Chapter 1. An Unexpected Invitation

A Diverting Detail

"Did you know that Mrs. Hughes has a sister?"

Robert's question startled Cora. She stared at him as he shrugged his way out of his dressing gown, folded it over a nearby chair, and then approached the bed.

"Mrs. Hughes has a sister," she repeated, trying to digest the words.

"I gather from that that you did not." Robert pulled back the bedcovers and crawled in beside her, slightly amused by the look on Cora's face. He was surprised that she was surprised. His own ignorance in this matter was understandable. The only staff member with whose private life Robert was intimately acquainted was Carson, and that came out of their long history at Downton, not curiosity. He did not know and did not want to know the details of anyone else's world. Even Bates remained a mystery in many ways. But Cora took more of an interest in the people who surrounded her, no matter what their role in the family's life. She was not intrusive. Nor did she seek out information for malicious or prurient purposes. It was only that she genuinely liked people, no matter who they were. Robert fondly dismissed this benign social aberration as a manifestation of her American-ness.

"No, I didn't," she admitted. "How on earth did you pry that detail out of Carson?" She asked this with assurance. There was no other source from whom Robert could have secured this information.

"I asked. It was raining on Monday morning, so we stayed in and read the papers." Robert was alluding to his now-routine practice of opening the week with a brisk morning walk with his retired butler and their dogs. "While he was making the tea, I noticed a new - old - photograph on the mantle. Two little girls. Mrs. Hughes and her sister."

"Is she still alive?"

Robert nodded. "Oh, yes. She lives in Lytham-St.-Anne's."

Cora frowned thoughtfully. "Really? I wonder that she didn't come to their wedding, then."

Robert was reaching for his book, not terribly interested in dwelling on the subject."Maybe they don't get on."

This was unlikely, Cora thought, given that Mrs. Hughes had seen fit to put a photograph of her sister on display in her home. She could not imagine either Mary or Edith ever memorializing the other in such a fashion. Sybil, perhaps, but not each other. Well! What they didn't know about the staff! It was a diverting detail about the long-time housekeeper. Cora filed it away and her mind drifted from it.

An Unsettling Opportunity

It is a commonplace experience that a name or fact or incident about which one has never heard is introduced and then, shortly thereafter, suddenly reappears. Mrs. Hughes had worked for the Crawleys for thirty years and Cora had not known of her sister, nor, for that matter, had much reason to note the existence of Lytham-St.-Anne's beyond a dot on a map. And yet just two weeks after the revelation of the first, that coastal retreat came to her attention in another context. Cora saw it as an opportunity.

Her Ladyship did not often venture below stairs to converse with Mrs. Hughes. She met weekly in the kitchen with Mrs. Patmore to discuss the menus because the cook was a denizen of downstairs. As the housekeeper, however, Mrs. Hughes had an upstairs presence, if an invisible one, supervising the cleaning, tidying, and freshening up of the rooms the family inhabited. She, too, consulted weekly with the lady of the house, but they did so in Her Ladyship's sitting room. It was, then, something of a novelty for Lady Grantham to come to Mrs. Hughes instead of the other way around. Thus it gave Mrs. Hughes pause when she looked up from her desk one afternoon to find Her Ladyship at her door.

"My lady. Please come in." Mrs. Hughes got to her feet as she spoke. She could not sit in Her Ladyship's presence, but she gestured to one of the chairs by the small sidetable where she and Mr. Carson had, in the past, often shared a conversation and a nightcap. They no longer did this, what with the more congenial and private quarters of their own cottage awaiting them.

Cora politely waved away the offer and came to stand by the housekeeper. "Mrs. Hughes, I've come to you with a rather irregular invitation. I may be overstepping the mark, but I think I'd like to extend the offer anyway."

