When she reached the bottom of the grand staircase, Mrs. Hughes was surprised by a flash of yellow crossing her path. She looked down the corridor and saw Isis, sniffing at the library door. Mrs. Hughes knew that Mr. Branson was likely in the library, so she hurried to open the door and let the poor animal through to see her second master. Isis slipped into the room and once Mrs. Hughes heard Mr. Branson greeting the dog, she closed the door, smiling. She wondered why Mr. Carson had not telephoned to tell her that Isis would be brought down from London today, but it wasn't important. What she most wanted to do was go downstairs and find whichever servant he had dispatched to Downton with Isis, and find out whether Mr. Carson had sent a letter with the dog's traveling companion, as he had told her he might.

Mrs. Hughes found the servants' hall deserted, and in the kitchen Ivy was putting a kettle on to boil and Daisy was sitting at the table making a list. Did James simply drop off the dog and walk back to the station? she wondered. It didn't seem likely. She hoped she wouldn't have to spend much time in search of an errant footman. If she didn't find him downstairs, Mrs. Hughes would telephone Mr. Carson and find out whom he had sent. She would be disappointed if the footman had come and gone already, for she had intended to give him a note to take to Mr. Carson when he returned to Grantham House.

Mrs. Hughes went into her sitting room and was rewarded by the discovery of a letter on her desk. It was addressed only with her name; she knew it must be the letter delivered by the missing footman. She opened the envelope and pulled out a very short note from Mr. Carson:

Mrs. Hughes,

Would you care for some tea?

CC

Mrs. Hughes knew immediately that there was no missing footman, but that Mr. Carson had come to Downton himself with Isis. She tried to stay calm, but there was no pretending that she wasn't thrilled to know that he was somewhere in the house. She hadn't thought to see him for several more weeks and now suddenly he was here. Mrs. Hughes put the note in her pocket and left her sitting room to go in search of him. She found him in the first place she looked - his pantry. She didn't knock, but pushed open the door and found him standing with his back to her. She watched him straightening the pictures on the walls.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she said at last, unsuccessfully trying to hide her smile.

Mr. Carson spun around quickly and returned her smile. "I hope so, Mrs. Hughes."

"To answer your question, I would care for some tea," she told him. "Shall I fetch us some?"

Mr. Carson shook his head. "I asked the kitchen to fix us a tray whenever they saw you coming down. Ivy will bring it here in a few minutes." He gestured for her to sit in her usual armchair.

"Well, that's very kind of you, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes sat. "But I'm surprised to see you. When I saw Isis upstairs, I came down here in search of whatever footmen you'd sent from London, but instead found your note and then you."

"I asked Mrs. Bute to telephone you as I was leaving. I'm surprised she did not."

Mrs. Hughes shrugged. "Very likely she did, but no one answered. Either that or one of the staff will give me her message when we sit down to dinner."

"Well, I'm here now, so I don't suppose that matters," he replied, sitting down in the chair facing Mrs. Hughes.

"No," she answered. "No, it doesn't."

There was a knock on the door. "Come in, Ivy," Mr. Carson called out. The kitchen maid set the tea tray down on the table between them and left without a word, closing the door behind her.

Mrs. Hughes poured the tea, and they each set about fixing theirs the way they liked it. They chatted on indifferent subjects - the weather, the train journey, traveling with Isis - but she was more than pleased simply to be in the same room with him, listening to that marvelous voice of his, regardless of what they talked about. When the tea and the chocolate biscuits were gone, Mr. Carson surprised Mrs. Hughes with what seemed to her an unusual suggestion, at least from him.

"Mrs. Hughes, could you spare some time for a walk about the grounds?" he asked. "It is very fine out."

"I believe I can, Mr. Carson," she answered. "But do you not need to get on a train back to London? Or catch up on some of your work here?"

"His lordship told me to enjoy the afternoon in Yorkshire and I intend to take his advice. I'm not to come back until later. As for catching up on work here, that can all wait until I really return."

Mrs. Hughes was taken aback. "Well, that's something I never thought I'd hear you say."

He just chuckled at her shock and rose from his chair. "Shall we?" he asked, opening the pantry door.

