I hesitated to post this now because I plan on concentrating primarily on finishing St. George's Day, but I felt the need for some fluff to counteract the angst. 'A spoonful of sugar to make the medicine down'.

Disclaimer: Not owned by me. Earn nothing from them.

Downton Abbey 1922

Mr. Carson walked wearily toward Mrs. Hughes's parlor. This issue was certainly not one he wanted to discuss again, but unfortunately they would have to deal with it. It saddened his heart that someone could not just continue to do what they loved for as long as they wished to do it. Her door was half open, but he still tapped lightly against the door frame. Her smile made his heart jump, and he entered gladly even though his mission was a dismal one.

"Mrs. Hughes, I fear there is a matter we must discuss," he began hesitantly and glanced back at the door.

She caught his glance and crossed to close the door behind him. She pressed her forehead to the door for a moment and then straightened as though gathering her strength. "You've noticed as well, then."

He nodded slowly, marveling at how easily she read his mind, "There have been many signs. I admit to willfully ignoring them at first, but now it is becoming increasingly obvious that something must be done."

She nodded briskly and met his eyes for a brief moment before looking toward the table by her settee. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Carson? We can have a small glass of whiskey. I've some on the table over there."

His eyes followed her gaze to see two glasses and a decanter on the table between the settee and armchair. Crossing to the table, he picked up one of the glasses to twirl it in his hand, catching the firelight. "Would you like me to pour?"

"Please do," she answered with a genuine and broader smile. She crossed to the settee and sat down, nervously fixing her gaze on the fire. He held out the first glass of whiskey to her, but had to brush her arm with the glass to get her attention. Her distraction was worrying him. It was a serious matter surely, and sad, but it shouldn't affect her this deeply. She took the glass from him and took a sip gratefully, still staring into the fire and twirling the glass in her hand. He poured himself a glass as well and sat down in his customary armchair, prepared to wait as long as necessary for her to tell him what had her so preoccupied.

He had nearly finished his whiskey in slow, small sips and was actually beginning to feel quite warm by the fire and almost ready to doze off when she coughed softly. His eyes opened wide, and he turned to look at her immediately. She was ready, and he was prepared to listen.

"It's her eyes, of course," she said, "they're failing again, and she can't keep up with what needs to be done."

He nodded thoughtfully, "As I said, I have noticed. I suppose we need to talk to his Lordship about the specialist again."

"No," she shook her head sadly, "The doctors say that surgery is not an option."

He sighed. This had been his biggest fear. "I suppose she will have to live with her sister."

Mrs. Hughes drew deep breath and stood to her feet, pacing once or twice in front of the settee. "Her sister died last year, Mr. Carson."

"I see," he said in genuine surprise, "Is there anyone…?"

She stopped suddenly but kept her gaze fixed on the floor, "No one."

A tense silence overtook them while they both contemplated what the future could hold for them as well. In a way, it was Charles's greatest fear—that he would live out his last days and die alone or, even worse, that Mrs. Hughes would live and die alone.

He took a deep breath and stood to face her, "Perhaps something could be found here. She couldn't be head cook, of course, but perhaps as an assistant or pastry cook?" His voice trailed off as he saw the look of disbelief on Mrs. Hughes face.

"An assistant to Daisy?" she scoffed, "Not likely, I'd say." She laughed at the thought and after a moment, he joined her. It would be ludicrous to think of Mrs. Patmore taking orders from Daisy. No matter how much the girl had grown over the years, he doubted that Mrs. Patmore could tolerate taking orders from a girl who had once been her scullery maid. There was also truth in the old saying that too many cooks spoiled the soup. The kitchen could only have one cook, and if Mrs. Patmore remained the staff would be confused about whether to take orders from Mrs. Mason, as he supposed he'd now have to get used to calling Daisy, or her.

"This is a sad and difficult situation, Mrs. Hughes," he said gravely, stating the unfortunate but obvious fact.

She looked at him steadily for a moment and drew a deep breath, "Indeed it is, Mr. Carson. I had hoped to have this discussion with you later, but perhaps now is the best time."

"Discussion?"

She nodded, "I know that Mrs. Patmore, Beryl, and I have not always gotten along, but recently, I've come to admire her and even love her like a sister."

"Of course," he agreed with a half smile, "I feel the same about both of you."

"You do?" she asked with surprise tinged with disappointment.

He corrected himself quickly. He didn't exactly feel brotherly toward Mrs. Hughes, after all. He was not quite sure how he felt but he was certain it was not how a brother should feel about his sister. "Well, I feel that you are like family at least. The only family I have."

"Thank you for that, Mr. Carson," she said with a genuinely pleased smile. His heart leapt as it always did recently when she really looked at him and shared her smiles with him.

"Um, about Mrs. Patmore," he began to try to turn the conversation and his thoughts back to safer paths.

"Oh, yes, well, as I was saying," she said, giving her head a little shake and twisting her hands together, "Since Beryl is alone in the world now, and I feel responsible for her in a way, I, that is, we have decided to retire together. The last time I was in the village Mrs. Harrelson indicated that she would be interested in selling her business, and I believe we could do quite well running her tea shop." She finished her speech in a rush and was watching him anxiously.

"I'm sorry," he said, confused and trying to catch his breath, "I'm not sure I catch your meaning completely. You mean to leave Downton? Leave m—us?"

She nodded, still watching his eyes carefully, "I really believe it is for the best. I'm not getting any younger either. Beryl won't be completely dependent. With a little bit of help, she could still work in the kitchen. I've already spoken to his Lordship, and he will give us a cottage to live in. That will cut down on expenses significantly."

He regarded her sadly, still inwardly reeling, "Your mind is made up then."

"It is," she agreed and smiled at him, "Don't tell me you'll miss me, Mr. Carson."

Remembering her own words from a time not too long ago when he had thought of leaving, he repeated them to her, "I will, Mrs. Hughes, very much. It costs me nothing to say it."

"Thank you for that, Mr. Carson."

Reviews are welcome and appreciated as always.