Happy birthday Cami!!!!!
Title: Midnight Dancers
Author: Aussie
Word Count: 2780
Rated: T
Characters: Hughes/Carson
For the lovely akachankami’s birthday. Thank you very much for everything you do for me. I really would be lost without you!
Inspired by your Carson and Elsie owls. :)
Elsie quickly poured herself a cup of strong tea as she sat down for breakfast. She hadn’t slept the best, and she didn’t feel at all ready for the day.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mr Carson join them at the head of the table.
“Mrs Hughes,” he whispered.
“Mr Carson,” she said crisply without bothering to turn his way.
She really just wanted to eat, she thought, spooning porridge into her mouth. Any more discussions about her inappropriate behaviour with Ethel and the wee bairn really would have to wait.
“Mrs Hughes,” he hissed, bending low and leaning towards her.
Twisting her mouth, she gave him an exasperated look. “Would you like me to pour you some tea?” she asked blithely.
“No, no. I want--”
Lady Mary’s bell rang, soon followed by Lord Grantham’s and Lady Edith’s.
“Either they’re early, or we’re late,” Miss O’Brien grumbled.
While the butler straightened in his chair and barked out several orders, Elsie took the opportunity to finish her breakfast as quickly as possible.
“Mrs Hughes--”
She stood abruptly, scraping her chair back along the wooden floor.
“You finish your breakfast, Mr Carson,” she offered. “I’m sure the maids can cope.”
She vaguely heard his ‘but’ as she briskly walked off, keys swinging furiously.
~*~
Elsie’s head was pounding. Perhaps it was time to give in and take a powder. Beryl wasn’t helping matters. She could hear the head cook yelling at one of the kitchen staff from her parlour.
She strode along the hallway. Her best friend wasn’t the most diplomatic when it came to dealing with the young kitchen and scullery maids.
“Mrs Hughes!”
She paused and slowly turned. Mr Carson was hovering just outside the butler’s pantry.
“Yes,” she snapped. Her temper was often explosive, but usually it petered away quickly, especially when Mr Carson was involved. Their argument this time, however, had left her feeling raw and not quite ready to be completely pleasant in his company.
“Could I see you for a minute, Mrs Hughes?” he asked, gesturing to his room.
She looked back over her shoulder; there was still quite a commotion coming from the kitchen. Beryl was, apparently, in more of a mood than she was.
“Can it perhaps wait?” she asked, carefully keeping her tone respectful. “I think I should go and see to Mrs Patmore.”
“I won’t be a--”
Mr Carson’s statement was never finished. Instead they both jumped with fright at the loud clanging and crashing sound which emitted from the kitchen.
“Oh, dear,” Elsie murmured. “I really think I’d better...”
“Yes,” he agreed, drifting back into his pantry with a jerky nod, obviously willing enough to let her sort out the battle at the end of the hallway.
Elsie was still having the most uncharitable thoughts about his ability to interfere in her business when it suited him when she pushed open the kitchen door and demanded to know if they were on the frontline, after all.
~*~
Elsie gave a sigh of relief. It appeared that tonight’s dinner would be served promptly and professionally, despite the earlier hiccups.
The servants were now all seated at the table, eating their own offerings, and making the most of their break before the family’s formal dinner gong was sounded.
She was also comforted by the knowledge that Mr Carson had eaten earlier. He’d foregone the opportunity to share a meal with them; his duty of greeting the Dowager Countess taking precedence.
She swirled her fork around her stew thoughtfully. It was, perhaps, time to move on from their argument. She could hardly stay angry at him forever. They had never fought this long before.
He’d never given her reason before, she reminded herself.
She swallowed hard, forcing some meat down. Could her irritation be stemming from the fact that this was the first time he’d had to use his authority over her?
She clattered her cutlery onto her plate and stared at his empty seat. It was true. She couldn’t ever remember him acting in such an overbearing fashion towards her. Most decisions he made that affected her or her maids, he made in consultation with her. She’d always assumed he trusted her, and her opinions.
