Note: If you're interested in face claims, I wrote Jeffrey Anstruther with Ben Whishaw in mind.
Chapter 1: Jeffrey
It was nearly November and that meant everything had gone a bit orange. Jimmy was hardly witness to this. He was more likely to hear the family talk about how pretty the leaves were than to see them himself, unless there was some excuse for a walk to the village. To Jimmy's mind, the season was moving slower than usual. He thought this because Mr. Barrow's beaten face had only just gone back to normal, and that had seemed to take forever. But Thomas would always have a little scar by his lip. Jimmy's eyes went straight to it when he looked at Thomas; such a lovely reminder of his own terrible cowardice. Then there had been Matthew Crawley's funeral. The family's grief made everything feel heavy. Even the air seemed too thick and harder to breathe. But at breakfast, the family was always talking about the damn leaves.
The damn leaves were just now blowing into the ironing room downstairs. Jimmy cracked the window open because it felt stuffy when he was ironing the newspaper. But a gusty wind was throwing detritus inside and Jimmy set down the iron to shut it again. When he went back to his ironing, he was briefly distracted by a headline about a murder in London. He went so far as to set the iron down yet again and read it.
Jimmy had a relaxed view of life in service.
Part of him resented that he was asked to do absurd tasks like ironing the newspapers, even if his livelihood did depend on it.
"Ahem."
Jimmy glanced up to see Thomas hovering in the doorway, eying him ruefully. He rolled his eyes and went back to ironing.
Thomas said, "What if I'd been Mr. Carson?"
"Then you'd be a crotchety ole codger, wouldn't you?" Jimmy said easily.
Thomas smiled but said, "Mind you finish quickly. Lady Mary's already rung for breakfast."
Jimmy nodded and Thomas left him.
They were hardly best friends, but Jimmy made an effort to be nicer to Thomas. He still felt a knot of tension in his stomach around him. He knew what caused it. But he would bet all the money in his pocket that Thomas didn't.
At the servant's breakfast he made conversation with Thomas about the murder in London. Alfred was smirking; he seemed to take some amount of amusement in seeing how Jimmy's attitude had so abruptly changed.
"It's 'cause you feel sorry for him, in't?" Alfred had said when Jimmy had come down once from visiting Thomas as he was convalescing. "Didn't know that were possible for the likes of you."
Jimmy was scarfing down his toast when Mr. Carson said, "We'll be having guests soon. Friends of yours, James. The Lady Anstruther."
Jimmy hoped nobody noticed when he paused mid-chew and his eyes narrowed. He recovered quickly and swallowed. "Oh. Yes?"
"As I recall, you claimed to be a particular favorite of hers," Mr. Carson said.
Jimmy's head was buzzing. "She was fond of me," he said.
Anna said, "Seems like an odd time for guests."
"Maybe they want company," Mr. Bates suggested. "Take their mind off things."
It was almost strange not to hear a sardonic comment from O'Brien about it, but she was gone now; off in India with the MacClares. One less thing to worry about, as far as Jimmy was concerned. Except now there was one more very large thing to worry about. Or…maybe not. Maybe it was just old Lady Anstruther and everything would be fine.
"Is she bringing anyone with her?" Jimmy said, trying to keep his voice even. "Family, I mean."
"Yes, she's bringing her nephew," Mr. Carson said. "Mr. Jeffrey Anstruther."
And there it was.
Jimmy's toast suddenly tasted like cardboard.
Suddenly everyone was looking at him with interest.
"Do you know him well?" Anna said casually.
Jimmy swallowed. "A little," he croaked.
"What's he like then?" Thomas said.
A loaded question if ever I've heard one, Jimmy thought.
"He's…" Jimmy shrugged. "He's…colorful."
Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Meanin'?'
"He's an artist," Jimmy mumbled. "Got a big personality."
No use pretending Jeffrey Anstruther was just another dull aristocrat. They would meet him soon enough. Then he would probably cause trouble. Because that's what Jeffrey did, even without meaning to.
Not Jeffrey.
Mr. Anstruther.
"Sounds like an interesting sort," Anna said brightly.
"They're supposed to be in France," Jimmy muttered. "I mean...I thought they were. In France."
"Lady Anstruther was in London in the summer," Carson supplied. "Lady Grantham made her acquaintance at Eaton Square. Not that it's any of our business."
Well, you're the one talkin', you daft old man, Jimmy thought.
Trouble. Doubtless, there would be trouble. Of which, Jimmy had had quite enough, thank you. Not that it wasn't partly the fault of his own hotheaded ambition. Things had only just been resolved between he and Thomas. Jimmy felt an ache begin in the back of his head.
