Mrs. Patmore carried a tea tray down the corridor and knocked briefly before entering Mrs. Bute's office. "I thought some tea and biscuits might be nice," she remarked, smiling. "Chatting can be thirsty work, Mrs. Bute."

Mrs. Bute smiled. "Can it? It seems like it might depend on the subject of the conversation."

"Well, you asked me to come in for a chat, and I can guess who might be the subject of discussion." Mrs. Patmore jerked her head in the direction of Mr. Carson's office. "Trying to figure out what's got into that one is always thirsty work." She set down the tray and closed the door.

Mrs. Bute laughed. "I've never met anyone like him," she admitted. "There are times he is so transparent I don't have to ask a single question, and there are times when nothing he does seems to make any sense."

"That's a pretty good assessment," Mrs. Patmore agreed, sitting down and pouring herself a cup of tea. "So did you want to ask me something specific about him?"

"Well, I am always trying to understand him, but I do see him every day," Mrs. Bute replied, pouring her own cup. "I'm interested in what you can tell me about Mrs. Hughes."

"Because you don't see her every day."

"I've seen her only once, and just for a few hours." Mrs. Bute paused for thought and then shook her head, frowning. "No, this is all wrong."

"What's all wrong?" Mrs. Patmore wanted to know.

"I'm afraid I've become too concerned about something that is none of my business. I can see Mr. Carson's position clearly enough, but I thought if I knew more of how Mrs. Hughes felt I might better decide if I should interfere. I think that's wrong, though. Why shouldn't the poor man be left to himself?"

Mrs. Patmore laughed. "Because left to himself he might not be as happy as he could be with a little help."

Mrs. Bute's eyebrows rose. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not suggesting anything… yet. Except that you tell me what you mean by seeing Mr. Carson's position clearly enough."

Mrs. Bute looked at her companion doubtfully. "You'll think me very presumptuous."

"I'll think you a great tease me if you don't spit it out!"

"Oh, very well," the housekeeper sighed. "It seems obvious that Mr. Carson is in love."

Mrs. Patmore raised her eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, a hundred tiny reasons that mean nothing on their own, but add up to a man in love."

"Well, I don't think you presumptuous. I've told you that I've suspected it for years, though I've never been sure. But you are?"

Mrs. Bute nodded. "He asked me to come to his office the other night and he thanked me for my advice to him about writing to apologize to his friend. He said that he would take care from now on how he wrote letters to his friend, because he would never want to hurt her. And this time he did really say 'her.' Before that it was just 'my friend' this and 'my friend' that. He had the oddest smile on his face, and he wasn't paying me any mind. I left the room without his even noticing. Put that together with all the other things we've talked about and it seems like he's mad for her."

Mrs. Patmore smiled. "So he's finally come to his senses, then?"

"Well, it depends on what you mean by that. I know he loves her, but I'm not altogether sure that he has come to that same conclusion. I suspect he will soon, though. I'm certain he can't deceive himself for much longer."

The cook laughed. "Oh, you might be surprised, Mrs. Bute."

The housekeeper's brows drew together with concern. "But what of Mrs. Hughes?" she asked. "Does she…?"

"I think so, though she'd never say it to me. She does know her own heart, though. She can fool anyone but herself."

"Perhaps it isn't so very wrong to want to help them, then?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Bute. And if you're right about him, it might be best if we did."

"Mrs. Patmore, I have to tell you that although I'm very observant, I'm not really much of a plotter."

"You leave that to me," the cook advised, smiling. "We'll both keep our eyes open and I'll tell you when I need your help."

#####

Dear Mrs. Hughes,

I will accept your help with the price of beef most gratefully. I have spent only a small portion of my adult life out of service, and I am sure things have changed a great deal since I was last responsible for purchasing my own food, aside of a meal at the pub here and there. Charles Carson at the grocer's should be a babe in the wood. I know about the price of wine, but not much beyond. However, I am beginning to suspect that you are trying to push me into retirement so that your own retirement might be more comfortable and entertaining. I don't like to suspect you of anything selfish, but do tell me if my suspicion is anywhere near the truth.

I am happy to have lightened your load by sending Mr. Molesley to Yorkshire with you. It is a small sacrifice to keep Mr. Barrow with me. The house is still so full of the family and the staff that I do not have to have very regular interaction with him. If he were at Downton, he would certainly have a much greater effect on your daily life than he does on mine, so I was glad to do it. Not only that, but I was able to confront him about his behavior toward Mr. Branson. I didn't expect sincere contrition, but Mr. Barrow still managed to shock me with his recalcitrant response. He was so defiant toward me in general and in reference to Mr. Branson specifically that I felt bound to inform his lordship. I doubt this will lead to any change, but I didn't feel I could simply let it pass.

You have told me that I am an honest man, and I ask you now to believe me when I say that Mrs. Bute's observation of a bit of you residing in London even while you were at Downton is no exaggeration. If it makes you feel better to hear it, I am glad, but I hope you will accept my word that what I told you was the truth of it. Somehow you are in two places at once, and I think we are all the better for it.

I am growing weary of the Season, and hope to return to Yorkshire soon, but I don't know if I will get my wish. Lady Rose is as occupied as ever with parties and suitors and visiting nightclubs, Lady Mary hardly less so. His lordship and her ladyship seem content to remain in London as long as it pleases the two young ladies. I believe Isis would prefer to be back in the country, but she has no say in the matter.

Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.

Sincerely,

C. Carson

Mrs. Hughes sighed and smiled as she read the letter a second and then a third time as she lay in bed. It was not a long one, but if someone had asked her why she loved Mr. Carson, many of the reasons she would give could be found on that page. Someone else might not see them, but so many little hidden facets of his character and personality were tucked away between the words and phrases he wrote. It wasn't poetry; it was something infinitely better. Mrs. Hughes had no photograph of him, but in his letters, paper and ink combined to show a good and intelligent man who was her friend, and to whom she was dear. She wished she knew how dear, but she thought she could content herself for now with knowing that he cared for her more than she had realized. She could not be glad that Mr. Carson was weary, but she was pleased that he wanted to return to Downton. She missed him terribly.

To be continued...

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