"Will you give it a rest, girl?"
The progressing heat was starting to rather irritate Mrs Patmore and Daisy's constant praise of Thomas was not helping matters.
"But he's lovely, Mrs Patmore, do you not think?"
Mrs Patmore clearly saw no other option than to be blunt.
"No I don't," she replied with conviction, "And nor do I think that you flapping round here and blithering on about him is particularly lovely either! Get these drinks to William and tell him to walk them down to the pavilion as quickly as possible. But not to drop any," she added.
Daisy gone, Mrs Patmore turned and rested her back on the stove and put her hand to her brow: the picture of exasperation. Anna giggled.
"Has she still not realised?" she asked.
"What do you think?" Mrs Patmore wanted to know.
Anna smiled, brushing the kitchen table as she did so.
"You'd have thought she would have caught on by now."
Mrs Patmore nodded firmly, turning back around to check on the progress of her many cakes.
"Aye, you would," she consented, "But I'm lucky if I can suggest that his hair looks untidy let alone anything else. I just count it a blessing that we have all of them out from under our feet today."
The men, as Mrs Patmore had said, were rather thin on the ground. This was for a very simple reason: Downton Village were playing cricket at home. Lord Grantham's family were all in attendance- as Anna understood it, young Mr Crawley was quite the star batsman. The male servants were allowed to either attend- if they had not yet had a day off that week- and if they had were allowed to serve refreshments to the spectators. Thus, only the women remained in the servants' quarters that afternoon; none of them having any particular interest in the game and wanting to use their day off more wisely.
Having ascertained that there was no great danger of her baking over-cooking, Mrs Patmore took a chair with decided weariness. Anna, having brushed the table, stood to rest. The cook turned to her.
"What about you and Bates?"
Anna was surprised by that.
"You're as bad as Mrs Hughes, you are," she told her with a smile.
Mrs Patmore seemed to find this very amusing.
"That'll be the day," she replied.
Fortunately, Anna was spared answering by the appearance of Gwen and Miss O'Brien and the return of Daisy carrying several empty plates. Mrs Patmore turned to address them.
"Been down the village, then?" she asked.
"Have I 'eck?" came the reply, "I've been seeing to her Majesty's dress for this evening so as I don't have to do it later."
She took a chair by the cook with her usual down-trodden air of displeasure. Gwen came to stand next to Anna.
"How were they doing?" Anna asked. She knew Gwen, it being her actual day off, had taken a walk to the cricket match for a breath of fresh air.
"Not bad, from what I saw. Young Mr Crawley was still in when I left."
"William said he was doing brilliant," Daisy chimed in from the sink.
This seemed to displease Miss O'Brien.
"He'll have learned to play at the local grammar school, I expect," she concluded, "I can't imagine he went to anywhere proper like his Lordship. You know what his mother said to me the other day?"
"What did Mrs Crawley say to you, Miss O'Brien?"
All were surprised at the sound of Mr Carson's voice from the door. Anna and Gwen instinctively turned to face him as Miss O'Brien and Mrs Patmore both rose.
"Mr Carson," Anna began, "I thought you were in the village. At the cricket, like."
"I was," the butler confirmed, "But I saw fit to return: the game is open and shut and I thought it best to arrive here early to prepare for dinner. It was lucky that I did," he continued turning to Miss O'Brien, "Else I fear Miss O'Brien would have perpetrated near libel on his Lordship's cousins. Miss O'Brien, see that it doesn't happen again, or I shall have to inform Mrs Hughes of it."
He left toward his pantry. Miss O'Brien watched him go with an expression of utter contempt.
"He can tell me all he wants," she told them, "I can say what I like and I flaming well will."
"You were lucky it wasn't Mrs Hughes who caught you," Anna reminded her, "You got off lightly compared to what she'd have given you. He might tell her anyway; he's still shirty with the lot of us after all that with his Lordship's snuff box."
So am I, she privately thought. Miss O'Brien looked even more disgruntled than before.
"I shouldn't be surprised if he did," she replied, her usual air of disdain menacingly flourishing, "In fact I shouldn't be at all surprised if a lot more goes on between them than we get to know about."
"How'd you mean?" asked Gwen.
Miss O'Brien raised an eyebrow and took a drink from the cup of tea that Mrs Patmore had placed in front of her. It was quite clear what she had meant.
"Mrs Hughes!"
She didn't need to turn around, she would know that voice anywhere. Deep, very deep and rumbling. She smiled to herself, it had a wonderful rolling quality to it that she found infinitely relaxing. Heaven help me, she thought, if this man were to ever try to actively seduce me. She was a wreck as it was.
"Mrs Hughes?"
It was then that she realised that she had been so absorbed in her contemplation of his voice that she had forgotten to answer it. She snapped out of her daze.
"I'm sorry, Mr Carson!" she exclaimed, "What was it you wanted?"
He approached her a little further now that he knew she was listening.
"I was wondering if I could have a word with you, Mrs Hughes. In private."
"Certainly you might."
Fortunately they were already next to her sitting room. She opened the door and lead him inside, indicating him towards a seat.
"What was it you want to talk about?"
