Seven:
Looking Up
She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake. "Miss Hughes? Miss Hughes…"
Oh, how her head ached! She had sat down in one of the oversized chairs in the library to wait for His and Her Lordship to arrive, and she had fallen asleep, dizzy and nauseated from the blows Mrs. Potter had delivered to her head. She tried to open one eye and merely let out a whimper instead.
"Miss Hughes," Lady Cora said gently, "try to lift your head… Robert, I think we need to send one of the young men out to fetch the doctor. Setting a broken arm is one thing, but this – I think she may have a concussion."
"M'lady, you shouldn't be worried about me," Elsie slurred, knowing that her brogue and her pain and fatigue would render the words almost unintelligible. "Fiona – is she –"
"Fiona is all right," Lady Cora assured her. "Mr. Carson and Miss Patmore are taking quite good care of her." She paused, gently stroking Elsie's cheek. "And it is our turn to repay your kindness, Miss Hughes."
"It wasn't kindness that made me do it," Elsie admitted, feeling sadder, smaller, and more alone than she'd ever felt before. "I was selfish; I wanted to be the one that protected her. I feel like… like I've become important to Fiona and – and – I love her like she were one of my own wee bairns."
"You have children?" Lady Cora asked, surprised.
Elsie blinked her good eye, then breathed, "Not anymore. Maybe not really before."
"I don't understand," Lady Cora murmured.
"None of them lived past a year," Elsie mumbled. "It broke my Joe and it tore me apart."
"Where is Mr. Hughes?" Lady Cora asked gently.
"Mr. Burns," Elsie corrected softly, "is in the ground. And I am alone now, for always." She sat up and pressed the palm of her hand to her temple, exhaling weakly. "My head is pounding."
"I shouldn't wonder why," Lord Robert said firmly. "You look like you took a few good blows, Miss Hughes – can you stand?"
"No, I don't think I should try," Elsie whispered.
"Then rest where you are," Lord Robert invited. "Mrs. Potter has been released from service to our household without reference. Mr. Jenkyns will be leaving our employ shortly. I have a replacement for the butler chosen already, but the housekeeper's position will be rather more difficult to fill."
"No, Robert, it will be quite easy to fill," Lady Cora said. "Miss Hughes, I should like it very much if you were to take the keys to the house. You will, of course, receive a pay rise, and an allowance for two new dresses per year, as the housekeeper is meant to take charge of her own wardrobe."
"M'lady, I'm only twenty-nine," Elsie protested quietly. "I've not had the experience –"
"You will learn," Lady Cora said. "Besides, there is no one else I would trust."
Elsie hesitated a moment, then exhaled. "I… you want me to be housekeeper."
"It's what Mrs. Burke intended you to be trained for," Lady Cora said gently. "She and I discussed it; she was to hire you to be her replacement, and Potter was never meant to take over." She paused. "You did know that Mrs. Burke was Mr. Carson's mother, didn't you?"
"No," Elsie whispered, "no, I didn't know that – "
"She always wanted what was best for everyone, upstairs and downstairs, and we were better for having known her," Lord Robert commented. "We were all at her funeral."
Elsie swallowed hard. "Then I will endeavor to be as she was, and please you all," she said quietly. "I shall try."
"Good," Lord Robert said. "Very good indeed, Mrs. Hughes." He handed her a chatelaine, keys and rings and all sorts of things tumbling from the clip on chains. "This is to be yours, then. Guard it with your life."
She blinked and felt the heavy weight in her hands. "My life is worth far less than the keys on this ring," she said softly.
"Your life is worth far more than any of this," Lady Cora said sharply. "Any of it."
But Elsie didn't know that for certain.
There was a knock on the door. Beryl opened it quickly and took a step back. "M'lady," she said quickly, "what are you doing up here?"
"Miss Hughes has been seen by the doctor. She will be right as rain in a few days," Lady Cora said with a small smile. She glanced past the woman and into the room, where Charles was sitting on one of the beds, holding Fiona. Genvieve had gone to another room for the night, leaving Charles and Beryl to talk and imbibe a little whiskey as they waited for news. "She wanted me to come and check on Fiona."
"Fiona is asleep," Charles said. "But she will be pleased that Miss Hughes is still here."
"Of course she is," Lady Cora said.
"M'lady, what about Mrs. Potter?" Beryl asked, hesitantly.
"She is gone, for good," Lady Cora said in a firm but kind tone. "And the first thing Miss Hughes did was ask me to officially promote you to assistant cook, Miss Patmore. Which should have been done years ago, honestly, so it is no issue at all. Your new position will begin in a few days."
"Congratulations, Beryl," Charles said.
Beryl was surprised; she didn't think the head housemaid cared enough about her one way or the other to even know that she'd been held back in the first place. "Thank you, m'lady –"
"Thank Miss Hughes," Lady Cora said with a smile on her lips. "Tomorrow. Right now, she's under strict orders from Dr. James to rest."
"May I take Fiona back to her room?" Charles asked. "She had an awful time going to sleep without her doll and the blanket my mother made for her."
"Yes, of course," Lady Cora said. "I just wanted to –"
"You need your rest, m'lady," Beryl said. "Charlie and me, we'll handle things now."
"Yes, of course you will," Lady Cora said with a small smile. "Thank you, Miss Patmore, Mr. Carson."
Beryl left him at the doorway; she had only come along with the candle so he could see in the darkness as he carried Fiona. Charles knew that Miss Hughes would still have a candle burning in the room she shared with his daughter, at least for a few more minutes. He knew her well enough to know that she would not sleep well until the 'wee lass' was tucked in properly.
He moved through the flickering candlelight to lay Fiona in her bed, ignoring the chaos around the room from the fight earlier in the night, knowing it did no good to try to contemplate it in the dark of night. He didn't want to think of either Fiona or Elsie – dear god, he could not call her by her Christian name in public or people would think the most awful things of them – being caught up in such a horrible thing, but it had been so, and it would hurt him deeply to think of it.
"Mr. Carson," Miss Hughes said softly from her bed, "thank you for bringing her home… I know it's late."
He straightened up, his back protesting a bit; he was not used to carrying Fiona for any length of time anymore, and it made him twinge. "I did not want to inconvenience Beryl any longer tonight," he said gruffly as he turned to look at her.
Even in the flickering candlelight, she looked a fright. His heart beat faster in panic, knowing that she was in pain and god, she looked like she had – He swallowed hard, pushing back his emotions so she could not see them.
Miss Hughes glanced over at Fiona and said, "I care for your daughter very deeply, Mr. Carson, and I am sorry I could not prevent Mrs. Potter in doing what she did. I can never apologize enough for you – or Fiona – to understand…"
"Miss Hughes," Charles choked out, "we both understand. You needn't worry about that."
She was crying and he felt powerless; even more so when she whispered, "I don't ever want her to resent my not coming forward and stopping it –"
He went to war with himself, denying, accepting, a tug of war that might tear him apart if he did not act. So he acted, crossing the remaining space between the beds and ever so gently cupping his Elsie's face in his hands. Charles leaned into her, a gentle, sweet kiss passing between them – filled with gratitude, kindness, and no small amount of love. There was nothing improper in it, beyond it happening in the middle of the night in the darkness, and he found himself overcome. She was like a siren's call and he would do well to give in now.
"Thank you," he whispered, pulling away, "for taking care of my darling girl."
And before she could say anything, before she could comment on the whiskey still lingering on his breath, before she could confront him about impropriety and anything else she might be able to throw his way, he left.
He did not sleep.
His mind was far too consumed.
END PART SEVEN