October, 1892

"Elsie! Elsie!"

Mrs. Hughes spun around, her Christian name startling her, as it did these days. She'd been "Mrs. Hughes" for over two years now. Margie was hustling towards her. They were both on the family bedroom level balcony. No one else was in sight, save several footmen in the front hall below. She saw Mr. Carson's imposing form suddenly passed through the front hall in a diagonal below, and she hurriedly shushed her friend.

Margie stifled a giggle, rushed over to her friend. "Pardon me, Mrs. Hughes."

Elsie was surprised at her friend's use of her given name in a public part of the house. Every few days, they would meet in her sitting room and be casual and friendly behind closed doors. It heartened Elsie in a way she couldn't quite explain; she felt more real with Margie than she did with anyone else in the house, even Mr. Carson, whom she grew to like and respect more and more every day.

Then she saw Margie's face.

"Peter's never proposed?" She heard herself, sounding like a school girl with a friend who's been asked to go walking with a farm hand. She collected herself.

"He has, he has!" Margie was nearly jumping up and down.

"Don't be daft, come here," Elsie pulled her into the nearest bedroom, Lady Rosamund's, which was barer than usual given her upcoming nuptials to Marmaduke Painswick. Lady Rosamund had gone to London for the season and hadn't returned with the rest of the family in the summer. Elsie doubted she would ever return to Downton for a long period of time again.

"Now, tell me everything," Elsie knew time was short; tea time was approaching and the ladies were in the drawing room. Nanny was going to bring Misses Mary and Edith down for their daily visit with their mother and grandmother. Visiting your children, how very different the rich are from the rest of us. But never mind that now.

"Well, he caught me earlier, before supper. And, I dunno. I could just see on his face what he was plannin', and I started shouting 'yes' without really thinkin'," Margie was glowing.

"Shouting?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes¸ shouting, but it was in the hall next to the kitchen, so no one paid us any mind," Margie rolled her eyes, then became serious. "Aren't…aren't you happy for me? At all?"

"Yes, yes of course," she took her friend in her arms, hugged her quickly. She was happy for Margie. And Peter. They were so well-suited and they had been so responsible about their courtship: working and saving and planning. But she was melancholy as well. The last person who called her "Elsie" would be leaving Downton.

She pushed her feelings aside; she would sort through them later. She gave her friend a few more joyous, secret minutes in a Lady's bedroom, to convey all of her dreams and plans, which were finally coming true.

oooOOOooo

Charles Carson was furious. He sat behind his desk, watching Peter Donovan's exiting figure. His first footman, a reliable, industrious, pleasant worker, had just given his notice. He hadn't seen it coming. Not in the least. Peter had been here for nearly seven years, climbing the ranks. He was young, well-groomed, and well like by both the staff and the family. No one is irreplaceable, but this might prove difficult, Carson mused. None of the junior footmen were ready to lead. He would have to speak to Lord Grantham and place an advert in the local papers.

He scrubbed his eyes, not sure if he was more angry or disappointed. He felt like Peter was throwing his life away. Why work in a pub or a factory, when you can be at Downton? There was no accounting for sense and loyalty, he supposed.

The triple knock at the door that signified Mrs. Hughes' presence on the other side. He took two small glasses off the sideboard, filled them with sherry.

"Come in!"

"Good evening, Mr. Carson, I am glad you're free, I've news…" she stopped abruptly, studying his face. "Are you quite well, Mr. Carson?" Her face was full of genuine concern that Charles had slowly come to accept, then appreciate, perhaps even rely on, over the past few years. It felt…very different than Mrs. Davis' concern, but not unpleasant. Certainly not inappropriate. He might not say it in so many words aloud, but this woman was his friend. And a valued one, at that.

"I expect I am, Mrs. Hughes, for someone who's been betrayed," he responded, and was shocked when she chuckled in response. "What is so funny, may I ask?" He never thought of her as a callous person.

"I suppose Peter has given his notice, then," she sat, picked up a glass. Took a small sip, nodded in approval. "This is quite good."

"Never mind the drink, you knew he was leaving, and you didn't see fit to share this information with me?" He realized how thunderous his voice had become towards the end of his question. Mrs. Hughes flinched slightly. "I apologize for raising my voice, but I am shocked by your lack of responsibility."

She raised her eyebrows at him. She seemed not put out at all by his harsh words. "Well now, I only became privy to this information after supper, and there was no chance to convey it to you before this very moment. In a way, I am glad Peter was able to speak to you before I did. It shows a real respect for you, the family, and this house. It will be difficult, to be sure, to find replacements for both the first footman and the head housemaid, but I am sure we can manage just-"

"Pardon?! Head housemaid?"

