CIDER TASTING
The Carsons and the Masons were now all sitting on one side of a very long wooden table in the Harts' hotel cider mill barn, surrounded by the smell of apples and malt. Mr Hart was towering in front of them, handing out small glasses, and Mrs Hart bringing in different bottles of yellow, sparkling liquids. They were both wearing dark grey aprons with embroidered apples on them.
"Now, right here in this barn, we've got more than thirty different types of Cornish ciders." Bernard started. "We've been holding these tasting nights for years and there was only ever one man who managed to try all thirty in one go."
"Is that a challenge?" Mrs Patmore joked and both the Carsons turned to her with their eyes wide.
Bernard started snorting. "Hahaha, if you're up for it, Beryl!" Then he shook his head. "Anyways, that one man, who shall not be named, the man, who managed all thirty, ended up throwing up all night and then admitting the next day that all the ciders tasted the same after the tenth one anyway."
"So, it wasn't much of a tasting anymore." Mr Mason stated with a chuckle.
"Exactly." His cousin agreed.
"Now, here is the first one." Mrs Hart started pouring out the cider into their guests' glasses. "This one is ours." She said proudly, pouring the most into Mr Carson's glass. He was tall, she thought, he would be able to take it. Plus, she sensed he could do with a bit more loosing up than the others.
It didn't take long for the whole group to let loose. With a different type of cider in every new glass, the atmosphere got a little more exuberant, and the conversation a little louder.
At one point, Mrs Patmore managed to bring up something the group found rather controversial. She started talking about kitchen appliances, a topic that, at first instance, might seem innocent, but a topic that managed to divide the group into two opposing rather enflamed camps (and Mr Mason – who remained neutral).
Mr Carson, of course, joined Mrs Patmore's side; claiming any modern kitchen hacks and equipment are absolutely and utterly unnecessary, making the use of them sound almost immoral. To no one's surprise but Mr Carson's, Mrs Hughes found herself in the other camp, hailing modern inventions. She had a strong back-up from the Harts who both found that business gets much easier and more lucrative with the help of a few soulless machines.
Mr Hart filled their glasses for the eighth time now while observing the butler and cook trying to persuade his wife, claiming they are more than able to run the whole of Downton Abbey without any new inventions. Mr Carson was getting quite fiery and with his animate gestures he managed to spill a drink right into his wife's lap.
"Oh!" Mrs Hughes cried and swiftly got up to avoid getting more wet.
"Heavens, I am sorry, Elsie," Charles turned to her, while Mr Hart fetched a rag to clean up, as his wife was too involved in the debate with Mrs Patmore to notice.
"That's ok," Mrs Hughes smiled. "I'll just pop upstairs to change and I'll wash it tomorrow morning." She got up straight away and headed to their room.
Mr Carson felt really bad about spilling the cider on Elsie, it made him ponder whether he had perhaps had more than enough to drink and should consider retiring. He was, however, distracted when overhearing Mrs Hart's bold, scandalous statements about toasters and he felt obliged to re-join the discussion.
Shortly, Elsie came back down, wearing a new (slightly shorter) skirt. Mr Carson acknowledged her presence with a side nod, but he didn't let himself break the dialog. After a few moments he noticed he was struggling to focus, his eyes were getting weary and his mind drifting off to other things. He let Mrs Patmore fight his corner, just soundlessly encouraging her with occasional nods, and he decided to inconspicuously rest his hand on his wife's knee (something he would never do in public if he was sober.)
His heartbeat immediately sped up, but the alcohol in his blood amplified his boldness; and he moved his hand higher up her thigh. She wasn't protesting and he had a sudden urge to touch her bare skin. He rolled up her skirt a bit and reached for her flesh only to find out she was… wearing trousers underneath?
"Erm? Mr Carson?" The butler jumped and yelped at hearing Mr Hart's confused voice.
He quickly let go of Mr Hart's apron and murmured quietly. "I am so sorry, I thought you were my wife!"
"Well, I hope you did!" Mr Hart was slightly shocked but mostly amused.
With a red face, Mr Carson cleared his throat and swigged a mouthful from his cider. He then looked around the room, checking if anyone noticed. He was fortunate, as the ladies and Mr Mason were still in the middle of their squabbles. Yet, when he veered to his other side, he jerked when his eyes met Elsie's. She witnessed his gaffe.
"Can we go to bed?" Charles asked her simply with a rather glum expression on his face.
"Yes." She was trying hard to hide a chuckle. "I think we should."