Mrs. Hughes was a curious person. Her husband was given to muttering things about curiosity and cats when she asked him leading questions, a rather feeble defense against her deft probes. She did not have to rely entirely on verbal exchanges, having developed a formidable capacity for observation, but a careful query and an attentive ear were almost always rewarding. Although Her Ladyship's statement put her on the alert, it also piqued her interest. She wondered if this were something to do with Mr. Carson. There was little else beyond the walls of Downton Abbey where their concerns overlapped. "Go on, my lady."

Cora clasped her hands before her in the manner of an appeal. "I'll come to the point, Mrs. Hughes. The boards of a number of northern hospitals are gathering for a discussion of the proposed health reforms under consideration by Mr. Baldwin's government, and I've been chosen as the representative for the York region."

Even as she listened to Her Ladyship's words, Mrs. Hughes heard in the other's tone a note of pride. Every time Her Ladyship spoke about the hospital she sounded almost like a different person, herself, someone who had spent too long in the shadows and delighted in coming out into the daylight. It wasn't an obnoxious or self-absorbed realization, but rather a magical revelation. As someone who thought women largely underrated, Mrs. Hughes quietly applauded Her Ladyship's emergence.

"I was wondering if perhaps you might like to accompany me on this journey in Baxter's place."

It was an odd request and Mrs. Hughes was taken aback by it. She frowned thoughtfully, trying to divine what lay behind such a departure from convention. What it something about Baxter that she did not know? She could not imagine there was anything here connected to herself. As she pondered this, she responded with a slight deflection.

"I was unaware that Miss Baxter was indisposed, my lady. I've heard nothing of that." She was a little put out. Miss Baxter ought to have informed the housekeeper of anything that obstructed the pursuit of her duties.

"That's not it," Cora said quickly. "Baxter is perfectly fine. I haven't even spoken of this to her. I thought it best to ask you first. It's only... That is..." She paused, steeled herself to speak, and then said, "The meeting is to be held in Lytham-St.-Anne's and I've only just learned that you have a sister there. In fact," and she gave a brief, awkward little laugh, "I've only just learned that you had a sister... And I know that you don't get to see her very often. You hardly take any time away at all. I thought I would offer you an opportunity to visit her."

The expression on Mrs. Hughes's face did not change, but Her Ladyship's invocation of the place and of her sister caused her stomach to clench. "May I ask how you heard of my sister, my lady?" she asked lightly.

Her tone had not changed, but Cora was discomfited all the same. Sometimes her impulse to be helpful cut too closely to the fine line of discretion that kept upstairs and downstairs in balance. It pained her that this was so, especially when her intentions were for the good, but she was also resigned to the reality of it.

"Carson mentioned something about her to His Lordship and he made a passing reference to me. He thought I already knew, and I was sorry to realize that I didn't. I really didn't think anything of the information at the time. It was only the convention that brought it to mind." She smiled apologetically. "I hope I haven't offended you, Mrs. Hughes. I can see that I've startled you. I don't mean to pry."

"Of course not, my lady," Mrs. Hughes said automatically, but sincerely for all that. She had always thought Her Ladyship had a good heart. Her mind was racing. What, if anything, about Becky had her husband imparted to His Lordship? Her Ladyship's words and open manner suggested that it was little more than the fact of her existence and where she lived. Mrs. Hughes pushed thoughts of her husband out of her mind. She'd speak to him later. More important in the moment was Her Ladyship's offer.

She hadn't seen Becky in a long time, more than two years. She thought of her sister often and prayed for her every night and diligently wrote a cheque for her care at regular intervals. But visiting her was a complex undertaking on a number of levels. The logistics of arranging for time off and of the journey to the west coast were challenges in themselves. The expense had put her off in the past. The bulk of her income went to paying for Becky's care, leaving precious little for her own needs and wants, before adding the luxury of a trip to, let alone accommodation in the charming seaside town where many things were dear. Things were different now, of course, Mr. Carson had insisted on their sharing all expenses and so the financial constraints had disappeared. But she had not taken advantage of her new stability to visit her sister, even with encouragement from her husband. There was much more to it all than that.

