As always, my thanks to chelsie fan.

The rest of the day passed quickly, a novelty for Mrs. Hughes, who had become accustomed to the hours dragging recently. Mr. Carson returned from his visit with Mr. Travis to assure her that everything was settled for the next morning; she would spend only one more night in the Bateses' house. Anna had popped in and out so many times Mrs. Hughes could hardly keep track of her. With Lady Mary's permission, nay, insistence, Anna spent the afternoon sorting out plans for the occasion. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes both asserted that there was to be minimal fuss, and Anna was very careful to keep her excitement contained. The wedding would be brief and simple, much as Anna's own had been, though possibly with a few more witnesses than had been present for her and Mr. Bates. Lady Mary at the very least had made herself perfectly clear in regard to one matter: she wasn't to miss it for the world.

Mrs. Hughes spent a short time going through her suitcases – she hadn't really seen fit to unpack properly before – searching for her Sunday clothing. She smiled in satisfaction at being able to tell easily which garments were which. Benefits of a small wardrobe, she supposed. Everything was familiar, though now not by its colour or pattern, but by the shapes or the fabric textures. She laid out her best skirt, shirt, and jacket over a chair so that Anna might press them for tomorrow. The only thing that puzzled her was her scarves: silk, both of them, and precisely the same size, but she knew they were two different patterns. She would have to come up with some way to tell which was which.

"Mrs. Hughes? It's Mrs. Patmore!"

For the second time that day, the cook's voice came piercing through the Bateses' cottage. Absently, Mrs. Hughes thought she was going to have to remind her friend that she was not also deaf. She was unlikely to be successful in changing Mrs. Patmore's behaviour, however; Daisy had tried that appeal frequently over the years, to no avail.

Mrs. Hughes found her way to the doorway of her bedroom and leaned against it, crossing her arms. "It strikes me, Mrs. Patmore, that you don't have to call me Mrs. Hughes anymore. You might call me Elsie."

"Oh, I could never," said Mrs. Patmore, not sounding entirely convinced.

"I insist," replied Mrs. Hughes gently. "Besides, even Mr. Carson calls me Elsie."

Mrs. Patmore gave a snort. "Well, that's quite different, now; isn't it?" she said gleefully.

Mrs. Hughes frowned at the cook's tone. "I don't know what you mean by that."

"That's not what I hear!" said Mrs. Patmore excitedly. Her delight at the news was impossible to contain. "What's this about a wedding then? And where was my invitation? Lost in the mail I suppose?!"

"Mrs. Patmore!" exclaimed Elsie.

"Now, here am I thinkin' my name is now 'Beryl'" corrected Mrs. Patmore, thoroughly amused.

"Beryl!" repeated Mrs. Hughes, her indignation still firmly in place. Mrs. Patmore laughed.

"So, did he tell you that he loves you?"

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "It's not like that." It may have been true that he loved her, in his own specific way. That much, she thought she understood now. But to mistake it for the type of romantic love Mrs. Patmore was insinuating - well, that was a dangerous notion; one that would only lead to her own heartbreak if she were not very careful. He was marrying her out of kindness, out of friendship and obligation, and she was grateful to him, for she thought it far more than she deserved. But Mrs. Patmore didn't understand that; she couldn't possibly. Whatever Mrs. Hughes might secretly desire, she and Mr. Carson simply weren't like that.

"I'd say it is like that! No man does what he did without-"

"Mrs. Pat- Beryl. Please," Mrs. Hughes implored, and Mrs. Patmore's face fell slightly. She had expected to find a joyous Mrs. Hughes, not this serious, anxious one.

Mrs. Hughes lowered her voice. "It's a marriage of convenience and it would be…unwise to think of it any other way."

Mrs. Patmore rolled her eyes. "Well, you're staying and you're getting married tomorrow. Am I allowed to be happy about that much at least?"

Mrs. Hughes finally gave a small smile. "Yes, you are."

"Good," huffed Mrs. Patmore good-naturedly, "because I am." She paused for a moment. "You are going to permit me to come; aren't you?" she said, sounding somewhat hurt.

Mrs. Hughes laughed. "I would be honoured. But it is-"

"Not to be a fuss," droned Mrs. Patmore. "Yes, I got the speech from Anna."

Mrs. Hughes thought Mrs. Patmore sounded rather disappointed, but knew she her next request would cheer her up. "No fuss," she agreed. "But there is something rather important you might do for me - if you're willing?"

The cook was all ears. "Oh?"

"You might help me tomorrow?"

"Getting dressed and the like?"

"I can dress myself now," said Mrs. Hughes, a tinge too defiantly. "But I would rather have…that is to say…"

"Well, spit it out, woman! I haven't got all day!"

