did it with only the best for him in mind and after his attack during the war he should know better than judging her for it.

"I can take care of myself" he mumbled, his deep baritone voice making the air vibrating.

She didn't react to that. She was too tired to fight with him now.

He hoped she would forgive him. He hoped she would read him as she always did and know that he was sorry.

She observed him carefully while he put the ledger aside. His shoulders had slumped down a bit. He was tired, she supposed, or he regretted what he had just said. She hoped the latter and decided to make peace. "Well, anyway we are prisoners now. The question is what are we going to do about it?"

He let out a quiet, relieved sigh. Her anger had vanished into thin air, although her Scottish accent was still a little stronger than usual. "I honestly don't know." He dared to look her in the eyes. "I don't think anyone would hear us if we started shouting. We would be hoarse within no time and gain nothing from it. I suggest we try to stay awake and not to get too cold in here."

She nodded in agreement. The thought of having a night ahead of her in which she had not only to stay awake, but on her feet didn't encourage her. She was tired and it was only a matter of time until she would start freezing. The only positive thing about this disaster was that she was with him.

He sighed. The thought of a whole night being awake and being on his feet didn't please him. Of course, he had done it before, but there had never been a big event the next day. At least he hadn't to make sure his eyes stayed open all by himself. At least he had nice company.

…

She had started to shake like a leaf after half an hour. Her tiredness caused her to feel the chilly air more intense than she might have done when she had been fully awake. She wrapped her arms tightly around her, trying to warm herself. It didn't help.

He could see that she was cold. And now he could even hear it. Her teeth had started to clatter. He had to do something about it. He didn't want her to be ill in the morning. He looked around looking for something that he could put around her to make her feel better. He knew that there had to be a blanket somewhere. Until he found that bloody thing he would have to think of something else. She wouldn't approve, he thought. Nevertheless he removed his jacket and approached her quickly. "No, Mr. Carson, there is no need for that" she said, stepping back. He had expected that, but wouldn't give in. "I won't watch you freezing any longer" he made clear, watched her accepting her defeat and helped her into his jacket.

She had no strength to reject his offer any longer. She was desperate to get a bit warmer. His jacket was warm from him wearing it. That warmth – his warmth – sent a shiver down her spine. His scent filled her senses. The collar smelled strongly after his cologne. Another shiver went down her spine. She closed her eyes; the warmth and the smell making her feel like he held her. A loud crack startled her. She searched for Carson, heard him curse from somewhere behind the shelves. Cursing was very unlike him, she thought. "Are you alright, Mr. Carson?"

He appeared again, holding triumphantly a blanket in his hands.

"Wherever did you find that?" she asked.

"It was buried behind one of the empty shelves. No idea why it is here. I only remembered it was there." He took a closer look at it. "I admit it is a bit dusty." He shook the blanket out and a heavy cloud of dust rose from it. He coughed and then sneezed. Once. Twice. "Apologies. It is a bit dustier than I thought."

She laughed at that. If he only knew how absolutely adorable he was. He handed her the blanket and she wrapped it around her. Now it was finally getting warm. But then she struggled keeping her eyes open and what was even worse she struggled to stand. She leaned against the cold wall, sliding down and sitting on the cool floor. The blanket covered her entire body, sleep was upon her. Carson was still standing in the middle of the wine cellar. She could feel his gaze on her. When she looked at him she could see him shaking. He was freezing. Of course he was. She was wearing his jacket. "Mr. Carson, sit down. The blanket is big enough for both of us. I wouldn't want you to catch your death."

Again she made an offer that was not meant in the tiniest improper way; still he thought it sounded risqué. But he didn't mind really. Not at this hour, at this place, in this certain state. He sat down beside her, not too close and accepted the blanket. He almost thought it funny. The butler and housekeeper of Downton locked in the wine cellar, wrapped up in an old dusty blanket, tired and freezing. Hopefully no one would ever hear this story. Mrs. Hughes fell asleep after a while and he had to put his arm around her shoulders to prevent her from falling over. Her head lay securely on his shoulder, her warm breath tingled his neck. Her body was warming his. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt the warmth of another person so comfortable. And then he fell asleep.

She was the first to wake up. There was no way she could tell what time it was and she could hardly check Carson`s pocket watch. That was when she realized it. Her head was lying on his shoulder, his arms he had put protectively around her, one of her hands had fallen to her lap, the other – and she blushed deeply – laid on his thigh just above his knee. She withdrew her hand quickly placing it to her other. But she couldn't get herself to move out of his embrace. She had never been so close to him and now that she was she wanted to stay exactly there. It felt right. She listened to his steady breathing. What would happen if he woke up? Would he be angry? Embarrassed? Sorry? She could stand the first two, but she would be heartbroken if he felt sorry. After all these years the last thing he should feel about this was sorry. All three would possibly await her.

He woke up and immediately felt that something wasn't right. He wasn't lying in his bed and he wasn't alone. The clouds of sleep left. He remembered the wine cellar and Mrs. Hughes. His eyes popped open. He was holding Mrs. Hughes. A huge part of him wanted to jump on his feet and get a proper distance between the two of them, but another part made him remain in that position. He hadn't been close to anyone in years. Not like this. The smell of her hair – lemon and something he couldn't quite identify – filled his senses and he got lost in it. What would she do if she woke up? The thought brought him back to reality. Would she be angry? Embarrassed? Sorry? All three would make him feel awkward.

Mrs. Hughes made the decision that it was best if he never knew how close they had been. She thought he was still sleeping and carefully freed herself from his arms. His eyes stayed shut. He was even more handsome in his sleep. There was an utter satisfaction to be witnessed on his face and all the worrying lines had disappeared. A bold curl had escaped, falling to his forehead. She had to resist the urge to touch his cheek, to put the curl back in place. She watched him, praying that he would come around one day.

He pretended to sleep when he felt Mrs. Hughes moving. He didn't know why she left his embrace, but it was for the best if she didn't know that he had been awake. There would be no argument, no embarrassment and no awkwardness. He waited patiently until a few more minutes had passed. He then opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times. Mrs. Hughes was sitting to his right, greeting him with a small smile on her lips. He smiled back. Neither of them felt a need to break the silence. They had locked eyes, unsure of what the other was thinking. The moment was destroyed by someone unlocking and opening the door. They got up quickly, both sighing as their muscles protested after a night in the floor. Mrs. Patmore was the one that had come to their rescue. The cook looked at them with a knowing look. "There you are. Have you been in here all night?"

"We weren't simply in here, but locked in here" Carson corrected. "And now it is time we get out of here. We are entertaining this evening." With that he left the room in his most gracious butler walk, completely forgetting his jacket Mrs. Hughes was still wearing. Mrs. Patmore pointed at her. "You look nice in that. But isn't it a bit too big?"

Mrs. Hughes took off the jacket, giving Mrs. Patmore a disapproving look and walked towards the door. She stopped. "You keep this accident to yourself, will you?" she asked nicely and was relieved when the cook nodded. What neither Mrs. Hughes nor Carson knew was that it had been the cook who had locked them up to give at least him a little knock in the right direction.