Winter was coming on fast. It would make for very poor travelling conditions, Charles thought with regret. It was a shame all round to be loosing another member of staff, especially young William who was coming along so well. Although she was bearing it fairly well, it was obvious that Daisy was beside herself despite Mrs Patmore's attempts to reassure the poor girl that the Kaiser would be fed up by Christmas and the war would soon be over.
William was the third gone in under two months: Thomas, there was no pretending to miss his good will and cheer about the house but he was an extremely proficient footman, dear Gwen, gone off to be a secretary which she would no doubt do very well at and now William who had joined up to fight for king and country. He would be greatly missed among the servants even discounting Daisy. At the moment he was in the library with his Lordship, no doubt being wished luck for the future. Charles had the most horrible feeling that he was really going to need it.
Charles made his way up the stairs to the servants' bedroom corridor and then towards William's room. He knew who he would find there: Elsie had offered to finish packing William's clothes so that the boy could have his audience with his Lordship, being the only member of female staff permitted to breach the forbidden gate that was the door between men and women's sleeping quarters. Sure enough he found it unlocked and that the key had been moved to the other side of the door. He smiled; she still had her wits about her from the days of Thomas and his trickery and was not willing to let any unscrupulous person lock her in the male sleeping quarters without the key being firmly on the same side as she was.
He passed his own room and reached William's. Before he saw her he could hear her humming as she worked. The door was ajar: he pushed it further open and rested against the frame. She did not have to look up to know that it was him.
"Almost done," she told him, folding the last jumper lying on the bed.
"Anything that I can do?" he asked.
The jumper was pushed down into the small suitcase she was kneeling beside. She nodded.
"Pass me the jacket off the wardrobe," she replied, indicating to it.
He reached up and took the garment down, removing the coat-hanger as he passed it to her. She set about putting it into the suitcase. He sighed and tapped the wire of the hanger against his finger tips. Having folded the blazer she looked up at him, hands resting on her thighs. She did not have to ask what was wrong; the list would have taken hours to get through. The truth was that these days it felt as if the house was falling apart: here was another splendid young person leaving them and what for? Aside from that there was the question of how they at Downton would possibly cope; they were already a housemaid and two footmen down and the war was not yet two months old. It seemed likely that young Mr Crawley would also be leaving them to fight and his mother was talking of joining up to be a nurse. There was of course no question of him himself joining up- not at his age. No he would remain and watch the house crumble.
"It's nothing, Mrs Hughes," he told her in response to her questioning look.
She was not one to be easily fooled. No, erase that, she could read minds. Her shrewd disbelief showed in her face.
"Mr Carson," she told him, eyes fixed upwards upon his face, "We'll manage, I'm not quite sure how but we will. Somehow."
He matched her disbelief with his own. Her spirit was admirable but he just didn't see a way. He gave a sad smile.
"My sister,"she continued, miraculously unfased by his lack of response, "Has a son. He can't fight, he's got breathing problems and so isn't fit. Well, he's just at an age where he's at loss for an occupation. It would do him so much better to be here than stuck in a ghastly factory in Manchester. I could send her a letter. Mr Carson, Charles, if we all pull together we will manage."
He looked at her properly. Her expression was full of such earnestness than he could not but acknowledge the small glimmer of hope that her spirit inspired in him. He gave a curt nod and smiled briefly. He was pleased to see that she smiled back at him and that the look of happiness lingered before she hunched over to close the suitcase.
"Now," she said, suddenly resuming her usual business-like manner, "Help me off this wretched floor before the poor boy gets back and thinks we are trying to burgle him!"
He extended a hand and helped her to her feet. Her hand was tiny in his and rather cold too. She pulled her fingers away from his to brush the dust off her skirts.
"Well, thank you, Mr Carson," she said, a stinted formality threatening for a moment to creep back into her voice.
She placed the suitcase at the foot of the bed and he turned to go.
"Oh and Charles," he noted a second use of his Christian name in the past ten minutes, "We will be all right; just trust me."
She took his hand back into hers and gave it the quickest of squeezes and a nervous smile. With that she left the room, leaving him there standing quite still. Not for the first time in that same ten minutes he found himself believing her.
Thank you for reviewing! Please keep telling me what you think!