As always, my thanks to chelsie fan.
"Mrs. Hughes?"
Mrs. Patmore's voice came from behind the bedroom door that Mrs. Hughes had resisted the urge to slam when she'd fled upstairs. Mrs. Patmore had volunteered to check in on her that evening, after Mr. Carson had broken the news about the housekeeper's imminent departure. Mr. Carson had welcomed the suggestion. If anyone might be able get through to her, it was the blunt, fiery cook.
"Come in, Mrs. Patmore." She'd been lying semi-prone on her bed, but felt obligated to sit up in the presence of company.
Mrs. Patmore entered, bringing with her the vague smell of beef stew and burnt biscuits. There had been no biscuits with dinner. Mrs. Hughes now had a fairly good idea as to why.
"I haven't brought anything, but I could get us a cup of tea if you'd like?"
Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "No, thank you. But do have a seat."
Mrs. Hughes heard the door click, Mrs. Patmore obviously having closed it. The cook collapsed into the lone chair, relieved to finally be off her feet for the day. She regarded the housekeeper carefully, but could not interpret her mood. Her face was blank, almost disinterested.
"So," said Mrs. Patmore to break the silence that made her so uncomfortable.
"So."
"The day after tomorrow then?"
"That's right. Blackpool…or thereabouts."
"If it's a farm they've got, it might be like going home." Mrs. Patmore herself did not sound very convinced, but she was desperate to cling onto something that might make her friend feel better about the way things had turned out.
"I don't imagine things will be anything like when I was a girl at home, farm or not," remarked Mrs. Hughes drily.
"Well, of course not," said Mrs. Patmore. "I was just saying it wouldn't be foreign."
"Everything is foreign. Foreign or gone, Mrs. Patmore." There was a decided lack of sadness as she spoke these words. It was simply an observation.
"But you will get used to it." Mrs. Patmore assured her.
"I suppose I will," agreed Mrs. Hughes. "I'm not dead, I've just changed. Things will sort themselves out." She was trying ever so hard not to be melancholy. Somewhere, buried deep, there was acceptance, but try as she might she could not find it. Not quite yet. But she could pretend in the meantime.
Mrs. Patmore smiled to see a glimmer of the pragmatic woman she knew so well. "I quite agree," she said firmly. "You've put no more thought into the idea of staying here?"
"I wouldn't pretend I haven't thought about it, but this is what I must do." She paused, struggling with the surge of emotion bubbling up inside. "I will miss you, of course," she said quietly. "Very much I should think."
The words were inadequate at expressing the depth of her feeling, which only upset her further. She fumbled around, reaching for her friend's hand. Mrs. Patmore understood and clasped it tightly.
"As I will miss you," said Mrs. Patmore sincerely. "And what…." she trailed off, trying to figure out how to broach this next subject. She knew she was venturing out onto thin ice, but her curiosity was overwhelming. Mrs. Hughes waited patiently for her friend to continue.
"What of Mr. Carson?" the cook finally blurted out.
Mrs. Hughes frowned. "I don't want to talk about Mr. Carson."
"Because he's upset you?" she guessed.
Mrs. Hughes gave a weary sigh. "No. Because there is nothing to say."
"I see." Mrs. Patmore cringed immediately at her choice of words. Mrs. Hughes seemed to sense her discomfort and laughed.
"I'm sorry," muttered Mrs. Patmore quickly. "That was rather-"
"No, no, please," said Mrs. Hughes. "It's fine. Everyone's been dancing around the expression for a week, and I had no idea how to tell them it was all right to say it."
Mrs. Patmore started to laugh herself. "Oh thank goodness! Here I was believing you'd think me most insensitive."
"Not at all," Mrs. Hughes assured her. "And would you tell the rest of them that? It's getting rather annoying."
"Yes, I shall. They are only trying their best."
"I know that. And I'm grateful."
They lapsed into silence and Mrs. Patmore considered asking about Mr. Carson again. From the kitchen she had heard the housekeeper's hasty departure from his pantry and been witness to the forlorn look on his face as she marched up the stairs. Whatever had happened between them was not her business, but she couldn't help being concerned.
Mrs. Hughes frowned at the cook's silence. "What is it?" she said suspiciously.
"What?" said Mrs. Patmore defensively.
"You're brooding. What is it please?"
"Are you quite sure you can't see anything?" Mrs. Patmore quipped, in an effort to distract from her question.
"Quite," said Mrs. Hughes, still intent on what the cook wasn't saying. "You've got something that you want to tell me, or something you are trying very hard not to. I can't decide."
Mrs. Patmore smiled in spite of herself. "You're correct. On both accounts, I'm afraid. If the farm doesn't work out, I recommend a career in mindreading. You can go round with the fair."
Mrs. Hughes scoffed at the suggestion, but a hint of a smile appeared at the corners of her mouth. "Perhaps in another life Mrs. Patmore, but in this one I should like to hear what it is you are so intent on keeping from me."
"I was just…wondering how you felt about leaving certain…people." Mrs. Patmore said cautiously.
She should have suspected as much. Mrs. Hughes thought carefully about her answer, knowing exactly whom they were speaking of, but grateful that they'd avoided his name. "It is always difficult to leave friends behind," she said softly. "Particularly when one didn't think they would ever have to."
It was the admission Mrs. Patmore had been waiting a good many years for, but it didn't bring her much satisfaction now.
"Have you told him that?"
"Why? Either he knows, and saying so will only make our parting more bitter, or he doesn't, in which case it would only confuse him unnecessarily."
"Do you truly think he doesn't know?"
Mrs. Patmore took her silence as an indication that in all likelihood the man did know, even if they'd never spoken outright about it. The cook gave a great sigh. "Do us and yourself a favour, my dear," she said. "Don't leave it on poor terms."
"I-"
"I'll not say any more than that. Just don't leave it in a way you'll regret."
There were a great many interpretations that could be pulled out of that, but Mrs. Hughes knew what the cook was really telling her. She just didn't think she could manage it.
"I'll do my best," she conceded, though what that would be she didn't quite know.
"Good. Now, do you need anything? Before I say goodnight?"
Mrs. Hughes dug her hands underneath the bedclothes to be sure her nightgown was still there. She pulled it free and shook her head. "I'm all set. But thank you, Mrs. Patmore."
"Good night then, Mrs. Hughes."
"Good night."
TBC...