A/N: Thanks to silhouettedswallow for the beta! :)

I'm BLOWN AWAY by the reviews for this story - thank you, and please continue to send me your thoughts! This chapter, as always, answers some questions but asks others.

I'm almost out of already-written parts, so after the next chapter or two post, this won't be updated daily. But have no fear, I've got it all planned out and would never abandon it unfinished.

xx

CSotA

Two days later, Mary was finally on a train bound for London. She'd been grateful to have been asked to wait the additional day, partly because of appointments she had with two of the tenant farmers but mostly because she wanted a chance to speak to Carson and, presumably, her chances of finding him awake were better today. She also knew the staff were eagerly awaiting any news that she'd have to share, and she felt somewhat responsible for bringing good news back to the entire house. Anna had asked her to pass along everyone's well-wishes if Carson did, in fact, know who they even were. That thought alone clenched her heart, making her more fearful than ever that things would not work out as she hoped. If he knew who they even were … my God.

The news of his accident had horrified Mary, and the quick trip she and Tom had made immediately following the policeman's phone call had been a complete waste of time. She'd arrived that day frustrated and at her wits' end, only to be told there was no news. Upcoming meetings on the estate had meant that neither she nor Tom could stay at Grantham House more than that one night, and they'd made the return trip the next day, exhausted both mentally and physically. The story of Carson's amnesia only made her more wary upon her return this time around, and she spent most of the train ride hoping and praying that she would, in fact, be the 'daughter' whose presence he'd been requesting.

His daughter. The fact was, there were so many moments during her lifetime when Mary felt that Carson should have been her real father – times she had wished for it, in fact. One thing was certain in her mind: for most of her life, he'd treated her with a kindness that she hadn't always deserved. Her memory turned to times when she was a young girl … smart as a whip and bored with the governess, she'd frequently stolen down to the butler's pantry, curled up in his chair, and waited for him to come in and find her. He'd never scolded her for being downstairs even though it was improper, never told her he was too busy, and never sent her back upstairs without a peppermint or two carefully tucked away in her pocket or palm, some warm cocoa in her belly, and his calming and reasonable words floating around in her young mind. Whether she'd been fighting with Edith, worrying about fulfilling her duty to marry well, or – more recently – needing support to get through the loss of her husband, Carson was just always there for her and, sadly, she couldn't say that about Robert.

As the train came to a stop, Mary stood and placed her handbag over her arm. As a porter arrived to help her with her bag she sent a prayer up to Matthew and Sybil, asking for a miracle, desperately hoping that when she arrived at the hospital she would be able to help Carson come back to the world he'd left behind, a world full of people that missed him so very much already.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Charles opened his eyes slowly, vaguely aware of an annoying, sharp feeling in his arm. Turning his head he noticed that the dark-haired nurse was back again.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Carson. I hope you had a peaceful rest," she said with a smile. "I'm giving you a bit of hydration at the moment, but once you're feeling up to it we can get some broth for you."

He nodded, cringing at how awful his head felt. "Thank you," he said simply, his throat feeling as gravelly as his voice sounded. He wondered if the poor nurse had slept at all herself; she seemed to be the only one who ever administered his medication, and he was fairly sure that he was on a strict regimen at the moment.

Train wreck, he remembered. Except that was the point: he didn't remember – they'd had to tell him about it. He started replaying the things he did know just now: in hospital, Dr. Gill was his doctor, his head was throbbing, his name was Charles Carson … He knew he'd asked for his daughter, but she'd not shown up yet. He then recalled that someone was coming today who the doctor thought might be his daughter. Ah, yes … excellent. He had a most uncanny feeling of missing his family without being able to picture who any of them actually were, and it was unnerving him.

Deep breaths, he told himself. The doctor said to take deep, calming breaths. Charles realized he'd had a bit of an episode the other day and had needed to be sedated. When he'd come out of it, the doctor had encouraged him to try and maintain his calm as much as possible. He'd told Charles that his employers had been to visit, had filled in some of his medical history, but Charles was still frustrated at having no clue who they were. They weren't his family, he was quite sure of that, but up until today he'd not laid eyes on any of his visitors. Today would be the true test, and he knew the young lady was due to arrive soon.

Just then, he heard a woman's heeled shoes clicking down the hall, the sound accompanied by the doctor's voice. "Just in here, Milady," he heard. Milady? Now who is THIS?

Charles made to sit up in the bed, and a nurse rushed to his side to move his pillows and adjust the bedframe to make him more comfortable. As he settled back against the rearranged support his eyes met those of his visitor: a tall and slender woman, perhaps thirty years of age, give or take, with an absolutely regal look about her. He had a niggling feeling in his mind that she looked less … cold … than he'd expected upon hearing the 'Milady' uttered by the doctor; at the moment, her face was full of soft kindness.

"Oh, Carson," she whispered, taking a seat in the chair by his bed. "I am so very glad to find you awake and alert." The relief she felt was evident in her face, and she reached out to lay her hand atop his.