Mrs. Patmore had been positively dreadful at asking for anything when her own eyesight had been failing and Mrs. Hughes thought her hypocritical to be so impatient now.

"You might help me get to church," said Mrs. Hughes, "or more specifically… up the aisle of church. If you wouldn't mind."

Mrs. Patmore gaped. "Hold on. You're asking me to give you away?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Technically someone ought to. Marriage of convenience or not, it is the proper way to do it, and I think Mr. Carson would like that. And besides, I'd much rather walk up the aisle with you than alone with this infernal stick!"

Mrs. Patmore made a noise of derision. "Well, now that's a flattering offer if I ever heard one."

Mrs. Hughes faltered somewhat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to suggest-"

"Listen," Mrs. Patmore interrupted. "I would be happy to. To walk you up the aisle, to help you with what ever you need. You only need say."

"Thank you." To her surprise and embarrassment, her lip trembled and she felt overwhelmed by her friend's easy kindness. Mrs. Patmore put a hand on her shoulder.

"What's this?" the cook said soothingly. "There's nothing to be fussin' about. You're marrying Mr. Carson tomorrow, and it will all go fine. Besides, all brides worry the night before their wedding, probably," Mrs. Patmore was blabbering now, but it was comforting nevertheless. "And Elsie Hughes, if you say 'marriage of convenience' one more time, friend or not, I will wash your mouth out with soap!"

Mrs. Patmore did have a flair for the dramatic in these situations, and Mrs. Hughes gave a tight smile. "I'd just rather we not make it into something that it isn't," she explained.

Mrs. Patmore shook her head incredulously. She never had entirely understood if there was an element of romance between the housekeeper and the butler. Just when she was finally sure there must be, they insisted otherwise. Fine. Let them carry on with whatever madness they thought they were engaging in; they were both happier now, at any rate.

"As you wish," said Mrs. Patmore, with an air of disbelief. It was growing late, and Mrs. Patmore needed to be back to the house soon. "I'll be back in the morning to help you get everything sorted," she promised. "And you may have ducked out of a proper wedding breakfast, but don't think there won't be food for at least the two of you afterwards. I don't fancy Mr. Carson a very competent cook!"

"Nor would I be, even at the best of times," Mrs. Hughes smiled sheepishly, "but we'll have to figure out something."

"And you will," Mrs. Patmore assured her. "I best be getting back, but I'll be seeing you tomorrow. Bright and early."

"Of course."

Mrs. Patmore got up to go and Mrs. Hughes listened to her fuss with her coat and her boots by the front door. A sort of guilt washed over her, the same guilt she used to feel after lying to her mother, or whenever she wrote to Lorna claiming she was too busy to visit.

"Wait!" Mrs. Hughes called out.

Mrs. Patmore turned to her friend to find Mrs. Hughes twisting her fingers together in that way she had when sometimes on the verge of confession.

"What is it?"

Mrs. Hughes could see her friend in her mind's eye: impatient, confused, and waiting to find out what possible reason Elsie could have to be holding up her departure. It almost wasn't worth it. Apparently, speaking her heart was never to come easily to Mrs. Hughes, but still she tried.

"Beryl, the stick is not…well it's not why."

"Elsie, I haven't the faintest clue what you're on about."

"The reason I asked you to walk with me … It's not the stick. It's because … well, because I wanted…"

"Because you wanted…?"

"I know it's just-" Mrs. Hughes fumbled for what she wanted to tell her friend. "I know it's not…"

Mrs. Patmore had stopped pulling on her boots and walked back towards Mrs. Hughes, no longer in any great hurry to be back to the Abbey.

Mrs. Hughes thought of her father, long dead now, when he had given Lorna away to be married. She thought of Lorna and Douglas, not capable of taking her in when she'd needed them most. She thought of Martha and David who, she was sure, would always have been more strangers than family to her.

"Beryl, a woman's family should give a bride away, whatever her age, and you are family to me. And that's why I asked you," Mrs. Hughes said finally.

There was a beat, a moment of silence where she felt her words hang in the air between them. When Mrs. Patmore replied, her voice sounded a little muffled with emotion.

"Elsie Hughes, that very well may have been the most sentimental thing I've ever heard you say."

"Well, then don't make me say it again," begged Mrs. Hughes.

"Very well," laughed Mrs. Patmore, pulling her friend into a hug. "You've come back to family, Elsie, not left it."

"Yes," Mrs. Hughes smiled, her cheek still pressed against the cook's scratchy wool coat. "Now, I'm sure you must be getting on."

"Yes, I ought to be," agreed Mrs. Patmore, letting her go. "I'll say goodbye."

"Goodbye, Beryl."

TBC...