"Morning post, Mr. Carson," James handed a stack of letters to the butler and went to the servants' hall where breakfast would be served shortly.

"Thank you, James." Mr. Carson flipped through the letters and was gratified to see another from Mrs. Hughes, which he slipped in his pocket. Whenever he received a letter from her, he wanted to tear it open and devour its contents immediately, but as that was not an option open to him, he savored the anticipation of whatever hour of the day he could privately read it. Sometimes he didn't have to wait long, and sometimes he had to wait all day, but no matter how long, it was always worth the wait.

Dear Mr. Carson,

Very well, I accept that you were never upset with me. If you say it is so, then it must be, for I know you to be an honest man. I was angry with you for a short time, as I have mentioned, but now that we have determined these things, let us speak no more about them and be friends.

I am glad that you found time to visit Westminster Abbey after you had to give up that plan in favor of a day by the sea. Someday you must tell me all about it, whether or not I ever visit it. I'm sure hearing everything you can tell me about the place would be nearly as good as going there myself.

Your account of sightseeing on your own has made me think of something I have often wondered. Do you ever feel lonely, Mr. Carson? There are times when I do. It seems odd that in my position I could ever feel lonely, constantly surrounded by people as I am, but I do believe it is possible to feel alone in a crowd. Perhaps you prefer a life lived alone, in a way. Or perhaps you do not feel lonely as I occasionally do. I wonder if I am perhaps alone even in my loneliness. I am not unhappy, though, and there are still times when I wish for a moment of solitude, when I could be sure I was not about to hear a knock on my door and be needed to handle some crisis. Being needed is, I suppose, some consolation to me, but it does not prevent that loneliness from creeping in at times. I should like to know your thoughts on the subject.

I am sorry this letter must be so short, but I have a thousand things to do. I prefer to send a short letter, rather than none at all. I return my good wishes to Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bute, and of course to you. Thank you for being such a faithful correspondent.

Sincerely,

E. Hughes

#####

Mrs. Bute sat at her desk working on some accounts when she heard a knock and Mrs. Patmore peeked around her door. "Might I have a word, Mrs. Bute?"

"Of course," the housekeeper said. "How can I help?"

Mrs. Patmore came inside and closed the door. "You've already done a great deal, Mrs. Bute, and no mistake!" she answered, taking a chair. "I don't know how you've done it, but Mr. Carson is quite a changed man."

"I can't take credit for that, Mrs. Patmore."

"Well, it weren't my doing, I know that much. What did you say to him the other night after he'd spent the day scaring the younger staff to death and taking a bite out of the rest?"

"Well, I took him some tea and asked him if he was unwell, since he'd been so out of sorts, and with a little coaxing he told me what was wrong. It turned out he was upset because he'd written and sent a letter to a friend and then regretted it, because he was afraid it would hurt his friend."

"Oh, I see." Mrs. Patmore nodded. "And what did you say to him?"

"I suggested he write an apology to his friend and send it as soon as he could. He said he would take my advice, and I think it must have worked."

Mrs. Patmore eyed the housekeeper shrewdly. "Did he tell you who this friend was?"

Mrs. Bute shook her head. "He did not, although I could make a guess."

"Mrs. Bute, I think you can be trusted to hold your tongue when it's needed."

"I certainly hope so, Mrs. Patmore." Mrs. Bute waited for Mrs. Patmore to continue.

"I know you didn't speak to her for very long before she went back to Yorkshire, but what did you think of our Mrs. Hughes?"

Mrs. Bute smiled. "I liked her very much, Mrs. Patmore. I can see why she's both well-respected and well-liked."

"Perhaps especially by the person we've just been talking of?"

"Do you think so, Mrs. Patmore? Because I've had a few suspicions, but I don't know either of them nearly as well as you do."

"What is it exactly that you suspect, Mrs. Bute? Because I'll not hear a word of slander against my friends."

Mrs. Bute shook her head. "You'll hear nothing of the sort from me."

"Why don't you tell me what you've seen or heard that's interesting and we'll go from there."

"All right, Mrs. Patmore. Chances are you will know it all already; not much gets past you."

"Perhaps not, but when I'm in the kitchen all day I can't see some of the things you can. So tell me what our Mr. Carson's been up to that seems odd."

"Well, the first thing that seemed strange to me was that he saw Mr. Branson off himself when he left London, and had me join him."

"That is odd. I shouldn't have thought he would consider Mr. Branson worth seeing off at all, let alone by both the butler and the housekeeper."

When the time came for the party to depart, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Bute were present to see them off. They exchanged a few ordinary goodbyes and Mr. Carson closed the door for Mr. Branson while Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Molesley went round to the other side and got in the front with the driver. The cab drove away and Mr. Carson stood at the gate from the servants' entrance watching the car. Mrs. Bute was halfway down the stairs when she noticed that Mr. Carson was still standing on the pavement, apparently still watching the cab. She had learned to read some of Mr. Carson's movements over the three previous Seasons that she had worked at Grantham House. Mrs. Bute didn't completely understand him, but she liked him, and she had learned some of his ways. She could not see his face, but his arms were at his sides, his fingers tapping against his palms, which she had observed was an indication of nervousness or mild agitation. Mrs. Bute waited a little longer, but at last left Mr. Carson standing alone on the pavement. She had things to do, after all.