"Thank you," he answered, staring rather rudely at her face as he tried desperately to bring to mind who this woman was.

"I'm Mary Crawley, Carson … do you remember knowing me?"

Charles tried valiantly to remember who she was. He did find something familiar about her voice, and had noted the difference in its tone when she spoke to him as opposed to the doctor, as though she were more herself in the chair by the bed than she had been prior to sitting down.

"I'm sorry, Milady. I feel that I should know who you are, but I am afraid that I do not remember." He shook his head, his frustration evident, and he could sense her disappointment immediately. "Not yet, anyhow," he added, feeling a distant desire to comfort her.

"It's alright, Carson," she said softly. "Papa wasn't sure you would, and I was prepared for that. But please know that we are all here for you, for however long it takes. I plan to stay in London temporarily, and the next time I visit perhaps I'll bring some photographs along with me."

He nodded, unsure of what to say. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to see her face in his mind's eye, but to no avail.

"I am truly sorry," he apologized again. "Perhaps tomorrow."

"Perhaps," she replied, gathering her handbag and standing. "I do not wish to tire you out, and I know that you'll have other visitors in the days ahead. Please know we're all rooting for you, Carson. If there is anything you think might help, please just ask someone to be in touch with us."

Charles nodded. "Thank you, Milady. I'm afraid I'm at a loss as to what to say to anyone just now."

She smiled at him and, as she turned away, she caught his whisper, "If only they'd been able to find my real daughter ..."

The words were like a dagger to her heart, and she exited the ward swiftly before her emotions completely overcame her at last.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Over the next two days, Charles slept fitfully. He'd been told he'd had more visitors, and he thought he could recall snippets of conversation from the times when he'd been asleep …

" … whatever will we do, Papa? …"

"I'm not sure, Edith … I'm just not sure."

"Carson? Can you hear me? Please, Carson, try to remember. TRY … just say SOMETHING that will help us … to help YOU …"

"Perhaps we need a doctor who knows what he's actually DOING to see to this … situation …"

"Mama, no … Dr. Gill is an esteemed physician in London … has called in the best specialist he could find … going to be a matter of time …"

Carson was desperate to get to the bottom of all of the mystery floating around in his head. He knew the pain medication that they were giving him was inhibiting his ability to remain awake, but he wasn't willing to give it up just then. His entire body ached; in addition to a concussion he'd also sustained two cracked ribs from his fall.

Dr. Gill poked and prodded in Carson's mind with maddening frequency, questioning and searching with his gentle interrogation, and finally, FINALLY, Carson remembered something else. Once the face appeared in his mind, he couldn't figure out why he'd not remembered it before.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Mary jumped as the telephone rang, its peal echoing throughout the downstairs of Grantham House. She was currently sitting at Carson's desk, jotting down a list full of things that were so bizarre she thought he'd surely remember one of them. Her mother and Rose had left the day before, feeling as though they'd only been in the way once Mary had arrived. Mary wished she hadn't felt the same, but she was really in no mood to share the house with anyone at the moment. A few telephone conversations with Tom had assured that her responsibilities at Downton were being taken care of, so she'd shipped Cora and Rose both home with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to phone as soon as she knew anything helpful.

Mary let one more ring sound, giving herself a chance to steady her voice, and answered the phone. The conversation was brief, and was perhaps one of the oddest ones she'd ever had in her life. Oh, he cannot be serious? Sighing, she thanked the voice at the other end of the line, ended that call, and placed another.

"Mr. Barrow, please find Lady Grantham and put her on the line at once."

"Yes, Milady, right away …"

"Mary? Whatever has happened? Is it Carson?"

"Oh, Mama," Mary sighed, "I think you need to send Mrs. Hughes."

"Mrs. Hughes? But why? Oh, Mary … does Carson remember her? I mean, if he does that's wonderful, of course, but …"

"Mama," Mary cut her off. "Dr. Gill just telephoned. They've been working with Carson a great deal today, trying all sorts of mind association things with him. He finally got fed up with it, evidently, tired of no one knowing who his daughter was."

"And …? Mary, what does this have to do with Mrs. Hughes?" Cora asked, suddenly fearful of what the answer would be.

"Well," sighed Mary, "he told the doctor that perhaps if no one could figure out who his daughter is, they should ask …"

Cora closed her eyes and nodded. "Let me guess," she said, the absurdity and tragedy of the entire situation hitting her once again, "his wife?"

"Precisely, and who else could he possibly have meant, Mama? Please, just have her pack a bag and get herself here as soon as you can spare her. Every hour we lose …" She couldn't finish the thought, and didn't want to distress her mother even further, but the doctor had been quite clear: if there were many more days like they'd just had, days where no progress was being made, then it was quite possible that Carson would remain forever lost to them all.

"Of course. I'll telephone as soon as she's on the train. Chin up, Mary. If anyone can get to the bottom of that man's mind, it's sure to be Mrs. Hughes."

Here's to aussiegirl41 who saw THAT coming a mile away! ;)