As always, my thanks to chelsie fan.

Dear Lorna,

I hope this finds you well. Please forgive the different handwriting; as you will see, I'm not capable of penning this myself. I'm sorry I'm not writing you with happier news, but circumstance does not allow it. You always teased me about retiring, and it seems that day has come more quickly than either of us expected. My eyesight is failing, or rather it's failed already, and without it I cannot possibly hope to continue on at Downton. While I'm sure they would welcome my staying in the house for a time, I cannot bear to think of living out my retirement here solely on the hospitality of the Crawley family. If you will have me, I should like to come and stay with you. I'm sure there is some small way I could be useful to you and I would delight in hearing your voice again.

Write soon.

Ever your loving sister,

Elsie

Shaking, Mr. Carson put the pen down. It was so much more real on paper. How had life come to this so quickly? He knew her sister was the obvious choice, and it would do her well to be with family at a time like this, but he couldn't stand the idea of losing her. She was a fixture of the house; she was in every nook and cranny. He couldn't imagine life without her.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. Would you send it with the evening post for me?"

He swallowed hard. "Of course, Mrs. Hughes. If you wish to tell the family before the gong, I suggest we go up now."

She had no idea what time it was. The whole day was a slippery, blurry mess. She rose from her chair and hesitated, unsure of precisely where the door was. She had no desire to knock herself on any more rogue pieces of furniture.

"Could you…?" she wasn't sure how to ask for his help. She wasn't even sure precisely what she needed him to do, but she was going to need some sort of guidance if she was to get up the stairs un-bruised.

"Oh…yes, of course," he faltered, not knowing how to act, but very much wanting to be of assistance. Where does one put one's hands in such a situation? He would have happily swung her into his arms and carried her up the stairs if he thought it would do any good. Somehow he doubted that was her wish.

"Just sort of…um…give me your arm, please?" Why on earth was this so awkward? She supposed they'd never walked arm in arm before. She'd held his hand once, but that was at the beach in Brighton, a million miles away from where they were now. Everything had been so easy between them when it was all knowing glances or delightful conversation, but now that there was physical contact involved, they disintegrated into utter discomfiture. They had always happily sidestepped it, content with simply clasping hands in situations of great joy or deep sorrow. Well, there was no getting around it now.

She slipped her arm gingerly into his and they took a few experimental steps. When it became apparent that this arrangement would work, they both relaxed somewhat. It was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant to walk so close together, and after the initial awkwardness faded away Mr. Carson caught himself enjoying having the excuse to touch her. Mrs. Hughes was too focused on preparing her speech in her head to notice how her body pressed against his on the narrow staircase or how he gave her gentle pat on the arm with his free hand. She was unusually nervous and was grateful to have him beside her, ever solid, her support.

She'd walked through the doors to drawing room on thousands of occasions in her time at Downton, so it was not surprising that this time she instinctively tried to scan it as she always had. She hadn't realized quite how automatic the impulse was. If she had been able to see, she would have moved her gaze, right to left, top to bottom throughout the entire space to ensure everything was in order. Now it was all she could do to remember where the furniture was located relative to where she thought she was standing.

A hush fell over the family as they entered, and Mrs. Hughes knew that her eyes must look quite unpleasant to garner such a reaction. She chose her words carefully, but endeavoured to speak quickly, explaining the situation as dryly as possible.

It was a remarkably short conversation, all told, and thoroughly strange from Mrs. Hughes's new perspective. It was difficult to speak to people when you weren't entirely sure where they were.

There had been soft noises of sympathy from the girls and kind words from her Ladyship. As Mrs. Hughes had expected, the offer to allow her to stay was extended, but she politely declined, citing her sister's anticipated care. Lord Grantham, who had remained silent through most of the conversation, deferring to his wife, offered his sincere apologies, which Mrs. Hughes managed to graciously accept.

When it was finished, Mr. Carson took her by the elbow and led her out. Hearing the doors shut behind her caused her to heave a great sigh of relief. It was getting easier to say out loud, but oddly, it didn't make it real. She had the language down, paraphrased from what Dr. Clarkson had told her, but her emotions beyond general anxiety were buried deeper. She would look for them later; at the moment she was exhausted.