Mrs. Patmore nodded in understanding. "Then he wasn't seeing off Mr. Branson. He was seeing off Mrs. Hughes."

"I had only just met her, and knew nothing of the matter, so it was only when a few other things happened that I remembered his watching off the car."

"What other things?"

"Right after she left, do you remember how we talked of his crabby mood? How he was acting just as he usually does right before the family heads back to Yorkshire?"

"I do remember, Mrs. Bute."

"I felt a little presumptuous, having only just met Mrs. Hughes, so I didn't mention the other things to you then, because I thought they might have some other explanation. But it made me wonder if he really goes back to Downton before the rest of you just so he can unpack the heavy luggage."

Mrs. Patmore pondered this. "Well, from what I remember of the Seasons I stayed in Yorkshire, he does take care of the heavy cases right away. And I think he likes to get a jump on things, being there ahead of time. But that doesn't mean he might not have other reasons, I suppose. The two of them did always meet for tea and a long, cozy chat on his first day back."

"He went to the post office the night she left, too," Mrs. Bute added.

"He never did! He always sends James or Mr. Molesley when something needs to be posted."

"Well, I've no proof of what he posted, but he certainly went, and I've noticed he's unusually preoccupied by his letters since I've been back."

"He certainly is, and I've never seen him sequester himself behind that locked door as often as he does now."

"Have you never wondered if there's anything between them, Mrs. Patmore? Ever seen anything to make you think of it?"

"Certainly, I have. They depend on each other, and though they sometimes have spats you wouldn't want to get in the middle of, they're very good friends. But whenever I think I see something more than that, it disappears after a moment and I think I've dreamt it all, until the next time. Still, there always is a next time."

"So, when was the last 'next time'?"

Mrs. Patmore frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean when was the last time you saw something that made you wonder?"

Mrs. Patmore grinned. "Well that one's easy, and I know I didn't imagine it, either. I weren't the only one who saw."

Mrs. Bute's eyes widened. "What was it, then?"

"You know we all went to the seaside just before you got back?"

"Yes, of course. It sounds like the staff enjoyed that little holiday."

"Well, Mrs. Bute, Mrs. Hughes was wading in the shallow water and trying to persuade Mr. Carson to do the same. He had taken off his shoes and rolled up his trousers, but I could see he was resisting getting his feet wet, as you might expect. So Daisy and I were sitting on the beach having a nice chat when I glanced up and there they were, wading into the sea together, holding hands!"

"Mr. Carson? In public? I don't believe it!" Mrs. Bute exclaimed.

"I couldn't believe my eyes, either, but Daisy was looking, too. She was just as surprised as I was, I can tell you."

"Did any of the others see?"

"I don't know. I told Daisy to keep it to herself and she will, but I couldn't tell you if the others saw it. You might ask Anna. She'll have heard anything the others might be saying."

Mrs. Bute shook her head. "Oh, I don't think that will be necessary, but I'll keep it in mind if there's any trouble about it later."

Mrs. Patmore nodded. "So, Mr. Carson was upset because he'd written Mrs. Hughes a letter he thought would upset her?"

"He seemed to think so," Mrs. Bute answered. "Well, he never said it was Mrs. Hughes, of course. That was only my assumption."

"I wonder what he can have written to her that had him tied in such knots!"

Mrs. Bute shook her head. "There's no knowing, but I think he's put things right."

"Better than right, I think, if his visit to the kitchen the next day is any indication," Mrs. Patmore replied. "He came down to compliment us on luncheon and was very kind to my girls. They didn't know quite what to make of it after that tirade of his the other day, but I was right glad to see him acting more like a man and less like an angry bear."

"Indeed," Mrs. Bute agreed. "I am glad I was able to do some good. Now let us hope that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes stay in harmony for the rest of the Season."

