Jimmy had for a long while known that O'Brien was a witch. Figuratively. But he hadn't known it was really true until the day she left for India.
He'd slipped to the door of the servant's hall to watch her take her lonely goodbye walk along the gravel courtyard, her last valise under her arm, a cigarette in her other hand. And good riddance, Jimmy thought. Still he had watched her solitary exit, with a sense of satisfaction- and just as she had rounded a corner, disappearing out of sight, Jimmy had noticed something tumble from her person- from her pocket, or her bag- and hit the ground. A little object- from that distance it had looked like nothing so much as a doll- and Jimmy had waited for O'Brien to reappear and retrieve whatever had fallen- but she did not.
Jimmy had slipped out into the courtyard himself, curious. When he got to the object he found it was a doll- a little cloth doll, with a roughly-made body of black cloth and a blank moon-face made from linen napkin. Under the noonday light Jimmy stared at the doll in fascination- it had for hair black ribbons, and a single button- from a uniform jacket- sewn into it.
This isn't a plaything, Jimmy thought, feeling prickles of unease dance up his arms. It was no ordinary rag doll- a single pin protruded from the chest of the doll, to the left, where the heart would have been. I don't know what it is- Jimmy thought- and he made to pull the pin out of it- but something stopped him. Instead Jimmy pocketed the doll and left it in his room, for later inspection.
Jimmy loitered after supper with Mr. Barrow, who was in the pleasantest of humors, and all night would not stop making veiled comments about O'Brien- so laced with euphemism that at one point Mr. Carson had told him to keep himself in check, drawing laughs from both Jimmy and Alfred. And then they had been chided as well.
"House feels better," Thomas was saying now, as Jimmy played the piano. When he turned round he could see Thomas ticking off points of his fingers. "Feels better, smells better, certainly sounds better- my appetite is better- the floors are cleaner-"
Thomas went on and on, between cigarettes, and Jimmy laughed helplessly.
"It really does sound better, though," Thomas said- and whistled, too-loudly, for a half second, making Jimmy shush him in some alarm. "You hear that?" Thomas asked, grinning. "No more bad echo."
"You're mad," Jimmy said, and grinned- but he played a little ditty at half volume, just to set a score to Thomas's good mood.
In his room, after everyone else was asleep- Jimmy examined the little doll. The faceless face of it made Jimmy uneasy, for some reason, and he sat on the bed with it, turning it in his hands. This is- it's something strange, Jimmy thought. A pincushion? No. More than that-
A knot of gold hairs were tied onto the pin, Jimmy noticed- and wound around it, so that with the needle they plunged into the doll's heart.
But a doll doesn't have a heart, Jimmy thought, trying to quell his own unease. It's a doll.
"Is that my hair?" Jimmy asked the doll. "Did someone bewitch you with my hair?"
It was a strange thought- like something out of a fairy story- but the doll looked blankly back at Jimmy, as if to say Yes, of course.
Jimmy wondered if the button sewn into the body of the doll belonged, by any chance, to Mr. Barrow. Jimmy wondered if O'Brien was a witch, but he didn't dare ask.
Jimmy hinted around about it to Alfred- Alfred had looked vaguely insulted- and Jimmy had hinted around about it to Thomas- Mr. Barrow was a friend and therefore Thomas, now, when he was off duty- and Thomas had snorted and agreed that O'Brien was a witch- but he had agreed in a glib way, in a way that suggested to Jimmy that Thomas had not understood the full meaning of the question.
"Did you ever miss a button off one of your uniforms?" Jimmy asked Thomas.
Thomas had snorted. "Have you ever?" Thomas replied, and Jimmy had laughed too, realizing the stupidity of the question. Thomas had looked at Jimmy in that way that Jimmy was becoming quite familiar with. The way that spoke of love. Poor man, Jimmy thought- and he felt guilt, new, but deep- as if it came from the oldest part of him that there was.
Jimmy was plagued by a single thought- that O'Brien had bewitched Thomas into loving him somehow- with the doll and some- some enchantment, or something- and Jimmy's hair. Of course it's my hair on the pin, Jimmy thought at night,studying the doll for the hundredth time. A piece of me put forcibly into his heart. So that he can't escape his love.
It was a miserably unhappy thought- Thomas might be different, or- or unnatural- or whatever vague, unpleasant terms were currently in vogue to describe a very old way of being- but that didn't mean he couldn't find another chap, someday, when he was old and ready to retire. And live a discreet little life. But instead he'll always think of you, Jimmy thought- and turned the doll again in his hands.
He didn't take out the pin. It was superstition, of course- a lot of fuss and fury over a pincushion- and someday Jimmy was going to feel rather foolish indeed.
"Tell me something," Jimmy asked Thomas, on a chilly half-day when one of their meandering walks had taken them to the village cemetery.