It was inevitable, he supposed. Part of him had been waiting for it.
Mrs. Hughes said, "I wonder if they fancy this Mr. Anstruther a suitor for Lady Mary? But no... far too soon for that." The question earned a reproachful look from Mr. Carson.
Despite his newly dreadful mood, just the thought of Jeffrey Anstruther courting Lady Mary Crawley made Jimmy snort a laugh and choke on his tea.
Two weeks later, Jimmy was standing in line in front of the house with the others. When the cars pulled up, he and Alfred strode forward. Alfred was quicker and got to Lady Anstruther's side first, escorting her out. That left Jimmy to open the door for Jeffrey.
Mr. Anstruther.
Mr. Anstruther, he inwardly growled.
For two weeks he had been worrying about this moment. What would Jeffrey say? Was his coming here a coincidence?
He opened the door, an expression of blank congeniality on his face. Jeffrey Anstruther stepped out and winked at him.
Oh, bloody hell.
He looked the same, albeit a little more gaunt. But he still wore his thick chestnut brown hair a little longer than was considered proper. A long white scarf was flung around his neck as if in defiance of his grey suit. His smile was too wide. His blue eyes were too bright and just too...intense. But he looked young.
Oh, Jeffrey.
Mr. Anstruther.
Jimmy got back in line and dared a glance at Thomas, but his expression was brilliantly unreadable.
"Ah, Yorkshire air!" Mr. Anstruther declared. "I decree it the perfume of the gods."
"That's enough, Jeffrey," Jimmy heard Lady Anstruther mutter in his direction. But her expression was kind and Jeffrey only smiled and stopped talking. Lady Anstruther was short, and just a bit stout. Her mousey brown hair was in a loose bun and she wore the sort of long draping style of frock that had become so fashionable lately.
"Cora..." Lady Anstruther said with a sigh. Lady Grantham came to her and they clasped hands. "My dear, I cannot begin to convey to you my sympathies..."
Lady Grantham nodded and smiled. "Thank you. It has been...hard. Very hard. But..." She sighed and gave a sad shrug of her shoulders. "Here we are. And we are so glad to have you, Agatha."
Lord Grantham greeted Mr. Anstruther stiffly. He looked a little alarmed. But that was better than the grimness that he usually exuded these days. Lady Edith was off in London, but Lady Mary stood, stoic, behind them. She hadn't been much for laughs lately. She stepped forward, graciously introducing herself, clad in black.
Lady Rose was late. Having moved into Downton, she had been on good behavior. Jimmy supposed she didn't want to cause trouble for a grieving family. She came trotting out the front door, breathless and apologetic as she was introduced.
Mr. Anstruther could hardly contain himself. "What a vision of loveliness! You and I will get on famously, I know it already."
Now Thomas looked just slightly amused, Jimmy thought. Or maybe he had an itch. It was hard to tell when Thomas was wearing his butler face.
Lady Anstruther finally noticed Jimmy's presence and her face lit up, "Oh yes, of course. Jimmy is here!" She strode up to him and patted his shoulder. "How lovely to see you, Jimmy! We've missed you so much. I hope you're enjoying your time here at Downton?"
"Yes, m'lady." Jimmy smiled and nodded.
Jeffrey, mercifully, was busy talking to Lady Rose. So at least he wasn't going to make a scene of any kind.
"I'm afraid I have no valet," Jeffrey said. "Poor chap's gone and twisted his ankle playing cricket." Jimmy noticed Lady Anstruther appeared wary at this pronouncement. Jimmy wondered if it was a bald-faced lie or not. "I wonder if..."
"Of course," Lord Grantham said. "Our Mr. Barrow will look after you."
Thomas gave a little nod and Jeffrey looked slightly put out, his eyes darting over to Jimmy.
Jeffrey, you loon. You know I'm no valet.
Then Jeffrey's eyes caught a look at Thomas and only a close friend would've recognized that look. Although Thomas likely recognized it as well.
"Very good," Jeffrey said. "Thank you."
"Oh God," Jimmy mumbled.
Alfred nudged him. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothin' a bit of opium and a bottle of wine wouldn't fix," he muttered.
"Huh?"
Thomas had dressed Jeffrey for dinner. Jimmy was near death with curiosity about how that had gone. But Thomas didn't give him any funny looks. Nor did he appear disheveled or especially satisfied when he returned from Mr. Anstruther's room. Dinner went smoothly. Jeffrey had been on his best behavior. Which wasn't saying much. He still talked too loud and danced on the edge of propriety. The Dowager Countess of Grantham had seemed amused by him and the Dowager Countess of Anstruther only had to kick him under the table a few times. Jimmy had seen him wince as she shot him looks of warning. Mr. Branson had been out on the estate during the arrival, but he was at dinner, looking generally puzzled by Mr. Anstruther.