Elsie set her drink on the desk, smoothed her skirts, took a deep breath. "Ah, yes. I thought you were aware of the…relationship…between Margie O'Connell and Peter. They have recently become engaged, though they have been courting for years now, saving as best they could for the future."

"You knew about this? For how long? How much? Why have you never mentioned a word of it to me?" Charles could feel his face getting red. He hadn't felt this angry in a long time. Clearly, no one around here knew the appropriate way to behave. It was deeply disappointing. And infuriating.

"Now see here, Mr. Carson. I did not know all of the intricate details of their plans, but anyone with a pair of eyes and half a brain can see they're mad about each other, and have been for some time," Elsie blurted the words out and almost instantly regretted them. Men's egos are tender, Elsie. And Mr. Carson's especially so, despite outward appearances, Mrs. Davis' words rang in her ears, and felt herself flush. She had just called this man stupid to his face, in so many words. A good man, a generally kind man – but must he be so desperately inflexible?

"Apparently, my half-brain was preoccupied with serving this house and the family we owe our loyalty to," his voice was dangerously quiet, his eyes blazing.

"Mr. Carson, I apologize for what I said. It was expressed poorly, but the intent behind it was sound: it is our job, yours and mine, to see and hear everything we can about the people that work in this house, and to interpret it and intervene when necessary. Our greatest responsibility is to them."

"Indeed it is not, Mrs. Hughes. Our greatest responsibility, as you say, is to Downton, Lord & Lady Grantham and the rest of their honored family. Managing the staff stems from just that primary purpose," he worked hard to keep his voice modulated, but he couldn't quell the distress he was feeling. To think, he thought she knew the shape of her, after four years working together. He thought she was as dedicated as he was. He could hardly grasp the level of his disappointment in this moment.

Elsie Hughes was quiet as the moments stretched to minutes, and as he caught his breath. He gulped his sherry, and felt the weight of their differences of opinion sitting between them. He could see she was thinking, searching for something to say. He was out of words, and was slightly ashamed of that fact.

"Mr. Carson, I think…I think we can view ourselves, you and I, as opposite sides of the same coin. A unit that has little value if split, which must operate as a whole. Perhaps…perhaps it's best for you to pledge your loyalty to the family, to this house. However, I see it differently. I will give the Crawley my industry, my discretion, and my working years. But they do not have my loyalty, first and foremost. The people that keep this house running have my loyalty. Their troubles, their entanglements, their joys and their successes, whether or not those things are directly positive for the Crawley family or not," she shrugged, took another sip of sherry.

Her insides felt agitated, churned around like the washerwoman's daily load. She was learning something new about Mr. Carson, something she didn't particularly like. It was difficult. She had viewed his strictness, up until now, as admirable and a testament to his unflappable character. Now, she wasn't so sure.

Carson was flummoxed by what she was saying. Did she have no fealty, no sense of the order of things? "Mrs. Hughes…while it is admirable regard every person as valuable, I think we can both agree that there are some people who are more important than others, whose worth rises above the rest." He was certain of this. He poured himself another glass of sherry.

"No, Mr. Carson, I cannot say that, with or without conviction, as, in my eyes it's utterly untrue," she still wasn't sure how Margie and Peter leaving had become a great philosophical debate about humanity, but she held on tight to her thoughts, lest they escape her and she lost her words. "I am more joyful for Margie and Peter than I could ever be for Lady Robert and Lady Cora, though at the same time, I believe, with all my heart, each couple deserves as much happiness as chance and God allow," she stood, placed her empty sherry glass on his desk. "I shan't try to convince you otherwise, not now, and perhaps, I never will. But I will say this: I do believe that every living soul in this house right now, like the millions of others around the world, deserve the chance at a good life as much as the next. No one is more, or less, deserving. In that, in our humanity, we are all the same." And she left without a backwards glance.

Charles sat there for quite some time, through two more glasses of sherry and through the ebb and flow of the house bedding down for the evening, until he was certain he was the only one under the roof still awake. As his anger became indignation and settled into resignation and contemplation.

He didn't agree with Elsie Hughes, per se. Certainly not. But something inside of him, something that he had taken for granted as bedrock of his very being, felt like it had shifted. Imperceptibly, but there was movement there. And it terrified him.

He stood, grabbed a candle. Headed towards his quarters and undressed. He climbed into bed, still feeling shook. He stared at the gutting candlelight, at the patterns it made on his wall. He blew it out, blinked in the darkness.

Muttered to himself: "Damned woman."