Maybe that was why his decision to force her into confessing to Lady Grantham hurt so much.
She sipped at some water and looked over at his place setting again.
Suddenly he was there, looking splendid in his butler’s livery.
Everyone seemed to be talking at once, asking questions about the wine, the food, whether or not Lord Grantham’s mother would be going home at a reasonable hour.
Elsie remained silent as Mr Carson deflected worries with a minimum of fuss.
“And Mrs Hughes. If I may?”
He held out his arm, indicating a more private corner of the room.
She followed him, stepping close enough to catch the faint scent of silver polish still on his skin.
“Mrs Hughes, I was wondering--”
“Mr Carson!” They both turned to observe Jane skidding into the room, her face flushed with anxiety. “You must come quickly!”
Mr Carson cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Mrs Hughes,” he muttered.
This time, she realised, she wasn’t at all relieved to see him go.
~*~
The house was relatively quiet.
The scullery maids were hard at work washing up the pots and pans used for tonight’s meals. The other maids sat in a circle, sewing or reading.
Tonight, she would need to go closer to the stairs to even hear the quiet murmurings from the soldiers. For once, they were settled, and no raucous activities appeared to be on the slate.
The chauffeur, having returned from delivering the Dowager Countess to her home about an hour previous, was in the garage tinkering quietly with one of the cars.
It was a clear night, with a full moon, and she could see Thomas, who’d managed to return yet again, and Miss O’Brien outside smoking. And probably plotting some way to gain their fortune.
The only servant who had not returned from upstairs was Mr Carson. He was, according to Jane, still tending to Lord Grantham.
Stifling a yawn, Elsie stood, bidding everyone goodnight. It wasn’t particularly late, but the lack of sleep from the last few days was catching up on her.
She’d only began to climb the stairs to the attics when a voice called from behind her.
It was Jane, holding out a folded note. “Mr Carson asked me if I could deliver this, Mrs Hughes.”
She carefully unfolded the paper and read the message.
She looked back down at Jane, who was hovering expectantly.
“Is there a reply, Mrs Hughes?”
She flushed and gripped the handrail so that the young maid wouldn’t see how flustered she was.
“Yes. No. I mean, no, they’ll be no reply. Good night, Jane.”
“Good night, Mrs Hughes,” Jane said politely as Elsie carefully started up the stairs again.
~*~
Elsie paced beside her bed. Despite her earlier sleepiness, she was now still wide awake.
She unfolded Mr Carson’s note and stared at the message again. She had read it so many times since returning to her room, there was hardly any need to look at the spidery script now -- but she did. She was hoping that one time she would read it and it would make perfect sense to her.
Perhaps the note was a trick; Thomas or Miss O’Brien’s idea of a joke. Could they have forged Mr Carson’s handwriting?
The minute hand on her clock moved with a loud clink, causing her to jump in reaction. She had to make a decision now if she was going to make his requested rendezvous time.
She donned her coat, just as the note had requested, opened her door a mere crack, and peeked out into the hallway.
What was the world ever coming to? Elsie Hughes, head housekeeper, sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet a man!
~*~
Elsie kept to the grass, avoiding the gravel and its telltale crunching sound, as she hurried along. As she neared the end of the garage, she saw that -- indeed! -- it was Mr Carson’s broad-shouldered shape waiting in the shadows of the building, just as his note said he would.
“Mr--”
He swung around placed his finger to his lips to silence her. Next he pointed in the direction of the chauffeur’s quarters. A light still burned in its window.
She felt quite faint and light-headed when he reached out, grasped her hand, and silently began to guide her towards the line of trees on the east side of Downton.
Once they were in amongst the camouflage of the tall pines, he paused and faced her.
He didn’t, however, let go of her hand, which had all but disappeared inside his much larger one.
His thumb brushed across her wrist. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
She glanced around at the undergrowth. There was a full moon, true, but she wasn’t sure it would be much help beneath the canopy of trees in Downton’s forest.
