As always, my thanks to chelsie fan.
Overnight the rain had frozen, leaving the ground slick with ice. Mrs. Patmore grumbled as she traversed the treacherous path far more slowly than she would have liked. The things she did for Elsie Hughes. The cook smiled to herself. She knew that she'd come back. She knew it.
Anna greeted her at the front door, and informed the cook that Mrs. Hughes was still sleeping before hurrying off to the Abbey with the hope that she wouldn't be too late to eat breakfast before Lady Mary rung. Mr. Bates had gone ahead early that morning with the message that Mrs. Hughes had indeed returned, and could Mrs. Patmore please she see to her while the Bateses' were busy seeing to their employers. Mrs. Patmore had could not have been more delighted at the news.
"Anybody home?" Mrs. Patmore hollered cheerfully, setting her basket down in the kitchen. She knew perfectly well that Mrs. Hughes was still in bed, but was dying for her to wake up so she might speak with her.
"I said is anybody home?" she called again.
"Mrs. Patmore?" came the bleary reply from the bedroom.
"Why, Elsie Hughes, still in bed?! Lazy bones," laughed the cook.
Mrs. Hughes scrambled out of bed, rubbing her face and trying to get her bearings. She was in the Bateses' cottage; that much she remembered, at least. But she didn't know where anything was. "Mrs. Patmore?" she asked again.
"Calm down. I'm right here," said Mrs. Patmore, giving her friend a great hug. "Am I glad to see you!"
"What time is it?" asked Mrs. Hughes.
"No, 'How are you, Mrs. Patmore?' or, 'It's nice of you to come, Mrs. Patmore,' then?"
"Sorry," said Mrs. Hughes hastily. "How are you? I'm sorry, I'm still half asleep."
"I'm only teasing!" exclaimed Mrs. Patmore. "It's half past eight. Mr. and Mrs. Bates were both needed at the house, so I've brought you some breakfast."
"What about the breakfast at the house?" asked Mrs. Hughes, sitting back down for a moment.
"Oh, Daisy can take care of it by herself," Mrs. Patmore said proudly, "she's more than capable."
"Yes, but if you're here, then there's no senior staff member downstairs," Mrs. Hughes protested. "Surely-"
"Actually, there are two," interrupted Mrs. Patmore. "Mrs. Bute is there now, and Mr. Carson was there when I left."
"What?"
"Come on. We'll find you a proper dress and then you can come to the kitchen so we can have a chat," insisted Mrs. Patmore. "And you can eat some breakfast."
Mrs. Hughes nodded, and a short time later she was sitting in the kitchen, a warm cup of tea in her hands and a pile of toast in front of her. Mrs. Patmore had diligently filled her in on all the household changes since she'd been away, mostly how Mrs. Bute had given her the store cupboard key, a concession which Mrs. Patmore deemed "almost enough to make me like her, but not quite."
"But what is Mr. Carson doing at the house? He told me he'd already retired," Mrs. Hughes said finally, unable to keep the question inside any longer.
"Yes, well, he had, sort of. He just needs to put a few things in order; that's all."
Mrs. Hughes frowned. "What do you mean, 'sort of'? Put what things in order?"
Mrs. Patmore got the impression that she'd just stumbled into a very dangerous area. She took a long swig of her tea, endeavoring to choose her words carefully. "Nothing too big, just finalizing some things with the family. His replacement, and the like," she said airily. Somehow Mrs. Patmore did not think it wise to tell Mrs. Hughes the man was announcing his retirement to the staff at this very moment. Better to let the woman think that it had already happened.
"And who is his replacement? Mr. Barrow?"
"For now," said Mrs. Patmore with a sigh, "but he hasn't officially been given the job. I'm not sure what will happen. These things take time."
"Certainly," said Mrs. Hughes, not sounding entirely convinced. "And how did the Family take the news that Mr. Carson was leaving?"
"Well, I wasn't there, was I?" said Mrs. Patmore defensively. "But I'm sure they were very sad to see him go, and wished him all the best." It couldn't have been a more canned answer if she tried. Mrs. Hughes pursed her lips in frustration. It wasn't like Mrs. Patmore to be so cagy. Something wasn't quite right.