There was, after all, also Becky with whom to contend, and she was a challenge - an emotional challenge - for which Mrs. Hughes was not always prepared. Seeing her sister always reawakened anxiety over her decision to leave Becky's immediate care in the hands of strangers - for all that they were capable strangers - and to lead her own life. This weighed on her conscience and prompted internal debates of which even her husband was largely - though not entirely - unaware. She loved Becky, accepted responsibility for Becky, and was capable of fiercely defending Becky. But her sister was not easy. A poor excuse for inattentiveness.

Since her engagement and marriage, Mrs. Hughes had made excuses. They'd had their own affairs to plan. She had to learn to live with her husband. They'd already taken a holiday - at the family's expense - for their honeymoon, and she could only prevail upon the Crawleys' good nature so much. Even as she made these arguments in her mind, she recognized them as feeble. But she hadn't overruled them. Now, however, the question was before her, the obstacles of cost and convenience and opportunity swept away, and she must embrace or reject the offer entirely in terms of whether or not she wanted to see her sister.

Cora was, of course, ignorant of the details of the internal turmoil her invitation had ignited, but she recognized hesitation when she encountered it and read into it her own apprehensions. "Dear Mrs. Hughes, please forgive me if I have transgressed. I only wanted to give you a chance to see your sister. Don't feel you must agree or not because I've raised the possibility."

In that moment Cora felt more than she ever had the strange incongruity of physical proximity to the staff - specifically here to Mrs. Hughes - and yet the personal distance from them. How could she have so little real awareness of who this person really was? The upstairs/downstairs dynamic might be a social norm, but it was an emotional aberration. Bizarrely Cora realized that she knew Carson better - though this was because Robert knew him so well - than she did the housekeeper with whom she worked so closely.

Habit forced Mrs. Hughes to see through the disturbance in her own mind to the discomfort of Her Ladyship and she moved to alleviate the other's unease. It was a reflexive impulse of service. "And I would serve as your lady's maid for this trip, my lady?"

"Yes," Cora responded eagerly. "I know it's not your job, but it seemed like a practical fit."

Practical. Mrs. Hughes almost smiled at that. Mr. Carson would be deeply disturbed by the mere suggestion of fluidity between positions and protest this demotion of the housekeeper, even if it was only a temporary thing. He recoiled from the rationalization of practical as an excuse to avoid doing things properly. But Mrs. Hughes was fundamentally a practical person herself. She was as capable of guarding her prerogatives as Mr. Carson, but she was not philosophically opposed to the ends justifying the means.

"There's no pressing need for you to answer right away, Mrs. Hughes. I'll leave it with you and say no more about it. You can let me know of your decision."

"I can tell you right now, my lady." The suddenness of her assurance surprised Mrs. Hughes. "If it's only a matter of a couple of days, then I would like to accept. It would be...nice...to see my sister again. I thank you."

A sense of relief swept over Cora. She did not like to make anyone uncomfortable. "We'll drive down the night before," she said, her words spilling over each other, a reaction to the dissipation of tension. "I'll be attending meetings all day, so I won't be changing except for dinner that night. When I don't need you to dress me, your time will be your own. It's only one day but..."

Mrs. Hughes decided to put the best face she could on it all and favoured Her Ladyship with her official smile. "I'm glad to do it, my lady. It serves your purposes as well as my own. One day in Lytham St.-Anne's will be lovely."

"I hope Carson won't be too inconvenienced," Cora added with a smile. "He'll miss you."

Mrs. Hughes was less concerned about this. "He'll get along." In truth, she would miss him as much as he would her. They liked being married and cherished every moment they had together. But she'd committed herself now to seeing Becky and she wouldn't have Mr. Carson come along even if Her Ladyship had suggested it. No, she did not want him in Lytham-St.-Anne's.

When Her Ladyship had gone, Mrs. Hughes resumed her seat and did nothing at all for a long moment. Well, she was in for it now. She took a deep breath and then picked up her pen. She had a letter to write.