"You seem rather chipper today, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Edith commented. "Are you glad to be back to just being housekeeper again? Aside of still dressing my hair, that is."

"Yes, I suppose I am," she answered.

"What's that song you're humming?"

Mrs. Hughes had to think for a moment; she hadn't even realized that she was humming. "It's called Three O'Clock in the Morning. That's what time I've been rising every morning, until today."

"That's not what the song is about, though, is it?" Lady Edith asked. "I know I've heard it, too, but I can't quite remember the lyrics."

"It's about waltzing all night with one's sweetheart."

Lady Edith looked remorseful. "So rather the opposite of what you've been doing!"

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "I'm afraid so. No dancing sweetheart for me. But I slept until six today, which was almost as good!"

Lady Edith laughed. "I really am sorry about all the trouble we've caused, Mrs. Hughes."

The housekeeper shook her head. "Nonsense, it wasn't you. A great many things came together all at once to cause trouble. But there's no harm done, milady. I'm back on my feet, frightening my maids and exasperating Mr. Carson."

Lady Edith was surprised. "Exasperating Carson? I thought the two of you got on well together."

"Of course we do. That's just our way. He knows I don't mean anything by my teasing, just as I know he doesn't mean any harm when he scolds me about silly things." Mrs. Hughes didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. She had no idea why she was talking to Lady Edith about these things, and apparently had no control over the words that just seemed to spill out.

"That sounds rather lovely, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Edith replied thoughtfully. "To know you can trust the person you work so closely with."

"It is rather lovely," Mrs. Hughes agreed. "We respect each other, and that's very important in our jobs. I think it could be a real struggle if we didn't."

"It's hard to imagine what that must be like," Lady Edith murmured.

Mrs. Hughes looked at her in the mirror. "I'm sure that's not true, milady," she said gently. "Your parents respect you; your whole family does."

"They wouldn't if they knew everything about me."

Mrs. Hughes stopped arranging Lady Edith's hair and let her hands rest on the young woman's shoulders. "I'm not sure you give them the credit they deserve. Her ladyship is worried about you, milady. That's why she's allowed me to continue dressing your hair. She wants you to be happy, more than anything else."

Lady Edith stiffened. "She's asked you to spy on me," she said flatly.

"No, milady," Mrs. Hughes answered calmly. "In fact she instructed me specifically not to spy on you. She asked me to tell her if you were ill or in danger, but otherwise advised me to keep your confidence."

"I don't understand."

"I think she hopes you will confide in her on your own, milady." Mrs. Hughes returned to her work. Lady Edith did not answer, lost in thought. Mrs. Hughes finished dressing her hair and moved to leave the room. "Will that be all, milady?"

"What? Oh, yes, that will be all. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

#####

"To getting back to normal," Mr. Carson toasted, raising his glass.

"I'll drink to that," Mrs. Hughes agreed, raising her glass, then taking a sip.

"Are you feeling better today?"

"I am," she told him, smiling. "Still a bit tired, but a good night's sleep did me a lot of good."

"I'm glad."

"Mr. Carson, I have some news."

"Oh?" He was curious. "What kind of news?"

"The kind I'd rather you didn't tell anyone yet," Mrs. Hughes replied. "I thought you should be the first to know." Mr. Carson didn't speak, but waited. "I've decided to retire."

"What?" He was taken completely by surprise. "Why?"

"You may be surprised to know that it was something you said that convinced me."

Mr. Carson was dismayed. Her news was upsetting enough, but now to find that he had somehow unknowingly had a hand in her decision troubled him a great deal. "I don't understand."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "It was when you told me last night that I wasn't old. You were quite insistent."

"And that made you decide to retire?" He was completely bewildered.

"It did," she told him. "I was so dreadfully tired that I felt far older than I usually do, and you reminded me that I have plenty of life left in me. But you see, Mr. Carson, I don't want to wait until I'm old and tired to retire. I'd like to have some time left to enjoy myself when I leave service."

"But…"

Mrs. Hughes frowned at him. "Are you all right, Mr. Carson?" she asked. "You don't seem quite yourself."

"I don't want you to go," he blurted out.

"Why not?"

"I'll miss you," he admitted quietly.

