His fist few into Mr. Murray’s jaw before he realized what was happening. The crack and moan that quickly followed the impact startled him back into reality. He looked up into the shocked faces surrounding him, he was sure they were mirrors of his own. There was no movement save for Mr. Murray falling into the nearest chair, cradling his head. Even Carson couldn’t move, his fist was still clenched, now hanging from his side, ready to strike again if need be.
He wasn’t a violent man. It had been decades since he had been forced to use physical means. He didn’t know what had come over him. One minute he had entered the servants hall to deliver the afternoon post, the next found that post on the floor at his feet. He had heard Mrs. Hughes name and several statements that should have never been linked to her, let alone any other woman of quality and his instincts had taken over.
He heard her steps making their way down the hall, probably drawn by the unnatural quiet that had fallen. He felt the room tense in anticipation of her arrival. When she found out what had happened she wouldn’t be appreciative.
As she turned into the doorway, he heard her exclaim:
“Whatever is going on in here?”
He didn’t dare look in her direction or attempt to make eye contact. She could read him far too well. He could feel her eyes on him, pausing on her survey of the room. Her intake of breath informed him when she finally fell upon Mr. Murray slumped in the chair.
“Mr. Murray, what happened?”
Mr. Murray looked up and caught his eye, clearly receiving the message that he should not tell the truth and make himself scarce as quickly as possible.
“Nothing at all Mrs. Hughes. I was feeling a little under the weather and your staff was kind enough to let me sit down before I made my way back into town. I’m feeling much better now, so I’ll be on my way.”
Mr. Murray quickly pushed his chair back from the table and turned away from Mrs. Hughes and made his way out of the servants hall before she could see his face. The hall stayed silent until they heard the back door slam shut. There was a moment of silence before Mrs. Hughes spoke.
“Mr. Carson,” she started, her eyes falling to the post scattered at her feet. “Could I have a word, please?”
It may have sounded like a question but it in no way was. She finally made eye contact with him, then slowly turned and left the hall. He listened to her retreating footsteps, too many for his pantry, just enough for her sitting room. That was where he was to report.
He quickly waved at Thomas to pick up the post and wordlessly asked him to deal with it. He tried to find a stride that was neither too fast, showing he was hurrying and possibly hiding something, nor too slow, showing he had no respect for her request.
The door to her sitting room was ajar, he let himself in and closed the door behind him. She was sitting at her desk, her back to him, writing in one of her ledgers. She knew he was there. It was in his best interest to wait. A minute passed before she capped and laid down her pen.
“Would you like to tell me what was really going on or would you like me to guess?” she asked, slowly turning in her chair to look at him pointedly.
It wouldn’t hurt to try the lie again, he convinced himself.
“Mr. Murray was feeling poorly, he nearly needed a short rest before he headed back into the village.” It sounded convincing enough to him.
“Mr. Carson,” the look that accompanied the chastising tone clearly showed him she didn’t believe a word of it. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Mr. Murray was clearly cradling his jaw and had quite the mark starting to form as he rushed passed me.”
“You noticed that?”
“I did. I also noticed that your right hand is clutched in a rather tight fist and has been for some time is its color is any indication.”
He looked down and noticed that even now his fist was still clenched, sporting red and white blotches. If he wasn’t mistaken there was some purple starting to appear as well. He unclenched his fist slowly anticipating the pain he knew would come. Trying to mask his wince he returned his eyes to hers.
“The truth?” She asked.
“The truth.” He started. “The truth.” Then paused again.
“Mr. Carson, come sit down.” She waved him to the chair closest to her.
He hesitated for a moment, then crossed to take the seat. When she reached out and took his injured hand in hers, it was the last thing that he had expected. She turned it over several times before she spoke.
“Would you like to know what I believe happened?” She asked rhetorically. She had yet to make eye contact with him since he had sat down, keeping her eyes instead on their hands. “Heading to the servants hall to distribute the afternoon post, you heard raised voices. Upon entering you found Mr. Murray making some rather unflattering and disparaging comments about a member of this household. I can only imagine what he could have been saying about Lady Mary that would cause you to strike him.”
“It was you.” He tried to whisper.
“What was me?” She questioned.
“The things he was saying. They weren’t about Lady Mary. They were about you.”
Her head shot up. “What could he possibly have been saying about me that would cause you to strike him?”
He took a deep breath. “Needless to say, such statements should not be repeated, but you may take my word that he deserved what he got and more.”
His eyes were focused on the wall behind her shoulder; he could feel her staring at him. He didn’t want to see her look of disappointment.
“Well,” she nearly huffed, “I’ll not press you further, but trust that you were justified in your actions.”
“Thank you Mrs. Hughes.” He ventured to make eye contact again. She wasn’t pleased, he had expected that. There was something else though, just in her eyes. It might have been appreciation or, maybe, something else entirely. She gave him a small smile, unexpectedly, before turning her attention back to his hand.
“Now, how are you going to serve dinner with this hand? His Lordship is sure to notice.”
Who knows what the future may hold? Or how much longer we’ll even be here? Suppose you want to move away and change your life entirely. You don’t want to be stuck with me.
But that’s the point.
What is?
I do want to be stuck with you.
I’m not convinced I can be hearing this right.
You are, if you think I’m asking you to marry me… Well?
Well, you could knock me down with a feather.
And you’re not offended?
Oh, Mr Carson, I can assure you the very last thing in the world that I am at this moment is offended.
You can take as long as you like - I won’t press you. Because one thing I do know - I’m not marrying anyone else.
Well, then…
What exactly are we celebrating?
We’re celebrating the fact that I can still get a proposal at my age.
And that’s it?
Of course I’ll marry you, you old booby. I thought you’d never ask.