"I want to go to bed," she whispered to him. "Would you take me to my room instead?"

"What about dinner?"

She made a face. Food was not appetizing; she just wanted to put her head down on her pillow. "Later," she grumbled, not really meaning it. He accepted her word and guided her upstairs to the servant's wing. They stopped abruptly in the hallway and Mrs. Hughes wasn't quite sure why.

Mr. Carson cleared his throat awkwardly. "Mrs. Hughes…the key."

Of course, the door to the women's side was locked. She felt around her hip for her keys and nimbly slipped them off their chain as she'd done countless times before. Instead of holding them out to him as he had expected her hands clenched around them, unable to let them go.

"Here," he murmured, sensing her reluctance to part with the most tangible aspect of her profession. "You needn't give them up just yet." Carefully, he manipulated her fingers to extend the correct key and he guided her hand to the lock. He steadied her wrist as she turned the key, gratified as the lock clicked and the door swung open.

Upon the threshold of her bedroom she let go of him. "I know my own room Mr. Carson, thank you." He hated to leave her, but she'd left no room for argument. She'd been brave today, he wished he had the courage to tell her that. Instead he gave her a pat on the arm that he hoped was supportive and not patronizing, and with great reluctance, he left her to her own devices.

Alone in her room she managed to find her nightgown without much difficulty. It always lived under her pillow, after all. Haphazardly, she slipped out of her clothing, not caring to unfasten each and every button, even though she was more than capable of doing so. She wanted the warm, safe feeling that would come with disappearing underneath her blankets and blocking out the world.

Sleep would not come, much as she wished it to. She supposed it was still early evening, but it felt like the day had already lasted an eternity. Yesterday seemed miles away. She pulled the blankets tighter around her trying to imagine the scene that was surely unfolding downstairs.

Mr. Carson, with all the gravitas that was due, would declare the he had an announcement to make. He would tell them what had happened, plainly and briefly, she hoped. She could see their faces in her mind's eye: Anna, shocked; Bates, stoic; Thomas, smirking.

Eventually she drifted off to an uneasy sleep only to be awakened several hours later by a knock.

"Mrs. Hughes? I've brought a tray."

It was Anna. When Mrs. Hughes blinked her eyes open, she was alarmed to find her world so much darker than when she'd gone to sleep. Anna pushed her way through the door and light spilled into the room from the hallway. It registered for Mrs. Hughes as a bright smear, and she realized that she had seen only darkness initially because it was dark outside. That was heartening; at least she still perceived something.

"Mrs. Hughes?" Anna set the tray on the side table. "Are you awake?"

"Yes." The housekeeper sat up slowly, trying to get her bearings. "Where…?"

"Here," said Anna, touching her lightly on the shoulder. "I've brought you supper."

"Mr. Carson's told you then?" It was an unnecessary platitude, since surely the girl would not have been sent up without being informed. Still, she'd like to hear that Mr. Carson had dealt with the issue as promised.

"He has," Anna confirmed. "Everyone was very sorry to hear it, Mrs. Hughes."

"I very much doubt everyone was sorry," remarked Mrs. Hughes bitterly, thinking in particular of Thomas.

"Actually," said Anna rather firmly, "we all were. You are well loved downstairs, Mrs. Hughes. Do not think for a moment that this changes that."

She was slightly taken aback by Anna's overly direct manner. "Thank you, Anna." She meant it. There had been no trace of pity in the maid's voice, and for that Mrs. Hughes was exceedingly grateful.

"You're welcome. Now, sit up and have something to eat."

Mrs. Hughes scooted up a little bit, allowing Anna to place the tray over her lap. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten a meal in bed. Perhaps the last time she had been ill? She couldn't even remember when that was.

"Cauliflower, roasted potatoes, and ham tonight," Anna informed her pleasantly. It smelled good and Mrs. Hughes realized she was remarkably hungry. Mrs. Patmore's sandwich had been eons ago.

"Here's your fork," she said, placing utensil in the housekeeper's hand. Carefully, she guided her around the plate. "Ham at twelve o clock, cauliflower at five, and potatoes at eight. If you hold the far side of the plate with your other hand, it may be easier."