"What?" Thomas asked. Together they dispassionately observed Matthew Crawley's grave. Thomas had walked in a wide circle around the grave of Lady Sybil.
"Why you love me," Jimmy said- and Thomas had looked at him sharply, and eyebrow going up. "That's awfully personal," Thomas said, around a cigarette.
"Sorry," Jimmy said, feeling stupid. He stared at the dirt, and rubbed his neck with the back of his hand. "Don't know why I asked."
They walked on. At the edge of the graveyard was a very old headstone- only the epitaph remained legible- and Jimmy read it:
"For me the world hath had its charms- and I've embraced them in mine arms-" He squinted at the stone. "What does that say?"
"Hmm. 'Counted its…joys, and shared its bliss-" Thomas read. "Um-"
"Although I knew the end was this." Jimmy finished, and made a face. "Funny thing to put on a grave."
"I like it," Thomas said. "It's.." he trailed off as they started on the path back to the house, and Jimmy glanced over at Thomas's profile.
"I don't know why I love you," Thomas said, quietly. "I liked you the moment I saw you. Then one day I loved you- and it just got worse and worse."
"I'm sorry I brought it up," Jimmy said, hastily- because Thomas looked ill.
He looks like he has a pain, Jimmy thought, in his heart.
That night Jimmy took the pin out of the doll. There was no explosion, no cannon-fire, no screaming, no evil spirit conjured up to tear apart the house. Jimmy put the pin in his bureau drawer- and the doll next to it- and went to sleep. In Jimmy's dreams Thomas was smiling at him, and thanking him profoundly for his release- from a most artful prison in which Thomas had not even known he was entrapped.
At breakfast Jimmy had looked up eagerly to see if Thomas looked different- but Thomas did not look at Jimmy first thing as he usually did, and Thomas did not say good morning to him. Thomas sat well away at the table, and scowled into his cup until Jimmy felt anxious, and offered Thomas the plate of toast just to draw attention from him.
"No," Thomas said, glancing up at Jimmy. "None for me-" and then he looked away, and Jimmy felt his arms break out in gooseflesh. Thomas's gaze had been empty- and indifferent. Curiously indifferent, as if Jimmy did not exist at all. But he always- Jimmy thought, and shook his head. But the pin.
If there was a part of Jimmy that was hurt- that was disappointed by the revelation that Thomas's love had been the work of some dark magic- it was not a part worth speaking about.
Everything was different, though. That evening Thomas did not stay with Jimmy after everybody else had gone to bed, to partake in an evening of laughter- and he never smiled his foolish, seemingly-involuntary smile when Jimmy spoke. On their half-day Thomas had other things to do, and he told Jimmy so rather flatly- not cruelly, but not apologetically either. But we've spent all our half-days together for months, Jimmy wanted to say- but he bit his tongue. Thomas remained distantly polite- polite- and indifferent. As he was to everybody. Of course, why would he treat me any differently? Jimmy thought. Because we were friends.
Jimmy would've believed that friendships were easier to come by- that even love was easier to come by- than sorcery. But he had been proven wrong. That's too damned bad, isn't it, Jimmy thought. Jimmy thought Thomas a good deal- how he was now, and how he had been before- and the thoughts kept him awake at night.
One evening Jimmy tried to make a valiant attempt. "Mr. Barrow?" He asked, as Thomas was taking himself off to bed. "Lend a fellow a cigarette?" Jimmy asked and smiled, nicely- the false drawing-room smile he had always saved for when Lady Anstruther introduced him to her friends, or he'd needed to make a very good impression.
Wordlessly Thomas produced a cigarette, and Jimmy had taken it, letting his fingers linger over Thomas's hand for perhaps too long. "Fancy a card game and a reading of the news of the world?" Jimmy had asked lightly, trying to get Thomas to catch his eye.
Thomas did look in Jimmy's eyes- but Thomas's gaze was flat, and Jimmy took no comfort in the shared glance. "No," Thomas said. "I'm tired. Have a good night." And with that he had turned heel and gone upstairs, leaving Jimmy with an unlit cigarette. "Oh," Jimmy said, to the empty room. "Alright."
After a week Jimmy went to Thomas's room. "Mr. Barrow," he hissed, letting himself in, and Thomas jolted awake, and sat up in the bed.
"Yes, what is it?" Thomas asked, rubbing his eyes. He looked only mildly alarmed. "What's going on?"
"I- I have to tell you something," Jimmy said, hesitantly- and sat down on the bed.
"An emergency?" Thomas asked, his tone darkening. "Has someone died?"
"What?" Jimmy answered, bewildered. "No. Nothing like that. I have to tell you something about me."
"Oh. Oh," Thomas said, and stared at Jimmy disconcertingly. "Well. What is it?"