“What in heaven’s name are we doing out here, Mr Carson?” she asked, her voice sounding much braver than she was feeling.
“I can’t tell you just yet.”
With that unhelpful reply, he disappointingly released her hand, and knelt down on the ground. A moment later, a small circle of light shone from a lantern.
“You came prepared, Mr Carson,” she noted.
He stood, holding the lantern up to shoulder height. “Are you ready?” he asked.
She folded her arms. “Perhaps you should just tell me what this would be about first, Mr Carson.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t been reading those silly gothic novels of yours again, Mrs Hughes?”
She lowered her chin and glared at him, noticing that the glow of the lantern emphasised the effect of her severe look.
But to her intense consternation, he chuckled. Then, without another word of explanation or invitation, he once again took her hand and began to guide her deeper into the forest.
“Do you even know where we’d be going then?” she snapped some minutes later.
Every tree looked exactly the same to her. She had walked through these woods once a few years ago. But that had been in the day time...
“How would I be--”
Her question remained incomplete because he’d suddenly stopped. In turn, she slammed into his bulk. It wouldn’t have been much softer if she had run into a tree, she thought.
“What--”
He shushed her, dimming the lantern before lowering it to the ground.
She glanced around, realising that they had come to a clearing. Several of the majestic pines had been recently felled. The fresh scent of their cones was still heavy in the air.
Gradually her eyes adjusted to the dull light and she settled her gaze in the same area as he.
Several minutes past. She waited. Obviously whatever it was he’d brought her out here for was...
“There.” She shivered as he whispered the word into her ear.
Her heart beat rapidly, and she squinted out to where he was pointing.
Soon, she had no trouble establishing what he’d wanted her to experience. First, a loud churring noise shattered the silence and echoed throughout the forest; and then, two mottled grey birds became visible.
They circled each other, their long tails flapping.
Mr Carson leant close as the one bird, she guessed the male from the way it was strutting, called out loudly once more.
“Nightjars,” he murmured.
Another shiver racked her body when he quietly added, “Mating.”
The male bird continued with his enthusiastically shrill song; his cries seemingly pulsating throughout the woods long after he’d closed his beak.
His mate shimmied her feathers in appreciation.
“He’s wooing her with his call,” Mr Carson explained.
Elsie watched, mesmerised, as the two birds shook their feathers, arched their necks and bowed in what would seem to be a perfectly choreographed dance.
Eventually, the birds moved closer to each other, their heads nuzzling.
She dared speak: “Beautiful.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
She smiled over at him. He was watching her, and not the rare display by the birds. She licked her suddenly dry lips when he reached out and found her hand again, squeezing it gently.
“We should...”
“Yes.”
They slowly retreated backwards, careful not to disturb the nightjars.
When they were far enough away from the birds, they spun around to traverse back along the overgrown path. She trotted along; her encounter with the birds having left her completely exhilarated.
For this return trip she was, once again, soon helplessly lost. Therefore, it was essential, she thought, that she kept clinging tightly onto Mr Carson’s hand.
His orientation skills proved sound, and soon she could see the lush grass that surrounded the house. They both hesitated before they stepped out onto the well-manicured lawn. Instead, they stayed hidden within the trees.
“You really are a man of hidden depths, Mr Carson.”
Reluctantly she let her hand drop out of his firm grasp. Immediately she felt much cooler and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm.
“How did you know we’d see them tonight?” she asked.
“Tremendous luck, Mrs Hughes. I knew this was the time for them to migrate back here and search for a mate. I also knew that they would be attracted to a newly cleared area. The full moon made it an opportune time for you and I to be wandering through the woods.”
“Well, whatever it was, luck or just a remarkable knowledge on your subject, I sincerely thank you for sharing them with me.”
“Who else would I think of sharing such a thing with, Mrs Hughes?”
He turned off the lantern. Her eyes took a moment to readjust to only the moonlight, and when they did, she saw he’d shuffled closer.
