A/N hmpf. This was not easy to write. So forgive me if this chapter is stupid and the phrases do not make any sense. I was thinking in German too much :).

Thanks again for your lovely reviews. Especially onesimus! 3

Enjoy reading - the characters are not mine, they were invented by someone called Fellowes and they live in my TV (and in my head).

He could not let her stand there in the middle of the room and cry. A few years ago this might not have affected him he thought for a brief moment, but then banished this assumption right away. No, he had to be honest with himself, had to acknowledge that he had never been able to ignore it when she cried. What made tonight different in comparison to those other moments, when she was more herself and not the strict housekeeper, mainly in the evenings when they shared a glass of wine or some tea, was that he had always managed to suppress the impulse to reach out, touch her, comfort her. But tonight he could not. No one should be left alone with ones grief. And he was sure that it had not been his untimely comment that had caused her distress, but their mutual grief for Lady Sybil. It had taken him a moment to realize this but when he had understood the situation he had to act immediately, without hesitation. Otherwise he would have missed his chance, again.

I guess you never wasted a chance.

If she only knew how many he had let slip away over the years.

He was not entirely sure what made him do it, embrace her, calm her down, even escort her to her bedroom. Perhaps it was the fact that for once he knew exactly how she felt, was not afraid of making a mistake, a wrong move she could misunderstand. Charles did not think. He simply acted. This was something rare, unusual for him, just like this whole day with all those revisited memories, the stories he remembered and told, the uncalled for nostalgia. He had not been himself all day, or was he more himself now than ever before?

Charles had not taken the last step, had not entered her room, instead turned around before he could cross the threshold and made his way downstairs quickly, away from the temptation to hold her a while longer than was proper. He downright fled from what he had just experienced, felt the need to get away from it. He had to avoid and ignore all of a sudden what he had enjoyed moments before in the nursery: the feeling of being whole again, of belonging somewhere other than just this house.

Even before he had reached the end of the stairs, he could hear their quiet conversation, no laughter though. Charles straightened his waistcoat and his tie, cleared his throat and then entered the servant's hall. Chairs scraped across the floor when everyone stood up. This was what he was used to, a situation he could handle without even thinking. Being in charge, being the one who made the rules. There was no uncertainty here. He let his gaze wander from face to face and stopped when it reached Thomas.

"What has happened?" Was this the story Elsie Hughes had wanted to tell him=

"He was robbed." Mrs. Patmore stood in the doorway behind him and took the liberty of answering for the underbutler. Tuning around to face her, Charles tried to keep his arising anger in check. Why did this man always get himself into trouble?

"Robbed? I thought you were visiting a simple country fair?"

"Mr. Carson, it is not how you think." Thomas piped up, his voice still slightly slurred because of a swollen lip.

"Well then tell me what I need to know." Impatiently he tapped his fingers on the tabletop while he waited for Thomas's explanation. When it came, Charles swallowed hard. He had not expected something like this. Usually Mr. Barrow was responsible for the trouble he got himself into. But today, perhaps for the first time since Charles knew him, the young man had for once fought for someone else, to keep Jimmy Kent out of trouble.

"I know I should've known better." Thomas cast his eyes down and Charles stopped the fidgeting, looked again at the man.

"You need to rest. Go upstairs and take the rest of the day off and maybe tomorrow too. I make my decision about that in the morning." He could not be angry with him now that he had heard the full story. The bruises and cuts were enough of a punishment and reminder.

"Thank you Mr. Carson."

"Now go before I change my mind."

The others left the servants hall along with Thomas. Only Mrs. Patmore stayed behind, he could see her standing there in the doorway still, looking at him with an expression on her face he was unable to decipher.

"Is there something else I should know?" Although he did not really want to know, was afraid there was more bad news he had to deal with. Elsie's breakdown had already been enough for one day. Adding Thomas, Charles was way beyond what he was usually able to handle. Everything that differed from the normal routine made him nervous. There was no rule for it, nothing could be applied to solve the chaos he felt being trapped in at the moment. With a deep sigh he sat down at the head of the table, waiting for Mrs. Patmore's answer.

"Oh no, it is nothing, really." But he knew there was something wrong. He could read between the lines if he wanted to, more often than he probably ought to.

"When you say it like this there usually is something else wrong, Mrs. Patmore."

She took a chair, sat down next to him on O'Brien's usual spot at the table and began to play with the buttons on her coat. Seeing her so quiet and shy irritated Charles more than he would ever admit in front of her. He simply hoped the cook would tell him what was troubling her now. He did not have the patience to wait for long.

"On the fair I might have witnessed a few things you and Mrs. Hughes should know and take care of." And then she told him what about Mr. Branson and Edna. How they held hands and how this was more of the housemaid's initiative than Mr. Branson's.

"Why didn't you tell me right away instead of…" He could not finish his sentence because suddenly the old Mrs. Patmore was back, matching the tone he had just used, angry and a bit too loud.

"Oh I know what you think of him and how you would've reacted if he were still in this room. But he does not deserve this, Mr. Carson. It is not entirely his fault."

"It never is", he grumbled and was about to reply, when Mrs. Patmore interrupted him again.

"Mrs. Hughes has probably also seen this. You should let her take care of it." Beryl Patmore stood up and made her way towards the open door when she turned around once more, brow furrowed. "Where is she by the way? She only said she'd look for you and I haven't seen her since."

Charles knew that whatever he said, Mrs. Patmore would notice a lie right away. So his only option was to tell the truth, albeit not in detail. As long as he did not fully understand what had happened between them no one lese needed to know.

"She is taking a rest upstairs." At least he hoped she still was in her room.

"I see. Well I'll prepare dinner now. Please let me know when she's downstairs again." She left the servants hall and the room was as suddenly as empty now as it had been all day ling. Charles remained seated, eyes fixed on some distant point in the room in an effort to sort out his thoughts. Mrs. Patmore was right, he had not treated Mr. Branson with the respect the man deserved. And he would have attacked him right away. It was easy for him to look at Miss Sybil, take care of the girl today and not think about her father because he did not see Tom Branson in the toddlers face, only Lady Sybil. He could not deal with this new situation. He had never been confronted with someone who had once been under his jurisdiction and then suddenly ranked above him, not within the downstairs hierarchy but above all of them, in the gentry. Charles had so far always tried to ignore Tom Branson, avoided every close contact with the man because of his own uncertainty. No one needed to know that the butler had lost his self-assurance when it came to Branson. He would ridicule not only his position but also himself. But now that this simple housemaid made advances towards the former chauffeur, Charles was no longer sure if he could continue his avoidance of Branson any longer. Lady Sybil should not be replaced by someone like Edna! Miss Sybil deserved better than this. And he would make this clear now, confront the maid this instant. Charles forcefully pushed back his chair, stood up and was about to go upstairs to find Edna when he saw her standing in the doorway, observing him, a faint smile on her face and a shawl around her shoulders.

"Sometimes I feel like I am their mother", she sighed, pointing towards the kitchen where Daisy and Ivy were giggling over something. "Although I know I am not and never will be." Her smile faded. "It is silly, I know. Forget that."

But he could not, because she was right.

TBC

meh, the ending. I know. Sorry for it.