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Chapter 4

Elsie was lost in reverie. So absorbed was she in blissful musings about Mr. Carson that she failed to hear Mrs. Patmore's knock at her parlor door. She didn't even notice the woman enter and place a tea tray on her table. It wasn't until the cook called, "Mrs. Hughes? Mrs. Hughes!" that she was pulled from her daydream.

"Oh! Hello, Mrs. Patmore. I'm sorry. I didn't hear you. I'm afraid you've caught me woolgathering," Elsie admitted. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, you can sit with me and have some tea and tell me exactly what is going on with you and Mr. Carson, that's what!" said Mrs. Patmore, sitting down and making herself comfortable.

"Why, I'm sure I don't know what you mean," the housekeeper said, biting back a grin and joining her friend at the table.

"I'll have none of that, now, Mrs. Hughes! I do have eyes, you know, and they work just fine now. I've seen the two of you this morning. Mr. Carson hasn't been this happy since the day I told him you were well! Yesterday he was bumbling about, mad as the Hatter, and today he's grinning like the Cheshire Cat! There's only one reason that man would be so happy, and she's sitting right here in front of me!" the cook observed as she poured them both some tea. "And if you're not looking a bit sparkly-eyed yourself this morning, then I'll need to have my own eyes seen to again! So start talking!"

"Really, Mrs. Patmore, nothing has happened," Elsie insisted, fighting against the color that she knew must be rising in her cheeks.

"All right, suit yourself. Don't tell me, then," said Mrs. Patmore said, raising her hands in mock surrender and pretending to yield. She took a drink of tea and then proceeded, "I will warn you, however, that I have quite a wild imagination, and I'm fairly certain than what I'm imagining right now is far more sordid than the actual truth. So if you don't tell me otherwise, I'll have no choice but to go on suspecting all sorts of scandalous encounters." The devious cook added as an afterthought, "Unless, of course, you'd like to give me the key to the store cupboard. Because if you were to do that, I think I could imagine something perfectly innocent and let the matter rest."

Elsie knew she was beaten. Very few people could gain the upper hand with the formidable Scottish housekeeper. One of them was the man they were presently discussing, the other was the woman sitting before her, and the two of them together were responsible for her present discomfiture.

"You think yourself very clever, don't you?" demanded Elsie.

"It's only because I am," quipped Mrs. Patmore with a satisfied smirk.

"Very well. It seems I have no choice ... If you must know, Mr. Carson has asked if he may hold my hand," Elsie revealed, reluctantly.

"And?"

"And I've told him he may."

"And?"

"And he has."

"Good Heavens, woman! What am I going to have to do to drag this story out of you? Perhaps I'll have to go and ask Mr. Barrow. He's sure to know. He's always lurking about at the most inconvenient times. Of course, if Miss O'Brien were still with us, I'd know already."

"Yet another reason to be glad she's left. And if Mr. Barrow's got something to add to what I've already said, then he's made it up, because there's nothing else to tell."

"Nothing else?"

"Last night, Mr. Carson asked if he could hold my hand. I said that he could. He did. And that is the whole story."

"He held your hand?"

"He held my hand."

"And that's all?"

"That is all."

"So let me understand. The two of you lovebirds sat all alone together last night, everything quiet and still, no one about, with a nice bottle of wine, and you were talking … and smiling … and laughing … and … holding hands?! Oh, that's a right Romeo you've got yourself there, Mrs. Hughes!"

"I'm sorry if it's not shocking enough for you. This is Mr. Carson we're talking about."

"You're absolutely right! That is very shocking behavior indeed for Mr. Carson. There's no telling where it might lead. First he's holding your hand, and the next thing you know he'll be whisking you off to some hotel in Malton to have his way with you!"

At that, the two women erupted into a fit of hilarity, giggling like young girls. When they both regained their composure, Mrs. Patmore asked, "But seriously, now. Has he made any declarations? Have you an understanding? What are his intentions? What does it all mean?"

"Steady on, Mrs. Patmore! Don't let's go overboard, now. I'm not sure it means anything. Perhaps it's only that his hands were lonely," Elsie suggested, trying to make light of the situation. Secretly, of course, she wished most ardently that she could ascribe some deeper meaning to Mr. Carson's actions, but she would never say so aloud, even to her trusted friend.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. After noticing Elsie's reaction, Mrs. Patmore called, "Oh, do come in, Mr. Carson. I'm just leaving."

Mr. Carson opened the door and entered, looking puzzled. "I'm curious, Mrs. Patmore, and rather impressed," he said. "How did you know who it was?"

"I didn't," replied the feisty cook, rising to leave and taking the tea tray with her. "But Mrs. Hughes certainly did, and there's no one else whose knock could bring about that smile." She closed the door before either Elsie or Mr. Carson could respond.

The two stood there for a moment, both blushing like naughty school children caught out in some sort of trouble, but then Mr. Carson recovered himself and cleared his throat.

"Yes, right. Well. I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed our, erm ... talk … last night, and I hoped you might be free later this evening. Will you come to my pantry after everyone's gone up?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, I think I can manage that," Elsie answered, trying not to sound too eager, but smiling warmly. "Shall I bring some tea and biscuits?"

"That would be very nice. Thank you," he told her.

"All right," she said. "I'll look forward to it."

"Good. So will I," responded Mr. Carson, returning her smile. "Until later, then."