“I would have no one to share such things if you were to leave Downton,” he said, his tone low.
“Why would I ever be leaving Downton?”
“I couldn’t bear it if you were asked to leave.”
Her head was swimming. Her anger about his behaviour in relation to her pilfering the food for Ethel, which had lessened naturally already throughout the day, now evaporated completely.
“If I was asked to leave--”
He cut her off, “You wouldn’t be. I was foolish, but I admit I was completely panicked by the thought. You’re much too valuable to the household, though.”
She reached out with the intent to touch him lightly on the shoulder. It was going to be a gesture on her part to reassure him that they were fine. Instead, her hand found his chest in the dark. Why were all footmen and butlers so tall?
She chewed on her bottom lip and brushed her fingers lightly across his solid warmth. She remembered how rockhard his body was when she’d crashed into it earlier. If she slipped her hand beneath the woollen material of his coat...
His breath hitched, and he captured her wandering hand. Ever so slowly he drew it up until it was a mere inch away from his mouth.
She watched, fascinated, as their hands became the dancing nightjars, hers fluttering within his shaking one, until his lips found them and tamed them with his kiss.
“What would you have done if there’d been no birds out tonight?” she asked softly.
“There’s tomorrow. And the next night,” he teased, kissing her fingertips lightly again.
With a smile, he released her hand, took hold of her elbow and they darted towards the house.
Half an hour later, she lay down in her bed, exhausted but happy. She wondered when she would next get an invitation for a midnight rendezvous with Mr Carson.
~*~
Branson chuckled as he settled back down into his bed for the night. Who would have thought it? Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes enjoying a tryst in the woods. What else would the full moon elicit this month?
~*~
Thomas stubbed out his cigarette. Who would have thought it? Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes so wrapped up in each other they hadn’t even spotted him out here. What could he do with this information?
~*~
Jane finally heard the slight creak of Mrs Hughes's bedroom door as it opened and closed. Who would have thought it? Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes meeting at midnight at the end of the garage? What else would she learn if she kept reading their notes?
THE END
Author: Aussie
Word Count: 2780
Rated: T
Characters: Hughes/Carson
For the lovely akachankami’s birthday. Thank you very much for everything you do for me. I really would be lost without you!
Inspired by your Carson and Elsie owls. :)
Elsie quickly poured herself a cup of strong tea as she sat down for breakfast. She hadn’t slept the best, and she didn’t feel at all ready for the day.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mr Carson join them at the head of the table.
“Mrs Hughes,” he whispered.
“Mr Carson,” she said crisply without bothering to turn his way.
She really just wanted to eat, she thought, spooning porridge into her mouth. Any more discussions about her inappropriate behaviour with Ethel and the wee bairn really would have to wait.
“Mrs Hughes,” he hissed, bending low and leaning towards her.
Twisting her mouth, she gave him an exasperated look. “Would you like me to pour you some tea?” she asked blithely.
“No, no. I want--”
Lady Mary’s bell rang, soon followed by Lord Grantham’s and Lady Edith’s.
“Either they’re early, or we’re late,” Miss O’Brien grumbled.
While the butler straightened in his chair and barked out several orders, Elsie took the opportunity to finish her breakfast as quickly as possible.
“Mrs Hughes--”
She stood abruptly, scraping her chair back along the wooden floor.
“You finish your breakfast, Mr Carson,” she offered. “I’m sure the maids can cope.”
She vaguely heard his ‘but’ as she briskly walked off, keys swinging furiously.
~*~
Elsie’s head was pounding. Perhaps it was time to give in and take a powder. Beryl wasn’t helping matters. She could hear the head cook yelling at one of the kitchen staff from her parlour.
She strode along the hallway. Her best friend wasn’t the most diplomatic when it came to dealing with the young kitchen and scullery maids.
“Mrs Hughes!”
She paused and slowly turned. Mr Carson was hovering just outside the butler’s pantry.
