"Mrs. Bute!" Mrs. Patmore called from the kitchen.
"Yes, Mrs. Patmore?" the housekeeper answered, stopping her progress down the corridor to meet the cook in the kitchen doorway.
"Mrs. Bute, I am beginning to think that you will have to speak to Mr. Carson after all." Mrs. Patmore was more than usually red in the face. "I don't know what's got into him."
"He was rather short with everyone at tea today, wasn't he?"
"And that's not all! Not a quarter of an hour ago he came into my kitchen - my kitchen! - and gave a mighty scold to each of my kitchen maids."
Mrs. Bute was puzzled. "Whatever for?"
"For everything and nothing. The man doesn't know his way around a kitchen aside of being able to put a kettle on to boil, but still he comes into my kitchen and starts frightening my poor girls to death. Susan's apron had a stray thread that needed trimming. Lizzy was slouching. Kate's hair is too curly. I thought he was about to start on me, but he left before he could discover that my shoes needed polishing or that one of my ears is slightly smaller than the other!" Mrs. Patmore was furious.
"What on earth?"
"I've never seen Mr. Carson like this, Mrs. Bute, and I have known him for decades. Something has got to be wrong. If he keeps it up, well, I'm not sure what I'll do to him, but it won't be pretty. It was at least five minutes before my girls stopped crying."
"Good Lord," Mrs. Bute replied. "You're right. I'll take him some tea tonight and see if I can't coax it out of him."
"Let's just hope we can all survive through dinner with our heads still attached to our bodies!"
Mrs. Bute chuckled lightly and was about to move on when Mr. Carson rounded the corner. "Mrs. Bute, Mrs. Patmore." He spoke quietly, gesturing for the two women to approach him. They exchanged a quick glance and stepped forward to where Mr. Carson stood, away from the doorway.
"I don't like to have to speak this way to two people who should be my equals more than my subordinates, but I really must ask you both to stop chatting away in the halls as though there's nothing to do. I don't see how this house can be properly run if even the senior staff behave as though they are on holiday!"
Neither Mrs. Bute nor Mrs. Patmore responded, both too shocked to speak, but Mr. Carson didn't wait for a reply before marching down the corridor and up the stairs.
"Well, at least he had the courtesy to keep his voice down while we were in view of our subordinates," Mrs. Patmore said sarcastically.
Mrs. Bute only sighed and shook her head. She would have her work cut out for her tonight.
#####
Mr. Carson found himself looking at the postcard in his office again that night, but this time it did not trigger pleasant memories. Instead it made his head ache. He walked to his desk and sat down heavily, massaging his temples.
There was a knock on the door. "Yes?" he responded wearily.
Mrs. Bute entered with a tea tray. "Would you care for some, Mr. Carson? I wanted a cup myself and thought you might like one, too."
"Thank you, Mrs. Bute," he answered, gesturing toward his desk. "I'd like that."
Mrs. Bute poured a cup of tea and waited to see if he would go any further without prompting. She fixed his cup and handed it to him, but he was silent. Once she had prepared her own cup of tea, she sat down in the chair that faced his desk.
"Mr. Carson, are you quite well?" she asked.
"Of course I'm well. What do you mean?" he questioned, his eyebrows drawing together.
"You seem out of sorts today, Mr. Carson."
"Out of sorts?" He was briefly confused, but then seemed to understand. "Perhaps you are referring to the lecture I gave you and Mrs. Patmore earlier today. I apologize for that, Mrs. Bute. I'm not sure what came over me."
Mrs. Bute was now moderately alarmed. Mr. Carson had had sharp words for nearly every member of the staff today, but his weary and apologetic manner now seemed even less like him than his roaring about like an angered bear. She was determined to continue the conversation, however. She steeled herself to tell the usually stone-faced butler outright that he had essentially been terrorizing his staff all day. "Thank you, Mr. Carson, but that is not quite all. I have not been the only victim of your sharp tongue today. In fact, you spoke harshly to almost everyone you encountered downstairs. Mrs. Patmore informs me that you took issue with the hair of one of her maids. Too curly, I understand?"
Mr. Carson rose from his desk and began to pace the floor. "That's not what I said at all," he grunted.
"Well, whatever you did say apparently had the kitchen maids in tears. Mrs. Patmore told me it was at least five minutes before she could get a coherent word out of any of them."
His pacing slowed, but continued. "I'm sorry to hear it. I certainly didn't mean to make them cry." He sighed heavily.
"Can I help, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Bute asked him gently.
"Oh, I doubt it," he answered dismissively.
"What's happened? Are you ill?" Mrs. Bute didn't really think he was ill, but she wasn't about to come right out and ask him if he'd quarrelled with Mrs. Hughes.
"No, not ill." He sighed again. "Only I-" He stopped himself here, uncertain how to continue. Mrs. Bute waited patiently. "I fear I may have offended a friend of mine."
"But nothing that can't be forgiven, surely."
"I don't know," Mr. Carson answered. "I wrote a letter, you see. I meant no harm by it, but as soon as I had sent it I could perceive just how very insulting it was."
Mrs. Bute tried not to smile. "Can you not find a way to undo your words, then?"
"I'm afraid the letter is gone; there is no retrieving it. My friend will receive it."
"Then write another, Mr. Carson. Tell your friend how sorry you are and send it as soon as you can. I am sure she will forgive you."
"What do you mean she?" Mr. Carson asked, looking suspiciously at Mrs. Bute.
The housekeeper thought fast, looking for a way to cover her slip. "Or he, Mr. Carson. I only say 'she' because I had something like this happen with my sister last summer."
"And she forgave you? When you wrote a second letter?"
"Of course she did. There's no one I'm closer to in all the world than my sister. We couldn't stay at odds for long."
Mr. Carson nodded slowly. "Thank you, Mrs. Bute. I shall do as you say."
"I hope it will make you feel better," she replied. "I am sure you've said nothing unforgivable, Mr. Carson, even if you have hurt or offended your friend."
"I hope you are right," Mr. Carson murmured, taking his cup of tea and sipping at it, his mind now several hundred miles away. Mrs. Bute felt she'd done as much as she could and bid him a quiet good night. Once he had drained his cup, his mind was back in its proper place and he took out pen and paper to write.
To be continued...
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