The Cook And The Housekeeper.
"But what's going on now?", asked Mrs. Patmore, noticeably annoyed with impatience, as she sat with Mrs. Hughes.
Mrs. Hughes was propped up in bed against the headboard, with a tray on her lap containing soup, slices of toast and a pot of tea and biscuits. She already had a filled cup of hot black tea in her hands - untouched.
You could still clearly see Mrs. Hughes' stress from the previous evening and this morning's surprise: unkempt hair, disappointed, reddened eyes, still in yesterday's clothes.
"Why don't you at least try to eat a few spoonfuls of the soup?", the cook asked with a slight hint of concern.
Mrs. Hughes shook her head in thanks. "The tea is sufficient for me at the moment. Thank you very much." She then demonstratively forced herself to take a sip, followed by an agonising smile.
"Well then! I think we'll freshen you up first.", the cook stood up, grabbed the tray and placed it on the bedside table. With the words "Hop up!" Mrs. Patmore pulled the blanket from Mrs. Hughes' legs when she realized that she seemed to be talking to a stubborn donkey that didn't want to move.
"If you won't tell me what you two discussed this morning, then I see no further excuse for remaining in this wretched state any longer!", Mrs. Patmore's index finger pointed up and down several times from the top of the housekeeper's head (what was left of it) to the tips of her toes.
Mrs. Hughes was embarrassed and conceded that her friend was probably right, lowered her legs from the bed and stood up. A dizziness conjured white flashes before her eyes and turned her legs to pudding. Mrs. Patmore noticed (expected?) this and immediately supported her under her arms before Mrs. Hughes could slump to the floor. Back on the bed, Mrs. Patmore put a slice of toast in Mrs. Hughes' hand and another immediately in her mouth.
Mrs. Hughes' eyes widened at this unforeseen action by the cook and began to cough, having swallowed a crumb or two. The housekeeper then reached for the toast to remove it from her mouth. However, when she saw Mrs. Patmore's admonishing look, she stopped moving abruptly; Holding the bread in her fingers while it was still in her mouth. She lingered in this position for a few seconds and looked up from below at her friend (hello dachshund look).
All of a sudden Mrs. Hughes started laughing uproariously, unable to contain herself at the thought of her current appearance. Mrs. Patmore joined in after only a short time. The outburst of laughter caused Mrs. Hughes to feel joy down to her smallest toe, it was simply wonderful and made her forget the disappointment (emptiness) for a moment. For the moment she felt liberated.
After Mrs. Hughes had something solid in her stomach, she got up again and went to her nursing table with a mirror. She looked the way she thought she did and felt: indefinable.
"That's what you had in front of your eyes the whole time?", asked Mrs. Hughes.
But as she looked at herself in the mirror for a longer time, her cheerfulness from before disappeared again. She reached upside down for her hairpins and pulled them out. Her long hair relaxed against her back, ready to be combed.
Thanks to the mirror, she saw the figure of Mrs. Patmore, she was a small shape in the background. Mrs. Patmore noticed in Mrs. Hughes' expression that she would like to talk now and gave her an understanding nod. She came forward and placed her hands encouragingly on Mrs. Hughes' shoulders, their eye contact maintained across the mirrored surface. The cook was ready to listen.
"It was a shock for me at first when I realized that Charles was here in my room. I hadn't even opened my eyes when he just started talking. At first I was unsure whether I had really heard him and he was in my room or whether I had just imagined it. I wasn't ready to talk to him or see him, so I kept my eyes closed for the time being until I was clear about his presence. And I didn't want him to see me like this. I didn't want him to see how much he had hurt me, what he was capable of making of me."
Mrs. Hughes looked into her own eyes as she spoke the last words and scrutinised herself. As she continued speaking, she took her eyes off herself again.
"When the mattress sank in beside me - he seemed to sit down next to me - I knew he was really here. I felt his closeness. And I smelled his smell (that odor!). So the moment I fully realised that he was here with me, I suddenly became angry."
"I felt blindsided by him, pushed... locked in, with no choice for an impending confrontation."
Mrs Hughes reached for her brush and absently began to run it through her hair as she continued:
"But I was still trying to sort out my feelings and couldn't make a sound. I wasn't sure how to talk to Charles. Or what I should say to him.
I actually wanted to shout at him out of the deepest need (How could you do this to me? How could you humiliate me like that in front of the whole house? How could you hurt me like that? How could you be in this position to hurt me like this? How could you think of me like that?). But I didn't get round to it."
Mrs. Patmore was as quiet as a mouse and waited spellbound.
"I noticed that Charles was beginning to move and then I opened my eyes and saw him rise slightly from the mattress to pull an envelope out of the side pocket of his livery. He handed me the envelope with the words: "I can well imagine that you don't want to hear from me. That's why I've written you these lines."