“Yes,” she snapped. Her temper was often explosive, but usually it petered away quickly, especially when Mr Carson was involved. Their argument this time, however, had left her feeling raw and not quite ready to be completely pleasant in his company.
“Could I see you for a minute, Mrs Hughes?” he asked, gesturing to his room.
She looked back over her shoulder; there was still quite a commotion coming from the kitchen. Beryl was, apparently, in more of a mood than she was.
“Can it perhaps wait?” she asked, carefully keeping her tone respectful. “I think I should go and see to Mrs Patmore.”
“I won’t be a--”
Mr Carson’s statement was never finished. Instead they both jumped with fright at the loud clanging and crashing sound which emitted from the kitchen.
“Oh, dear,” Elsie murmured. “I really think I’d better...”
“Yes,” he agreed, drifting back into his pantry with a jerky nod, obviously willing enough to let her sort out the battle at the end of the hallway.
Elsie was still having the most uncharitable thoughts about his ability to interfere in her business when it suited him when she pushed open the kitchen door and demanded to know if they were on the frontline, after all.
~*~
Elsie gave a sigh of relief. It appeared that tonight’s dinner would be served promptly and professionally, despite the earlier hiccups.
The servants were now all seated at the table, eating their own offerings, and making the most of their break before the family’s formal dinner gong was sounded.
She was also comforted by the knowledge that Mr Carson had eaten earlier. He’d foregone the opportunity to share a meal with them; his duty of greeting the Dowager Countess taking precedence.
She swirled her fork around her stew thoughtfully. It was, perhaps, time to move on from their argument. She could hardly stay angry at him forever. They had never fought this long before.
He’d never given her reason before, she reminded herself.
She swallowed hard, forcing some meat down. Could her irritation be stemming from the fact that this was the first time he’d had to use his authority over her?
She clattered her cutlery onto her plate and stared at his empty seat. It was true. She couldn’t ever remember him acting in such an overbearing fashion towards her. Most decisions he made that affected her or her maids, he made in consultation with her. She’d always assumed he trusted her, and her opinions.
Maybe that was why his decision to force her into confessing to Lady Grantham hurt so much.
She sipped at some water and looked over at his place setting again.
Suddenly he was there, looking splendid in his butler’s livery.
Everyone seemed to be talking at once, asking questions about the wine, the food, whether or not Lord Grantham’s mother would be going home at a reasonable hour.
Elsie remained silent as Mr Carson deflected worries with a minimum of fuss.
“And Mrs Hughes. If I may?”
He held out his arm, indicating a more private corner of the room.
She followed him, stepping close enough to catch the faint scent of silver polish still on his skin.
“Mrs Hughes, I was wondering--”
“Mr Carson!” They both turned to observe Jane skidding into the room, her face flushed with anxiety. “You must come quickly!”
Mr Carson cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Mrs Hughes,” he muttered.
This time, she realised, she wasn’t at all relieved to see him go.
~*~
The house was relatively quiet.
The scullery maids were hard at work washing up the pots and pans used for tonight’s meals. The other maids sat in a circle, sewing or reading.
Tonight, she would need to go closer to the stairs to even hear the quiet murmurings from the soldiers. For once, they were settled, and no raucous activities appeared to be on the slate.
The chauffeur, having returned from delivering the Dowager Countess to her home about an hour previous, was in the garage tinkering quietly with one of the cars.
It was a clear night, with a full moon, and she could see Thomas, who’d managed to return yet again, and Miss O’Brien outside smoking. And probably plotting some way to gain their fortune.
The only servant who had not returned from upstairs was Mr Carson. He was, according to Jane, still tending to Lord Grantham.
Stifling a yawn, Elsie stood, bidding everyone goodnight. It wasn’t particularly late, but the lack of sleep from the last few days was catching up on her.
She’d only began to climb the stairs to the attics when a voice called from behind her.
It was Jane, holding out a folded note. “Mr Carson asked me if I could deliver this, Mrs Hughes.”
She carefully unfolded the paper and read the message.