"You're not a very good liar, Mrs. Patmore."
"I haven't the foggiest idea what you mean," said Mrs. Patmore.
"Hello?" Mr. Carson's voice came from the front hall. "Mrs. Patmore? Elsie?"
Mrs. Patmore felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Here's the man himself," she said, getting up to greet him. "You can talk to him."
Mr. Carson strode into the kitchen, pleased to see that breakfast had happened in his absence.
"Good morning, Elsie," he greeted her warmly.
"Good morning, Charles." It was bizarre to use such familiar terms in front of Mrs. Patmore, but she supposed they must get used to it.
Mrs. Patmore stood abruptly. "I was just telling Mrs. Hughes here about how you were tidying up some loose ends at the house," she said, looking pointedly at Mr. Carson. "And about how supportive everyone was back when you announced you were leaving."
Mr. Carson nodded briefly at Mrs. Patmore, indicating that he understood her concern. He just wished she'd been a little subtler. It felt wrong to have such an obvious unspoken conversation right in front of Mrs. Hughes, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Yes, very supportive. Even his Lordship, Elsie. In the end."
"He wasn't happy in the beginning I'll wager," said Mrs. Hughes flatly. "Are you telling me he's come round?"
"He's…gotten used to the idea," said Mr. Carson. Or he was getting used to the idea, now that Mr. Carson had let the man know for certain he was not returning.
"Mr. Branson even helped the footmen and Anna furnish the cottage," added Mrs. Patmore brightly. Mr. Carson shot her a look. No need to lay it on so thick.
"That was kind of him," said Mrs. Hughes, still not entirely unsuspicious. "And the staff, they took it well?"
"They did," said Mr. Carson, glancing at Mrs. Patmore to signal that they actually had. He'd announced it to them not half an hour before, but it seems the rumours in his absence preceded him and no one was truly surprised.
"It's quite the change," said Mrs. Hughes anxiously. Both heads of staff gone together and Mrs. Bute was capable, but not well liked. It didn't seem like a very ideal situation, but she supposed that wasn't her problem anymore.
"Indeed," agreed Mr. Carson. "But one they will adapt to."
"And what of…" - she couldn't bring herself to say "our" quite yet - "the cottage? Might I see it soon?"
"Of course," said Mr. Carson. "There is one other small matter to consider first, which I would like to discuss with you…" he left the words "in private" out as he threw a slightly irritated glance at Mrs. Patmore.
Mrs. Patmore gave a little start as she caught on. "Oh don't mind me," she said quickly. "I should be getting back to the house anyway, or there won't be any luncheon. I'll be by a little later if I can manage it."
"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore," said Mrs. Hughes. "And thank you for the breakfast."
"Not at all," called Mrs. Patmore over her shoulder as she scurried down the hall. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes waited until the cook was out the door before electing to speak.
"So this other matter," began Mrs. Hughes. "I assume you mean our marriage."
"Yes," said Mr. Carson evenly. "Would you care to take a walk?"
"I…all right," she said uncertainly, putting down her now empty teacup.
"Here," he said, offering her his arm. It was chilly outside, but he didn't plan on taking them very far from the house. He helped her into her coat and supplied her with her boots, which she laced herself in silence. She was not entirely sure of the point to this exercise, but if he wanted to take a walk, she would humour him. Donning her hat and the scarf that he insisted upon didn't take long. Mr. Carson pressed her cane into her right hand and took her left arm gently in his.
"Ready?"
She smiled up at him. "Certainly," she said softly.
They made their way down the lane, slowly, for the ice had yet to melt. For a while they just focused on walking, not talking about anything important. It was comfortable; even on the slippery ground, she felt secure between her cane and him. The air was brisk, but not unpleasantly so, as they wandered down the road behind the cottages.
Eventually her curiosity got the better of her. As they reached the top of a gentle hill, they slowed, and she couldn't help but ask. "Charles, are we going anywhere specific?"
The answer was no, he hadn't had a particular place in mind, but he spotted a large yew tree off the road and realized it was the same one that had offered him shelter the night this entire idea had first begun. That was as fitting as anything else, really.
"Just here," he said, guiding her off the road. Do you remember the giant yew tree at the hill just west of the Abbey?"