Jimmy blushed under Thomas's sudden scrutiny, and he stared at his hands- but he fixed up every ounce of courage within him, and forced his lips to form words. "I… Mr. Barrow, I love you."
Still Thomas looked at him blankly, and Jimmy, when he dared to glance up, thought perhaps he had been misheard- and so he pressed on. "I really do. I love you. I didn't know then but I- it took me some time to- oh, for God's sakes, Thomas-" Jimmy said, and raised his head again.
Thomas was still staring at him silently, his face an expressionless mask.
"Do you-" Jimmy leaned in closer to him, studying the curve of Thomas's lips. His mouth is cruel-looking, Jimmy thought. But lovely. In his own chest Jimmy could feel how his heartbeat raced, reflecting his nervousness. "Do you-" Jimmy whispered, again, and pressed his lips to Thomas's unspeaking mouth, in a clumsy kiss. For a moment it was sweet, and Jimmy felt a rush of blood to his chest, lighting up his skin as if he were made of fire. Yes, this is right, I knew it was, Jimmy thought- and then Thomas shoved him away.
"Get out," Thomas said, flatly, and Jimmy looked up at him. "But- Thomas-"
"I don't want any more trouble with you," Thomas said, narrowing his eyes- and Jimmy rose to his feet, and took a step backwards.
"I wasn't trying to start trouble-" Jimmy replied, frantically, and Thomas stood, as well, walking towards Jimmy.
"Sure you weren't. You want to make things bad for me. You like having me mooning over you? Well you can't just-"
"I'm sorry," Jimmy said- they were standing close together now. Jimmy felt like weeping. "I'm sorry, I just didn't know- and now I do and we can be together-"
Jimmy tried to touch Thomas's face, but Thomas knocked his hand away with a grimace, and shoved past him, to the door.
"You nearly ruined me once," Thomas said, coldly. "I won't have you doing it again." He opened the door.
"B-but," Jimmy stammered, helplessly. "But I wasn't-"
"Get out," Thomas snapped, his voice just above a whisper- and Jimmy nodded, fighting back tears, and all but ran into his own room.
In his bed Jimmy cried silently, as he had not cried since the war- and angrily he clapped a hand over his own mouth when he sobbed. I can't lose you, Jimmy thought, desperately- I can't-
He rose and went to the bureau, and pulled out the little button-doll, and the pin wrapped in gold. I'm sorry, Jimmy thought, I know, I know it's wrong- but I can't lose him, I can't-
Jimmy prayed for a moment before he gave his soul away- just one little prayer, in- some kind of grim acknowledgement of what he was about to do- and then he plunged the pin back into the doll's heart, and kissed its faceless brow, and locked it away in his drawer, his heart in his throat-
-and then the handle of his door turned, and Thomas was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide. "Jimmy," he whispered, walking in carefully- and Jimmy went to him- and they wrapped their arms around each other- and Thomas had tears on his face as well, and he spoke quietly into Jimmy's ear, and kissed the top of his head. "I was just afraid, I'm so sorry," Thomas whispered. "After what you asked me- I thought you would hurt me with it-"
"It's alright, it's alright," Jimmy said, into his chest. "I'm very sorry for what I did to you."
"I'm sorry, too," Thomas said. "I've never trusted anybody before- not really-"
"I'm very sorry, though, for what I did," Jimmy said- and he looked up, into Thomas's handsome face. "I'm so sorry for what I did to you."
"I love you, Jimmy," Thomas said, and kissed Jimmy's lips- and Jimmy let Thomas take him to the bed, and prove his love.
They spent their spare moments together in the days- and the evenings belonged quite utterly to the pair of them, after that- and one day, on some other walk past the stone outbuildings of the estate, Jimmy asked Thomas again.
"Do you know why you love me yet?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas smiled at him- a kind smile, the smile that Thomas seemed not to be able to help- and glanced away, at the clouded-over sky.
"I don't know, still, I'm afraid," Thomas said, and looked at Jimmy from the corner of his eye. "I haven't the words for it."
"I'll try to- ah- forgive your- ah- ineloquence," Jimmy said, and Thomas laughed- and, because they were far away from everyone, Thomas took his hand.
Jimmy knew why Thomas loved him, though. Sometimes, in an idle moment or a late hour Jimmy would wish it wasn't so- that Thomas could have loved him on his own merits, instead. But that was not the hand that Jimmy had been dealt- and so he smiled and he held Thomas close- and he lived as best as he was able.
Sometimes he thought perhaps it was cruel to keep Thomas in a cage, even if Thomas could not see the gilded bars that held him. But if Jimmy was cruel to do it- then he was punished, as well. By his secret- the secret Jimmy knew he would guard for all his days- a secret lodged in his throat, lost under his skin, paid for with his soul- and pushed through his heart- painfully, quietly- like a pin.