Author's Note: Of course, Mr. Carson is only doing this in an effort to keep down the gossip in the servants' hall. What other reasons could he have?
Disclaimer: I'm not even a custodian, my dears, let alone an owner. These characters and their setting are the work of others. I hope I do not offend with my homage.
With some little difficulty, Tom managed to locate clothes of Matthew's which he thought might fit him well enough to serve. He took them to the bedroom he normally shared with Sybil, and stripped off his wet clothes. Force of habit made him hang them up in the adjoining dressing room, so he had only gotten as far as donning the trousers and shirt when he was interrupted by a tap at the door.
Tom supposed it would be Alfred, but opened the door to Mr. Carson holding a tray.
"Mr. Carson," Tom said in surprise.
"Lady Mary said you should have something to eat, sir."
The 'sir' tipped Tom off to the fact that Mr. Carson's unusual condescension in bringing up the tray himself did not mean his attitude towards the former chauffeur had softened. 'And it'll harden to Connemara marble when he learns what's happened,' Tom thought.
"That's very thoughtful of her." Tom reached to take the tray, but the butler stepped back slightly to prevent it.
"You don't take the tray from me, sir. You step back and allow me to enter and place it on the table."
"Of course." Tom stepped back, and the butler suited his actions to his words. Tom expected the older man to leave him then, but he didn't.
Mr. Carson looked at the garments on the bed. "Is this what you plan to change into, sir?"
Tom nodded.
"You'd better sit down and eat, sir. They'll want to see you as soon as the Archbishop has gone."
Tom sat down obediently. He looked at the tray.
"Eat, sir." Carson ordered. "They aren't going to be long. I'm sure you don't want to keep them waiting."
Tom picked up his spoon and began to eat. He was cold and hungry; the soup was hot and the sandwiches were filling. He ate steadily, watching surreptitiously through the connecting door as Carson took Mr. Matthew's clothes into the dressing room and hung them on the wooden stand. He inspected the wet things Tom had hung up, but didn't touch them. Finally, the butler turned his attention back to Tom. "Have you finished eating, sir?"
"Yes, Mr. Carson." The plate and bowl were empty. Tom drank the rest of his water quickly and replaced the glass on the tray.
Mr. Carson picked up the tray. "You'd better get dressed, sir. I'll go and see if they're ready for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Carson." Tom looked after the butler until the door closed behind him.
Mr. Carson returned a few minutes later, this time entering the dressing room without waiting for Tom to open the door for him. "They're waiting for you in the library, sir."
Tom looked over at him from the armoire, and Carson was exasperated to see that the boy was not yet dressed. The reason was obvious within a few seconds. The boy's hands shook too badly for him to tie the necktie. Mr. Carson walked over to him. "Let me, sir." He made short work of the necktie, then reached for the vest. He helped the boy into it none too gently, and fetched the coat, the older man's eyes disdaining to meet the boy's. He helped Tom into his coat, then smoothed it into place. He brushed off invisible lint, then took the boy's upper arms firmly to turn him around for inspection.
Under his hands, Carson felt Mr. Branson trembling. He finally met the younger man's eyes. Carson knew his own eyes held irritation, and even anger, but he saw that the look Mr. Branson's eyes returned expressed a different emotion entirely. Mr. Carson continued to hold Branson's arms, as well as his gaze, until he felt the trembling stop. Mr. Branson took a deep breath, and let it out.
"Are you ready now, Mr. Branson?" the butler asked.
"Yes, Mr. Carson." The boy nodded.
"Then we'd better go down. Sir."
Tom nodded. Mr. Carson escorted him to the library to to face his family.