He'd also seen Jeffrey smirk every time somebody referred to Jimmy as James.
There had been one telling moment when Jimmy had served Jeffrey his braised lamb. Jeffrey had grinned and said, "Thanks ever so much, James. You're a lamb, ha ha." Then he looked Jimmy in the eye for a beat too long.
Jimmy tried to convey an expression that said, Why are you here?
He translated Jeffrey's response to be something along the lines of, Come to my room tonight and find out.
Thomas had gone to the kitchen to fetch more wine and missed the silent exchange. Jimmy thanked the gods. Thomas would surely have noticed it.
Jimmy caught up with Thomas in the hallway downstairs and said, "Ah, Mr. Barrow? I know you're meant to valet for Mr. Anstruther but I wonder if I might do it?"
"Against his lordship's orders?" Thomas said warily.
"Well, yes," Jimmy said. "But I know Mr. Anstruther and... I thought it might be good experience. For valeting. He's not very particular, you see. He won't have any complaints, I promise."
Thomas seemed hesitant. Jimmy's only worry was whether Thomas was questioning him on the basis of Lord Grantham's order and his own experience valeting, or because he suspected something odd was going on with Mr. Anstruther. Or, God forbid, because he had a certain sort of interest in Mr. Anstruther himself.
But he just said, "Alright. I suppose you ought to get some experience. But if you have any questions..."
"I'll come to you straight away," Jimmy promised.
Jimmy dreaded the thought of talking to Jeffrey, especially under the pretense of taking his clothes off. On the other hand, the thought of Thomas Barrow and Jeffrey Anstruther alone in a room together for too long... Even England didn't have the stalwartness to carry on through such a debacle. Even if nothing happened, they might talk about him. He didn't want that either.
That evening, Jimmy raised his hand to knock on Jeffrey Anstruther's door, hesitated for a protracted moment of doubt, and then tapped softly.
"Just a minute!" A voice rang out.
Jeffrey Anstruther opened the door with a rush of air, his expression blandly welcoming. When he saw it was Jimmy, he grinned widely. "Hello, you."
Jimmy couldn't help but feel happy to see him, and also positively demolished. Both. Both at the same time. Naturally. He stepped inside and closed the door, slumping against it with a sudden rush of exhaustion and resting his head.
"What are you doing here?" Jimmy said to the door.
"Ho!" Jeffrey barked. "That's no kind of greeting after… Will you turn around and look at me?" With great reluctance, Jimmy faced him, leaning on the door as if hoping it might swallow him up. Jeffrey was still wearing his dinner jacket. Doubtless waiting patiently for Jimmy to undress him. "After almost a year and a half and no word?" Jeffrey said.
"I told you there wouldn't be word," Jimmy said calmly. "I don't suppose this is a coincidence?"
"Hardly." Jeffrey leaned on the edge of a low sideboard and examined his nails.
"How did you find me?"
"Oh, come now," Jeffrey laughed. "You wrote back to Neddy. You wanted to be found."
"I told him not to-"
"He didn't know you meant me. He's my valet and I'm his master. All he had to do his ask. You ought to have made it clear. If you meant it."
"I did."
"Well, it didn't work. Happily."
"Then I'm only surprised it took you so long," Jimmy said. He rubbed his eyes. He felt so tired. But God, it was good to see Jeffrey. He could admit that much to himself. At least to know he was still in one piece.
"Took months of dropping hints to auntie that she ought to make friends with the Crawleys and how I've heard their such wonderful chaps. And…" Jeffrey stood and turned around to pour them two drinks. Jimmy followed and saw his smile falter. Anyone who didn't know him so well would've missed it. "And I got sidetracked for a while."
Jimmy had suspected as much and he felt a twinge of sympathy. No, more like an ache. That would explain the gauntness. "One of your dark moods then," he said. It wasn't a question. "How bad was it?"
"Six months in Vienna," Jeffrey said, handing him a glass of whiskey. "Of course, Papa told them it's because I'm a deviant. So they had me looking at photographs of naked ladies while I touched myself. Among other horrors."
"God... I don't suppose any of it worked?"
"Ah, no. That tripe never works." Jeffrey took a healthy swallow of his drink. "Anyway, it wasn't as awful as it sounds." At Jimmy's disbelieving look, he shook his head. "No, I promise. They let me paint. I got a lot of work done."
"Wish I could see it," Jimmy said softly.
"How sweet of you." Jeffrey touched his cheek and Jimmy turned his head away. Jeffrey went on as if nothing had happened. "The doctors even convinced Papa he should let me pursue it. So they weren't utterly evil. Not like those demons in London."
