Thank you so much for your lovely reviews and encouraging words! And thanks as always to kouw for making this so much better than it would be without her help.

For the next few days Charles Carson tried to puzzle out what was wrong with the Housekeeper. She was perfectly polite, her work left nothing to be desired, but she was different. Withdrawn somehow. She hardly spent any time in the Servants' Hall. There were no shared glasses of sherry at night; he had seen Mrs. Patmore bustling into her friend's sitting room with trays full of tea a couple of times, only to return a few short minutes later, the tea untouched.

He had briefly spoken to the Cook but the fact that she didn't know what was going on with the Housekeeper either did nothing to reassure him. She looked pale and tired, the spark was gone from her eyes.

He knew that Anna's arrest had hurt her deeply, that she felt the loss of the young woman second only to Mr. Bates. He had deliberately not mentioned the arrest in the past weeks. He was certain that no good could come of it; didn't want to bring up her pain and fear again.

He watched her closely as she sat down for breakfast. She listlessly nibbled at her piece of toast, not really eating it. His observation of her was interrupted by the late arrival of the mail. He distributed the mail until he came to the last envelope. His eyes widened slightly before he quickly tucked the letter into his pocket. He looked around to see whether anyone had noticed his strange move, but no one had. Not even she, because she was too busy staring off into the distance. Most unlike her.

After breakfast she made her way to her sitting room, intent on working on her ledgers for a few moments. She sighed when the Butler's customary short knock rang against her door. She turned around in her swivel chair to face him when he entered. He looked nervous, she thought.

"This came for you in the morning post," he said hesitantly, holding out a letter to her. "I didn't think you'd want to receive it in front of the others."

She raised her eyebrows at his cryptic words, but got up and took the letter from his hand.

He studied her intently as she looked at the letter and in alarm he watched how the last bit of colour drained from her face.

Scotland Yard. She felt her stomach knotting up, an icy fist of dread closing around her heart. She ripped the letter open and her eyes flew over the few, short lines.

This couldn't be happening again, she couldn't be forced to go through this again. Another hearing. Another instance of her being forced to condemn a person she cared for. It had taken Anna months to forgive her for speaking the truth against Mr. Bates. It would take until hell froze over for Elsie to forgive herself if she played even a tiny role in Anna's wrongful conviction.

Charles Carson watched the emotions raging over the Housekeeper's face with growing concern. She had begun shaking, her breathing unsteady.

"Mrs. Hughes?" he asked softly, careful not to startle her.

Just as quickly as her shaking had started, it stopped again. She looked up at him with dull eyes.

"They want me as part of the official hearing against Anna," she explained in a toneless voice.

"That was to be expected, you are her superior after all," he replied matter-of-factly and watched as she tensed at his words. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied coldly. "If you'll excuse me, I must get on with my work."

"You've just had a nasty shock, maybe you should…," he began softly but she interrupted him.

"I'm perfectly capable of doing my work, thank you very much." She turned and walked back towards her desk.

He was left standing in the middle of her parlour. Charles Carson was convinced that he should do something, that he should offer some kind of encouragement.

But she seemed unwilling to receive it at the moment and he thought it best not to push her now. He'd make sure that the maids didn't bother her with any unnecessary requests and that the family discussed all arising issues with him first. With a last, sad look at her back, he silently left the room.

As soon as she heard the door closing after him, she grabbed the edges of her desk for support. Another hearing, another day spent in that dreadful courthouse, another day spent trying to mind her words, only to walk straight into the prosecution's trap.

She'd be responsible for Anna going to jail, she could feel it. She wasn't strong enough for this. Wasn't strong enough, not detached enough to censor her words. She would probably blurt out something in Anna's defence only to realize that she had unwittingly aided the prosecution.

Her breaths came out in short, sharp gasps as panic overwhelmed her body. She felt her stomach contracting, nausea rendering her dizzy. She wildly looked around herself before snatching up the closest flower vase, throwing the bouquet of dried wildflowers to the floor (a gift from Anna, many years ago, a thank you for her kindness, her support). She shakily sank to her knees as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the flower vase – barely able to catch her breath during the almost violent upheavals.

When her body was done rejecting the shock and the heaving finally stopped, she leant back against her desk. Her physical reaction to the letter left her drained. She felt tears pressing against her eyelids, but she refused to allow them to fall. She would have to be strong, for Anna, for the family – but most of all for herself. She'd do no one a favour if she fell apart now.

So she squared her shoulders and went about her day. Like any good Housekeeper would.

In the course of the day she found out that she wasn't the only one whom the prosecution had called up for the hearing. Lady Mary and Mr. Bates had also been summoned. The Housekeeper had to admit that she was a bit surprised that Ms. Baxter hadn't been included in the list – but she was glad that the gentle woman would be spared from having to make a statement against her co-worker. Both Lady Mary and Mr. Bates would take a trip to the prison the next day to meet with Anna and discuss an appropriate plan of action. No one had thought to include her.

By the time dinner was served for the servants, Mrs. Hughes was more than ready for the day to be over. Her stomach hadn't fully settled again after this mornings' shock and she wasn't really looking forward to one of Mrs. Patmore's tasty but heavy meals.

She was pleasantly surprised therefore when, instead of the stew the Cook had talked about making for this night's dinner, a terrine of clear broth was put on the table. There were pieces of chicken and vegetables in separate bowls – which could be added if anyone was so inclined. Mrs. Hughes gratefully spooned the clear broth and nibbled on a piece of bread.

She missed the look that passed between Butler and Cook. There was no need for her to know that he had heard her retching, that he had waited in front of her room, listening for any sounds of distress coming from her parlour. There was no need for her to know that it had torn at his heart to listen to her physical reaction to the shock – that it had hurt him even more that he had found himself rooted to the spot, unable to go inside, unsure whether she'd appreciate his intrusion at that moment.

So all he had been able to do was seek out the Cook and ask for a dinner that would help settle an upset stomach, or at least not aggravate it further. Mrs. Patmore had agreed quickly, no questions asked and he had been grateful for the Cook's support.

He hated that he had to resort to these kinds of measures again – operating in the background because he was unsure of how much involvement of his she would allow, how much she would allow herself to rely on him this time. With a heavy heart he realized that he only had himself to blame for that. But she wouldn't be alone in this; he would make sure of that. Even if it meant going behind her back again.

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