She looked back down at Jane, who was hovering expectantly.
“Is there a reply, Mrs Hughes?”
She flushed and gripped the handrail so that the young maid wouldn’t see how flustered she was.
“Yes. No. I mean, no, they’ll be no reply. Good night, Jane.”
“Good night, Mrs Hughes,” Jane said politely as Elsie carefully started up the stairs again.
~*~
Elsie paced beside her bed. Despite her earlier sleepiness, she was now still wide awake.
She unfolded Mr Carson’s note and stared at the message again. She had read it so many times since returning to her room, there was hardly any need to look at the spidery script now -- but she did. She was hoping that one time she would read it and it would make perfect sense to her.
Perhaps the note was a trick; Thomas or Miss O’Brien’s idea of a joke. Could they have forged Mr Carson’s handwriting?
The minute hand on her clock moved with a loud clink, causing her to jump in reaction. She had to make a decision now if she was going to make his requested rendezvous time.
She donned her coat, just as the note had requested, opened her door a mere crack, and peeked out into the hallway.
What was the world ever coming to? Elsie Hughes, head housekeeper, sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet a man!
~*~
Elsie kept to the grass, avoiding the gravel and its telltale crunching sound, as she hurried along. As she neared the end of the garage, she saw that -- indeed! -- it was Mr Carson’s broad-shouldered shape waiting in the shadows of the building, just as his note said he would.
“Mr--”
He swung around placed his finger to his lips to silence her. Next he pointed in the direction of the chauffeur’s quarters. A light still burned in its window.
She felt quite faint and light-headed when he reached out, grasped her hand, and silently began to guide her towards the line of trees on the east side of Downton.
Once they were in amongst the camouflage of the tall pines, he paused and faced her.
He didn’t, however, let go of her hand, which had all but disappeared inside his much larger one.
His thumb brushed across her wrist. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
She glanced around at the undergrowth. There was a full moon, true, but she wasn’t sure it would be much help beneath the canopy of trees in Downton’s forest.
“What in heaven’s name are we doing out here, Mr Carson?” she asked, her voice sounding much braver than she was feeling.
“I can’t tell you just yet.”
With that unhelpful reply, he disappointingly released her hand, and knelt down on the ground. A moment later, a small circle of light shone from a lantern.
“You came prepared, Mr Carson,” she noted.
He stood, holding the lantern up to shoulder height. “Are you ready?” he asked.
She folded her arms. “Perhaps you should just tell me what this would be about first, Mr Carson.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t been reading those silly gothic novels of yours again, Mrs Hughes?”
She lowered her chin and glared at him, noticing that the glow of the lantern emphasised the effect of her severe look.
But to her intense consternation, he chuckled. Then, without another word of explanation or invitation, he once again took her hand and began to guide her deeper into the forest.
“Do you even know where we’d be going then?” she snapped some minutes later.
Every tree looked exactly the same to her. She had walked through these woods once a few years ago. But that had been in the day time...
“How would I be--”
Her question remained incomplete because he’d suddenly stopped. In turn, she slammed into his bulk. It wouldn’t have been much softer if she had run into a tree, she thought.
“What--”
He shushed her, dimming the lantern before lowering it to the ground.
She glanced around, realising that they had come to a clearing. Several of the majestic pines had been recently felled. The fresh scent of their cones was still heavy in the air.
Gradually her eyes adjusted to the dull light and she settled her gaze in the same area as he.
Several minutes past. She waited. Obviously whatever it was he’d brought her out here for was...
“There.” She shivered as he whispered the word into her ear.
Her heart beat rapidly, and she squinted out to where he was pointing.
Soon, she had no trouble establishing what he’d wanted her to experience. First, a loud churring noise shattered the silence and echoed throughout the forest; and then, two mottled grey birds became visible.
They circled each other, their long tails flapping.
Mr Carson leant close as the one bird, she guessed the male from the way it was strutting, called out loudly once more.
“Nightjars,” he murmured.