"He placed the letter on my lap, sat for a few more seconds and looked at the envelope sceptically. Charles almost looked as if he was reconsidering whether he should really leave his lines here.
Then he got up and walked out of the room. I noticed that he wasn't wearing any shoes.
Do you know when Charles came into my room?"
Mrs. Patmore thought about it and calculated aloud: "It must have been a little before 2am. You and I were in your bedroom at about 11pm, then you fell asleep and some time later Mr. Carson came sneaked in - without shoes, as you noticed."
Mrs. Hughes looked deep into her own blue eyes. "Then he's been sitting here for a whole six hours. I didn't wake up until about 8 o'clock.
How did you manage to get through the day without me?", the housekeeper asked with interest.
"I'd be more interested in what was in the letter.", the cook countered, unimpressed by Mrs. Hughes' question.
Mrs. Hughes, sitting down, turned to Mrs. Patmore and looked her in the eye. "I don't know, I haven't read it yet."
"Oh ... well then - don't you think it's about time?"
Mrs. Hughes lowered her eyes and turned back to her reflection without replying. Mrs. Patmore thought now was the time to leave Mrs. Hughes alone, hoping to think her question through.
"I'll leave you now.", she said, already with the tray in her hands. "Daisy will start preparing for dinner soon, and I need to speak to her first about our supplies and tomorrow's order from Mr. Bakewell."
"Thank you so much for your time, Mrs. Patmore. I am well aware that you have no time to spare."
"I always have time for friends, Mrs. Hughes.", replied the cook in a gentle tone, "I'll check on you before I go to bed. Until then, freshen up and read a book (or a letter). I'll leave you the tea and biscuits. Maybe you can manage a few more bites. Two slices of toast in the early afternoon is just not enough, my dear."
What a loyal friend she had found in Mrs. Patmore after all these years. In a big house like Downton Abbey, there are hardly any free minutes for the staff. Everything is timetabled. So is the cook's daily routine. Even more so, she appreciates Mrs. Patmore's care.
As Mrs. Patmore closed the door behind her, Mrs. Hughes got up and hurried to her bedside table, she pulled out the little shutter and took out Mr. Carson's letter and sat down again at the dressing table. She ran her fingers gently over the envelope, which had "Elsie" written on it in curved letters. She started reading it.
She then slipped the note back into the envelope, got up from her little table, took a fresh towel and went into the washroom with it.
_C&E_
She looked at herself in the mirror again and ran her hands over the heavy fabric of her dress. She was once again neat and tidy. Her hair was neatly pinned up, her dress freshly ironed, her teeth brushed and her hands moisturised after bathing. Everything was now back where it belonged. She therefore saw no need to stay in her room any longer. Before Mrs Hughes went to the door, however, she took her chatelaine out of her wardrobe and fastened it to the side of her dress as usual. As she touched the doorknob, she paused hesitantly once more. She took a deep breath, pushed her emerging doubts aside and walked through the door with a rattle.
_C&E_
"Mr. Carson! I didn't expect to see you here.", a woman's voice said in surprise, "Your shoes aren't even on the landing." Mrs. Patmore added with amusement.
Mr. Carson let out a grim grumble. "Thank you for the information. I've brought Mrs. Hughes tea, but she won't answer my knock."
"Of course she won't. That's because Mrs. Hughes isn't up here at all, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Patmore noticed the puzzled look on his face and added by way of explanation: "When I walked up the corridor to get here, Mrs. Hughes was in her servents room with Anna."
"And what are you doing here?" Mr. Carson wanted to know, "Don't you have anything to do in the kitchen?"
"Oh, thank you so much for recking my brain!" Mrs Patmore replied snappishly. "I'm getting the rest of the dishes from Mrs. Hughes' room!", she continued. "Besides, I've come up especially to bump into the butler so that I can inform him that he'll find his sweetheart in her study.", Mrs. Patmore thought to herself knowingly as she entered Mrs. Hughes' room.
Mr. Carson said goodbye for the time being and walked back down the stairs with his tray, straight to Mrs. Hughes' servents room. As he stood near the open door, he could hear that Anna had just said goodbye to Mrs. Hughes. A few seconds later, the housemaid left the room and almost bumped into the butler. Mr. Carson froze, as if caught breaking and entering.
Anna reacted immediately and took the tray from him, whispering "Go on", as she gestured with her head towards the door.
Mr. Carson took the missing two steps to the open door and saw her sitting at her desk. He knocked and Mrs Hughes turned to the door, she looked up and gestured for him to come in. He closed the door.
"I ... I ... how ... Have you ... read my letter?"
Mrs. Hughes turned away from him again and reached into her sewn-in skirt pocket, she let her hand linger in it for a few moments.
"Yes, I did.", she replied, strangely emotionless.
Then she pulled out an envelope. His envelope. His lines.
She uncertainly held out the now wrinkled envelope and wanted to know:
"Will you read it to me?"