"Vaguely," she said, frowning. "The huge one that you can see from the house?"
"That's it," he said. "That's where we are."
"Charles, why are we here? To have a discussion of matrimony on a hill?"
He turned to face her, squeezing her hand and she immediately regretted the callousness of her words. "I…well, I just meant-" she stumbled.
"Elsie." His voice was warm and tender. The way he said her name made everything in the world stop for a minute, and it was only him. Him and her.
"Yes. As fate would have it, a discussion of matrimony on a hill," he said seriously. "I never did ask you properly. I know it's… a formality for us, but I thought you deserved a proper proposal. And the chance to change your mind if you want to."
"Go on, then."
He fished around in his pocket for the little pouch he knew was there and drew out a simple silver ring. Taking a calming breath, he knelt. The ground was cold and wet, but he was determined to do this properly. Even if she could not see the gesture, it would have bothered him no end not to make it. He took her hand and gently pressed the ring into it.
What he did not know was that Mrs. Hughes sensed immediately that he was no longer towering over her, but down on bended knee, and it caused her breath to catch in her chest. Hearing his gentle voice only confirmed what she already knew.
"Elsie, I know I can't offer you the kind of life you deserve, but I promise to take care of you - always. You must know that I care for you very deeply. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
Her heart sped up as her fingers closed around the little band of metal. It was just a formality; there was no warning and no reason for the overwhelming fluttery feeling she felt, but it was there anyways. Even just going through the motions, he managed to be terribly romantic. She wondered if he had any idea how happy those words had made her.
"Of course I will, Charles," she said. He breathed an audible sigh of relief as he stood up, and she bit back a laugh. "Did you think I would say no?"
"Well, you could have," he smiled. He took her hand again, suddenly very serious. "You could refuse, Elsie, if you want to. We could arrange something else." It killed him to say it, but he didn't want her to feel pressured into it any more than she probably already was.
"I know that," she said firmly. "But I accept."
"Good." He could have kissed her in delight, but settled for pulling her into a tight hug, relief coursing through his veins.
She chuckled nervously. "Charles, you're squeezing the living daylights out of me."
"Sorry!" he exclaimed, loosening his grip immediately, " I just…"
"I was just worried about dropping this," she explained, holding up the ring. "And, well, breathing." She set her cane aside, leaning it against the tree trunk so she might touch the ring with both hands, exploring the smooth band.
"I'm not sure if it will fit you," he said, taking it from her. "It was my mothers. May I?"
She nodded, and he slipped it onto her finger. "It does, actually," she said, twisting it slightly so it sat more comfortably.
"Saves us having to adjust it, then," he said. "I didn't want to do this sitting in the Bateses' kitchen. I know it doesn't make sense, but I didn't."
"No, I understand." She reached out for him and he took her hand once more. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He noticed her shiver and was reminded of how cold it was outside. "We ought to head back."
Mrs. Hughes nodded, groping around for her cane, which she promptly knocked to the ground. She grumbled, but he bent calmly to pick it up for her. "Not to worry," he told her. "It's nothing of consequence."
He was right; it was nothing worth fussing over, but it irked her anyways. He put it in her hand and she accepted it graciously, before slipping her arm back into his. It's nothing, she told herself. Calm down. It's nothing.
But it was not 'nothing'. None of it was, much as she tried to tell herself otherwise. She swallowed hard and they started to make their way back.
"When?" she asked nonchalantly.
"Tomorrow, if possible. Lady Mary has it all arranged with Mr. Travis - the license and all the rest."
This amused Mrs. Hughes. "Has she now? Good thing I didn't say no."
"Lady Mary was optimistic, and for that I am grateful," said Mr. Carson diplomatically.
"Then so am I," said Mrs. Hughes. "And it means less time of my imposing on poor Anna and Mr. Bates."
"I don't think they mind having you, but yes, that would be good," agreed Mr. Carson.
They walked happily back to the Bateses' cottage, and Mrs. Hughes tried to absorb the fact that in less than twenty-four hours she would be Mrs. Carson. In name only, true, but the idea still warmed her all over. Mrs. Carson. Hadn't she always wanted to one day be Mrs. Carson?
TBC...