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "I'll only be going to a cottage on the estate, not off to Haxby Park or some such."

"What do you mean by that?" Mr. Carson asked, his brows drawing together.

"Come, Mr. Carson, we've been talking about this most of the summer. You can come see me anytime you like. And I'm sure I'll visit the house regularly."

"What did you mean about not going off to Haxby Park?" he wanted to know. "Why should you mention Haxby?"

"It was only five years ago that you planned to leave Downton yourself."

"That was different."

"It certainly was different, Mr. Carson," she replied, becoming a little irritated. "You were going to leave us entirely."

"And I seem to remember you trying to talk me out of it, Mrs. Hughes," he reminded her, his voice rising.

"I was only worried you'd be unhappy at Haxby," she argued.

"And I'm only worried that you will be unhappy away from Downton!" Mr. Carson persisted.

"But I won't be away from Downton!" Mrs. Hughes sighed, exasperated. "Mr. Carson, I'll give you a little time to get used to the idea, but I hope you can eventually be happy for me." She rose from her seat and headed for the door.

"Mrs. Hughes, wait."

"I'm going to bed, Mr. Carson. We can talk about this another time." Mrs. Hughes left the pantry quickly, closing the door behind her.

Mr. Carson took a sip of his wine. Mrs. Hughes's glass was still on the table, only half-finished. How had things so quickly gotten out of hand? Yesterday he had held her in his arms and they had chatted over dinner and now she had left his pantry without even finishing her glass of wine. He had so looked forward to their chat tonight, but he had made her angry and now she was gone. He had been blindsided by her announcement that she would be retiring, but even more surprised by her reference to Haxby Park. He knew he had not reacted well, and he knew he ought to apologize tomorrow, but he was still having some difficulty understanding it all.

Why was it so strange that Mrs. Hughes should wish to retire? Mr. Carson had considered it himself, especially this summer. If he really examined these vague plans and schemes, though, he could see that none of them ever included her leaving Downton first. He had sometimes imagined her taking a few hours out of her day to come take tea with him at his cottage, bringing some treat from Mrs. Patmore and plenty of gossip from the house, but most of the time he imagined them both retired and visiting each other, spending hours in comfortable conversation. His daydreams had recently begun to include visits to a Ripon teashop together, leisurely dinners at her home or his, and sometimes even a goodnight kiss on the cheek.

Mr. Carson scowled. It was really his own fault. He'd allowed himself these daydreams, even considered the possibility that they might marry someday, but it had never occurred to him that he would not be in control of the timing of it all. Mrs. Hughes was an individual with her own will, independent of his plans and imaginings; naturally not all their schemes would coincide. He had previously had the vague intention of eventually retiring, but now that Mrs. Hughes was leaving Downton, would his own plans change? How would they change?

Mr. Carson's head was beginning to ache. There was no point in staying down here any longer. He knew he would have difficulty sleeping, but at least he'd be more comfortable in bed wearing pajamas than sitting in his pantry with his stiff collar digging into his neck. Mr. Carson swallowed the remainder of his wine and was on his way to the pantry door when he had a sudden idea. Another letter. Sometimes he was better at expressing himself in writing than in conversation. He could keep rewriting until his words sounded like what he wanted to say.

#####

A short time later Mr. Carson found himself tiptoeing shoeless down the women's corridor again and sliding a letter under Mrs. Hughes's bedroom door. This time she was already asleep, and she found the letter the next morning.

Dear Mrs. Hughes,

I'd like to apologize for my behavior when you told me of your plans to retire. You surprised me, and I reacted poorly. I hope you will forgive me and give me another chance to be happy for you. I would be honored to be among the earliest to visit you in your new home.

I probably should not make a habit of writing you late-night letters and slipping them under your door, or I will eventually be caught skulking about the women's corridor. I'm not sure if my dignity would survive that. However, if a letter needs to be written and delivered for our friendship to be preserved, it is worth the risk.

Sincerely yours,

C. Carson

Mrs. Hughes read this note when she awoke, and it made her smile. Although it wasn't really necessary, she scribbled a quick reply before going downstairs. It wasn't urgent that he read it immediately, so she left the note on his desk.

To be continued...

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