#####

The man who had been a bear was at that moment once more locked in his office, writing to Mrs. Hughes. Their previous tradition of each posting a letter once a week had been replaced by a new practice that was less regular, but more satisfying to both. Mr. Carson could not always answer a letter as soon as he received and read it, but he did his best to write as soon as he could find the time. Judging by the frequency of her replies, Mrs. Hughes was doing the same, and with greater success, likely because she was running a relatively quiet Downton Abbey, waiting on two of the least demanding members of the family, while he was still in charge of Grantham House during a busy presentation Season. She certainly had work to do, but she had a little more time to spare for writing letters than he did. Mr. Carson did not begrudge her this extra time; she deserved a rest, and he was glad to receive her frequent letters. He now sat down to reply to her latest. She had surprised him with her frank question, and he had spent the morning thinking of how he would reply. There were times when he waited at table when he was focused on the family's conversation, both because he wished to be ready to take care of any need as it arose and because he liked to stay informed of the goings-on in the house. There were other times when he paid just enough attention to be on hand if he were needed, but otherwise was deep in thought about his own affairs. This morning had been a case of the latter. Mrs. Hughes had asked him a very serious and personal question, and he wanted to give it proper consideration before he answered. He had been a bit embarrassed at first by her question, but he was coming to realize that their friendship was changing, and that if he didn't keep up with her their special bond might be lost. It was a little unsettling, at times even frightening, but he had to admit that it was also at times quite exhilarating. He wasn't sure if he felt less himself or more himself, but he knew absolutely that he felt a certain thrill every time he received one of her letters. He sat down at his desk and wrote.

Dear Mrs. Hughes,

You needn't apologize for the shortness of your letter. I of all people understand the demands on your time. I can't say now whether this letter will be long or short. I believe I have free time enough to write a long letter, but whether or not I will be left to myself remains to be seen.

It is interesting that my account of visiting Westminster Abbey alone led you to muse about loneliness, for I found myself thinking on that very subject as I wandered around London that afternoon. I came to no particular conclusion at the time other than the one I mentioned to you - that I would have liked company when I visited the Abbey. When I received your last letter, I had to think on it again in order to give a proper answer, for I was not sure how to respond at first. The answer to your question, in the end, is yes. I do occasionally feel lonely. When I really think about it, I can see that I am sometimes lonely in London, but never in Yorkshire. Downton is my true home, and when I go to London I leave half my downstairs family behind. Grantham House and London are pleasant, and I have made many happy memories here over the years, but the times I find myself lonely are always when I am in London. I try to focus on keeping busy and on the experiences I will remember fondly in years to come. This Season the highlights of London have probably been my afternoon at Westminster Abbey and the surprise and honor of seeing the Prince of Wales at Lady Rose's ball, not to speak of our little holiday at Brighton. I do well most of the time, but there are still occasional moments of loneliness. So you are not alone in your loneliness. I have chosen the solitary life I lead, and I have always known that this would mean times of loneliness. I accept that I will be alone for the rest of my life, but I am still a man, and we are, all of us, sometimes lonely without companionship. This year the Season was not a lonely one after Mrs. Bute's illness had left us in disarray. You brought Daisy to London, and Ivy and Mr. Barrow followed shortly after. Only the hall boys and the housemaids were missing from my Downton family, so it was much more like being at home. Now that you have taken Mr. Molesley back to Yorkshire, and Daisy and Ivy have gone as well, I may have my lonely moments again.

This feeling of the downstairs staff being a family is likely one of the reasons I resist the idea of retirement. I will lose them if I retire to live alone, away from the house. If I can be lonely at Grantham House with half of my family missing, what will it be like with all of them gone? I would miss them dreadfully.

Thank you for being so prompt with my wine request. I received everything I had asked for, down to the bottle, no doubt due to your careful management and instruction of Mr. Molesley.

As always, I send my best wishes for your health and happiness.

Sincerely,

C. Carson

Mr. Carson felt satisfied with his letter, although it had sent his thoughts along unfamiliar paths. It was exactly as he had written; he was never lonely in Yorkshire, only London. However, the explanation he gave Mrs. Hughes was only a partial one. While it was true that he missed having the whole downstairs family together, he knew that of that family, hers was the company he wished for most. She was his closest friend and although he would not have said he was miserable without her, he simply felt not quite right, in some unidentifiable way, when she wasn't there. He hadn't even known that it was the case until earlier this Season, when he first saw her getting out of the car at Grantham House when she arrived with Lady Edith and Daisy. Even though Mrs. Levinson had just arrived without a maid, at a time when there was no one in the house to receive her, Mr. Carson somehow felt as though a missing piece of a puzzle had been found and put back into place, and that one way or another everything would be fine, and that all of the grand plans for the Season would come off brilliantly. It was true that Grantham House had struggled without Mrs. Bute, but it was more than that. If some other housekeeper had arrived to fill in for Mrs. Bute, he would not have felt that same sense of contentment and security. Now Mrs. Hughes was gone again, and Mr. Carson hadn't felt quite right since the day she left. He missed her company, though he wasn't sure he could ever voice that particular truth to her, in writing or, God forbid, in person. He had danced about it in his letter, talking of his Yorkshire family, and her arrival with Daisy, followed by the others, and he wondered if she would understand what he meant. He wasn't sure he wanted her to understand; he didn't entirely understand it himself. Mr. Carson was grateful to have Mrs. Bute, at least; he liked her, and they got on well together, so he did not have to endure aggravation on top of loneliness. There was no mistaking one thing, however. Mr. Carson wished for the Season to be over as soon as possible so he could return to Downton. His consolation for the family's continued residence in London was his frequent correspondence with Mrs. Hughes.

To be continued...

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