Anna seemed entirely unperturbed by the dramatic change in the housekeeper, taking the situation in stride. Her brisk, straightforward approach had come as something of a surprise, and it instilled a sense of calm and confidence in Mrs. Hughes. It struck her, not for the first time, that Anna would make a mighty fine housekeeper.

"You seem rather good at this," remarked Mrs. Hughes, fingering the plate with her free hand.

"My aunt was blind," said Anna mildly. "She lived with us when I was growing up."

"Oh."

"Go on, then," the maid urged. "You'll be fine."

Gingerly Mrs. Hughes poked at her plate, locating each of the dishes in turn and raising the fork to her mouth.

"It's easier than I thought," Mrs. Hughes observed after a few bites.

Anna laughed lightly, "you've been eating with a fork for several decades Mrs. Hughes, without looking or thinking about it, I'm sure."

Mrs. Hughes smiled despite herself. "That, and you cut the ham already. Is there any water?"

"Here," said Anna, handing her the glass. "Half full."

She drank deeply and felt the bed sink as Anna settled herself on the edge of it.

"It's strange to have you watch me eat," said Mrs. Hughes, carefully setting the glass down.

"Because I've never seen you eat before?" her tone was bright, chipper, almost teasing. It was so different from that of everyone else that day. Dr. Clarkson's grave diagnosis, Mrs. Patmore's frenzied reassurance, Mr. Carson's solemn advice. The words of her Ladyship and the girls had been dripping with pity, and Lord Grantham's painfully polite and apologetic. None of it had been much help.

"That's not what I meant," Mrs. Hughes protested, between bites of potato.

Anna's steadfast, lighthearted manner was reassuring, but simultaneously irksome. Didn't she understand how serious this was? What it meant for her? Her life would never be the same again. Didn't that warrant some sort of unhappy emotion? Anna wasn't stupid; she would know perfectly well what this meant for Mrs. Hughes.

"You don't seem particularly put out," Mrs. Hughes commented. "I suppose you think you're in for a promotion." The words had been sharp, sharper than she'd intended not to mention completely unnecessary. The maid's face darkened and she stiffened noticeably.

"I think no such thing Mrs. Hughes," said Anna crossly.

A wave of regret washed over her. Anna hadn't deserved that; especially not after the kindness she'd just shown her.

"Anna, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

She heard Anna sigh. "I know you didn't," Anna said softly.

"Forgive me…I'm just so…I don't know…" she was babbling, flustered, and miserable. Anna put a comforting hand on the older woman's shoulder.

"Mrs. Hughes, I assure you, it's forgotten," said Anna sincerely. "You've had a real shock. I understand."

"That's no excuse-"

"It's forgotten, Mrs. Hughes," Anna repeated. "And I assure you I am quite put out, but I thought you would have had enough of that today."

"And you would be right," said Mrs. Hughes despondently.

"Well, it is to be expected." Seeing that she was finished eating, Anna whisked the tray away, setting it on the nightstand. She could have left; there was plenty to do downstairs, but she thought she'd test the waters before she did. "Mr. Carson is quite upset. He didn't say as much, but I'm certain that he is."

Mrs. Hughes mumbled noncommittally. Thinking about him was surprisingly painful for her. The prospect of leaving him was not at all to her liking. In her private fantasies she'd let herself think that he might retire with her, that she would convince him to settle down somewhere on the estate, and they would walk off into the sunset together. Now, she supposed, it was silly, but it had been a comforting thought for so many years that she'd almost convinced herself it would be true.

Anna regarded the housekeeper carefully, saying nothing. Her reaction confirmed what she had suspected for a good long time. Oh dear, thought Anna, something will have to be done about that.

But not tonight, and not by her. Anna gave the older woman a friendly squeeze on the shoulder and moved to collect the tray. "I'll leave you now, Mrs. Hughes. Sleep well."

"Good night, Anna." Mrs. Hughes sank back into her pillow, her daydreams of Charles Carson still taunting her. It wasn't to be, not now and not ever. It was time for her to accept that.

TBC...