Her smile returned and she preceded him out of his pantry and through the back door into the fresh air.

#####

"You really want to know?" Mr. Carson asked doubtfully, as he and Mrs. Hughes strolled beyond the folly. "You don't think it will bore you?"

"Of course I want to know. I'm sure you have many interesting things to tell."

"Well, all right," he acquiesced. "But you must forgive me if I don't remember everything."

"And just how do you think I'll even know if you've forgotten something, when I know next to nothing myself?"

Mr. Carson gave a little nod. "Very well," he began. "Westminster Abbey is quite beautiful, Mrs. Hughes. But to me a place often seems even more beautiful when I know its history. For instance, did you know that construction began in the 11th century?"

"I knew it was quite old, Mr. Carson, but I wasn't aware of exactly when it was built."

"What's also interesting is that the Westminster Abbey that stands in London today is not the first Westminster Abbey to be built. In the 13th century, Henry III pulled down the original to start construction in the newer Gothic style. He didn't live to see it completed, though it was finished eventually. Since then, there have been several additions."

"And of course that's where English kings and queens are always crowned," Mrs. Hughes put in.

"Yes," Mr. Carson agreed. "In fact, every coronation since 1066 has occurred at Westminster Abbey."

"What's your favorite thing about the place, Mr. Carson?" she asked.

"The Lady Chapel," he answered without hesitation. "Because of the ceiling."

"What's so special about the ceiling?"

"I've never seen anything like it. I'm not sure if I can do it justice with a description, but it looks rather like lace. I suppose it's all made of stone just like the walls and the arches, but the ceiling is very delicate compared to the rest of the place."

"Lace made of stone - how very interesting!" Mrs. Hughes was fascinated.

"I think they call it a 'fan-vaulted roof,' but I'm not sure that adequately describes it either."

"It sounds exquisite," she murmured. "Perhaps I will take your advice and visit London with my sister."

Mr. Carson smiled. "You should."

Mrs. Hughes wanted to know more. "What else can you tell me about Westminster Abbey?"

"That it is always changing. I believe this is common among these great churches all over Europe. I suspect the place will never truly be complete," Mr. Carson told her. "In fact, two of the bells were recast just a few years ago. At the end of the War they were in such poor condition they almost couldn't be rung, so they had to be replaced. The largest bell in the tower weighs two or three thousand pounds."

"Goodness!"

"And not much, if any, of the glass in the windows is original. Much of it was replaced in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries."

"And perhaps in our lifetimes something else will be changed or added?" she suggested. Mr. Carson nodded. "It sounds almost like a living thing, rather than just a building made of stone and metal and glass," Mrs. Hughes remarked.

Mr. Carson was much struck by her observation. "Yes, you're exactly right." After a moment he chuckled.

"What's so funny?" she wanted to know.

"You'll laugh at me, but I was going to say that it's a little like Downton Abbey - more than just a building."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Well, yes, I might laugh a little. But tell me what you mean."

"At Downton it's different. It's not any new pieces added to the architecture of the place that make it alive; it's the people here." Mr. Carson looked down at her. "And I don't mean just the Crawley family."

Mrs. Hughes was caught for a moment in his serious gaze, but she looked away, suddenly overwhelmed by him. "I'm glad. I should hate for you to leave the staff out of your assessment of a living, breathing Downton Abbey."

"How could I? Every person who lives here is important." Mr. Carson smiled. "Even the ones I don't like."

Mrs. Hughes laughed. "Well, I'm very pleased with your description of Westminster Abbey. Some other time you can tell me about the Crystal Palace or Madame Tussaud's."

"I will," he assented. "And I will also remind you, when you are fatigued by my dull stories about those sights, that you asked for them."

She laughed again. "I'm sure you could never bore me, Mr. Carson."

"Is that a challenge?" he jested.

"No," she murmured, turning serious. "It's a compliment."

"Thank you," Mr. Carson answered quietly. He didn't know what else to say and they walked on for some time in silence. When he finally spoke, his question surprised them both. "Mrs. Hughes, would you walk with me to the station?"

"Yes, I should have enough time for that," Mrs. Hughes replied, smiling up at him.

To be continued...

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