He shifted uncomfortably. She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Mr Carson?"
"I hope you won't take this the wrong way, Mrs Hughes," he began.
Her curiosity was heightened.
"That depends on what you say. Try me."
She smiled at him to reassure him. He seemed to take heart from it.
"I think we need to be tougher on the staff."
Although the thought had previously crossed her mind at many times she wondered what had prompted him to declare it now.
"Go on."
He shook his head.
"I walked in on Miss O'Brien about to start on the Crawleys, again. You know how her Ladyship reacted the last time. We have to put a stop to talk like that going on."
She nodded firmly.
"What did you say to Miss O'Brien?" she wanted to know.
"Only that I would tell you about it and that she ought not to do it again."
She smiled a little at this naïvety and shook her head a little.
"This is Miss O'Brien that we're dealing with, not Gwen or Daisy," she reminded him, "She'll never listen to something like that, it'll make her worse if anything. I imagine she made a withering comment at your expense the moment you'd gone."
"You are always more lenient male staff," he almost grumbled, "You let my lot off, I let your lot off. What do you think she might have said," he added, in an voice of too casual disinterest.
"What?"
"Miss O'Brien? About me?"
Elsie laughed a little and tried not to do so too bitterly.
"She probably just cast some fickle personal aspersion upon you. And probably me too."
It took both of them a moment to realise what she had said.
"What on earth would give her that idea?" he asked, incredulous.
She tried desperately to sound casual and unconcerned.
"Nothing, nothing at all."
"That can't be the whole story."
For once, and it amazed her to admit it, Mrs Hughes was saying exactly what Anna was thinking. In fact she was so grateful to the housekeeper for doing so that she felt the urge to hug her. Thankfully she did not, she was rooted to the spot and struck dumb. It couldn't be true... it just couldn't be. Mr Bates, her Mr Bates, could not be a thief. She wouldn't believe it, she couldn't.
Mr Carson was talking and Mrs Hughes was looking from him to Bates, her expression agog, her mouth wide open despite all she'd ever said to Anna on the impropriety of such a thing. Why am I thinking of this now?- she wondered. Her brain seemed unable to function clearly. Mr Carson's voice washed over her; she was not taking any of it in. All she could do was stare at Mr Bates, blinking her disbelief.
She wanted nothing more than to shout at him that she refused to believe it, that it could not be true but she couldn't, not in front of Mrs Hughes or Mr Carson. It hit her that he was resigning.
No. Don't leave me, don't you dare leave me.
She hoped that her expression remained more impassive than her mind was. It then occurred to her that at a time like this her facial expression should be the least of her worries. But then, it seemed, she had been in service too long: they had her well trained.
Mr Carson, somehow, was apparently an angel. He did not accept the resignation offered to him, not yet anyway.
The moment that the younger pair left the room, Elsie turned to Charles, her face bearing the same astonishment as it had for the last few minutes. Judging by his face he was just as uneasy about the whole affair as she was. They exchanged a long-suffering look.
"I wish we hadn't agreed to be tougher on them," was all she could think of to say.
He nodded grimly.
"Should I go and see that she goes up now?" she asked him.
He looked up from his desk where he had fallen into a chair.
"Whatever for?" he demanded.
It was amazing, she thought, that he felt the need to ask. She looked for a way to try to put what she had to say in a dignified way.
"She's sure to have followed him," she pointed out.
"And?" he asked, rather flippantly. Then: "I'm sorry, Mrs Hughes. I realise your concern, but could you not cut them a bit of slack? Tonight at least. They should be able to talk to each other."
"If they're allowed to tonight, they'll want to on the next."
"Heavens, Elsie!" he exclaimed, "It's clear even to me that they have some feelings for each other! Can you not, for once, at least try to be understanding?"
He punctuated the word with such vehemence that they stung. She gasped a little. Suddenly she felt like a cold bitter old spinster. That, she reminded herself, was because that's what she was. Charles was looking as if he regretted what he had said.
"That hurt," she told him, trying to repress the choking in her voice.
He rose tentatively.
"I'm sorry," he replied. He looked as if he meant it.
It was all she could do to keep from crying. He patted her gingerly on the shoulder.
"I realise I haven't really made this any easier for you," he conceded, "I can be viscous when I'm overwrought sometimes."
He offered her his handkerchief; she accepted it trying not to do so begrudgingly.
"I'm sorry too," she meant it through the haze of reproach she still felt for his words, "I need to learn when to stop playing the over-bearing matron."
He nodded a little.
"You only want what's best for them," he told her, "As do I."
She blew her nose, hoping that she managed it gracefully, but she had her doubts.
"Except you seem to actually know what's best for them," she pointed out.
With that she felt she could not say anything, her eyes welling up rebelliously. It was with some awkwardness that he drew his arm around her should and held her to him. It only acted to increase her little sobbing gulps. She rested her head on his shirt front to hide the faint scarlet glow caused by their proximity.
Sorry about the delay, I've been away for the weekend; hence the slightly hectic chapter! I'm enjoying writing this and now have an idea(!) of where it is going so I should update soonish. Thank you for your reviews: please leave one if you have got time.