Work Text:
Staring at the newspaper with its heartless headline, Carson clenched his jaw, appalled by this guttersnipe journalism.
‘Why would they do this? Why would they drag her name through the mud for all the world to see?’
Mrs Hughes set her tray down, the porcelain mugs clinking gently, the sweet, comforting aroma of their evening cocoa wafting upwards. She sat beside him, recognising his near-paternal protectiveness towards his favourite Crawley daughter.
‘Because that’s what sells papers now, Charlie. Scandal and sorrow.’
He bristled with impotent anger. ‘Lady Mary is not a spectacle. She is… she is a lady of this house.’
‘She’s still flesh and blood, same as the rest of us, with her trials and tribulations.’
‘Which should be allowed to remain private! It’s nobody’s business but her own.’
‘But the world is changing, you know that. And it doesn’t care for titles the way it once did,’ Mrs Hughes replied, handing him his mug of cocoa, hoping it might soothe him.
‘Then the world has lost its sense of decency. In my day, these so-called journalists would not have stooped to publish such low-brow fare.’
‘Ach, there’s always been whispers and gossip. It’s only that they can do it on a wider scale through the newspapers these days. But it’ll be nothing but something to wrap fish and chips in in a few days, you mark my words. All we can do is stand by her and let the noise pass.’
Carson folded the paper with deliberate care, turning the offensive headline facedown against the wood of the table, weighting it with his hand as though trying to smother the words. He exhaled, his sigh heavy with both loyalty and helplessness.
‘She should never have married him,’ he said, each word clipped.
Mrs Hughes gave a small shrug. ‘Aye, well, hindsight’s a fine thing. They looked happy enough at the start.’
‘Happy?’ Carson scoffed. ‘He swept in, bowling her over like that, but I saw through him. A gentleman? Some gentleman.’
‘They do say marry in haste, repent at leisure,’ she replied, her tone gentler now, as if cushioning his fury.
He looked at her, eyes blazing with loyalty. ‘The disrespect he’s shown her… he’s not fit to polish her boots.’
Mrs Hughes reached across, resting her hand over his. ‘She’ll weather it, Charlie. She’s stronger than you think.’
‘Yes,’ he said, softening at last. ‘She’s Lady Mary.’