Another shiver racked her body when he quietly added, “Mating.”
The male bird continued with his enthusiastically shrill song; his cries seemingly pulsating throughout the woods long after he’d closed his beak.
His mate shimmied her feathers in appreciation.
“He’s wooing her with his call,” Mr Carson explained.
Elsie watched, mesmerised, as the two birds shook their feathers, arched their necks and bowed in what would seem to be a perfectly choreographed dance.
Eventually, the birds moved closer to each other, their heads nuzzling.
She dared speak: “Beautiful.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
She smiled over at him. He was watching her, and not the rare display by the birds. She licked her suddenly dry lips when he reached out and found her hand again, squeezing it gently.
“We should...”
“Yes.”
They slowly retreated backwards, careful not to disturb the nightjars.
When they were far enough away from the birds, they spun around to traverse back along the overgrown path. She trotted along; her encounter with the birds having left her completely exhilarated.
For this return trip she was, once again, soon helplessly lost. Therefore, it was essential, she thought, that she kept clinging tightly onto Mr Carson’s hand.
His orientation skills proved sound, and soon she could see the lush grass that surrounded the house. They both hesitated before they stepped out onto the well-manicured lawn. Instead, they stayed hidden within the trees.
“You really are a man of hidden depths, Mr Carson.”
Reluctantly she let her hand drop out of his firm grasp. Immediately she felt much cooler and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm.
“How did you know we’d see them tonight?” she asked.
“Tremendous luck, Mrs Hughes. I knew this was the time for them to migrate back here and search for a mate. I also knew that they would be attracted to a newly cleared area. The full moon made it an opportune time for you and I to be wandering through the woods.”
“Well, whatever it was, luck or just a remarkable knowledge on your subject, I sincerely thank you for sharing them with me.”
“Who else would I think of sharing such a thing with, Mrs Hughes?”
He turned off the lantern. Her eyes took a moment to readjust to only the moonlight, and when they did, she saw he’d shuffled closer.
“I would have no one to share such things if you were to leave Downton,” he said, his tone low.
“Why would I ever be leaving Downton?”
“I couldn’t bear it if you were asked to leave.”
Her head was swimming. Her anger about his behaviour in relation to her pilfering the food for Ethel, which had lessened naturally already throughout the day, now evaporated completely.
“If I was asked to leave--”
He cut her off, “You wouldn’t be. I was foolish, but I admit I was completely panicked by the thought. You’re much too valuable to the household, though.”
She reached out with the intent to touch him lightly on the shoulder. It was going to be a gesture on her part to reassure him that they were fine. Instead, her hand found his chest in the dark. Why were all footmen and butlers so tall?
She chewed on her bottom lip and brushed her fingers lightly across his solid warmth. She remembered how rockhard his body was when she’d crashed into it earlier. If she slipped her hand beneath the woollen material of his coat...
His breath hitched, and he captured her wandering hand. Ever so slowly he drew it up until it was a mere inch away from his mouth.
She watched, fascinated, as their hands became the dancing nightjars, hers fluttering within his shaking one, until his lips found them and tamed them with his kiss.
“What would you have done if there’d been no birds out tonight?” she asked softly.
“There’s tomorrow. And the next night,” he teased, kissing her fingertips lightly again.
With a smile, he released her hand, took hold of her elbow and they darted towards the house.
Half an hour later, she lay down in her bed, exhausted but happy. She wondered when she would next get an invitation for a midnight rendezvous with Mr Carson.
~*~
Branson chuckled as he settled back down into his bed for the night. Who would have thought it? Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes enjoying a tryst in the woods. What else would the full moon elicit this month?
~*~
Thomas stubbed out his cigarette. Who would have thought it? Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes so wrapped up in each other they hadn’t even spotted him out here. What could he do with this information?
~*~
Jane finally heard the slight creak of Mrs Hughes's bedroom door as it opened and closed. Who would have thought it? Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes meeting at midnight at the end of the garage? What else would she learn if she kept reading their notes?
THE END