"And what did dear father say?" Jimmy said, biting out the words.
"That he'll allow it."
"Really?" Jimmy perked up. For a moment it almost felt like old times, as if nothing was different. Except that everything was different. Most especially him.
"As long as I get married," Jeffrey added. "Carry on the family name. And no more men."
"I suppose that's too much to ask," Jimmy muttered.
"Oh, are we having this conversation again too?" Jeffrey said. "I've missed it so."
"What's the use?" Jimmy said with a shrug. "I already know how it ends."
They were veering off course. He was already picking up old habits like socks out of a drawer. Jeffrey had a knack for sucking him in.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
"Look, why did you come here?" Jimmy said, returning to his purpose. He took a sip of whiskey.
"Because I missed you, silly," Jeffrey said, shaking his head. He took a step forward and Jimmy took a step back.
"I don't do that anymore," Jimmy said quietly. "I'm not like that. Not here."
"Really... " His face darkened. He knew Jeffrey wouldn't like that. Not just because it would mean nothing would happen between them. But he would take it as a philosophical betrayal too. Jimmy watched as his expression shifted with determination back into glibness. "Well, I suppose it's nice to know there hasn't been anyone after me. Unless... Not girls, surely?"
"No," Jimmy said. "No one."
"Ugh, what a waste. You're so good at it."
Jimmy just rolled his eyes at that. "Look... Don't go stirring things up, alright? Don't give me away. There's already been trouble."
"What sort of... Oh, I see. Quelle surprise. Jimmy Kent is breaking hearts." His eyes widened suddenly and he clutched Jimmy's arm. "Oh, please God, tell me it's to do with Tall Dark and Handsome? But of course, it is. I sussed him out straight away. Bloody hell in heaven, those cheekbones, that mouth... I was half hoping he would show up again tonight. And nothing happened, if you want to know. Perfect gentlemen, the both of us. Though I asked him if he knew you well and he thinks you hung the moon. I suspect the both of us only have eyes for you. What a shame. Imagine what that mouth can-"
"Oh, will you stop."
He had imagined what that mouth could do. He was also annoyed by how happy he was that nothing had happened between Jeffrey and Thomas.
"Don't worry, love. I still like you best."
"Does your father know your here?" Jimmy said, leaning against the mahogany armoire and out of reach.
"Yes."
"Does your father know I'm here?"
"God no," Jeffrey chortled. "Auntie knows better than that. And I swore Neddy to secrecy. Besides, if he were to find out, we could all claim it was a coincidence. It's not as if it's you're fault anyhow."
"Because your father has a long history of listening to reason."
"Enough about papa," Jeffrey said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I don't want to think about him. Jimmy, or should I say James... How ridiculous. You're a Jimmy if ever there was one. Aren't you going to undress me?"
Jimmy glared at him over his glass. "Seriously?"
"I'm the guest and you're the valet," Jeffrey said, smirking. "Go on. Valet."
Jimmy trudged over to Jeffrey and began untying his tie. "You're impossible," Jimmy said.
"As you've reminded me many times. You ought to start with the shoes, you know."
"Shut up."
"Are you really living the monk's life out here in the middle of nowhere?" Jeffrey said sadly.
"I'm in service. We're always supposed to be living the monk's life."
"But it's because of what happened."
"What do you think?" He took off the tie and tossed it on the dresser. He took off Jeffrey's jacket and hoped things weren't about to get...unwise.
"That's disappointing. Honestly. You shouldn't be frightened out of being yourself," Jeffrey said with great feeling.
"Don't..." Jimmy shook his head. "Don't let's start that."
There was one argument going one way, and the same argument going the other. They had trotted along like that for eight years by Jimmy's count.
"Fine," Jeffrey said with a heavy sigh. "In that case, tell me about Mr. Beautiful-"
"Barrow."
"Ah, but you knew just who I was talking about. What's the story there, if you're living celibate? Don't worry. I won't be jealous. Après moi le déluge and all that rot."
Jimmy somewhat doubted that claim.
"Nothin'," Jimmy said, removing Jeffrey's cuff links. "It's hard to explain."
"But he's in love with you, I venture?"
"I suppose he thinks he is. But he doesn't know me." Here was the dangerous part, Jimmy thought as he went about unbuttoning Jeffrey's shirt.
"Trust me, love. If he knew you, he'd be even more in love with you. I'm an expert on the subject. But you said there was trouble?"
"If I told you about it, you'd never speak to me again," Jimmy said.
"I'm glad you want to speak to me at all."
Jimmy removed Jeffrey's shirt and laid it on the dresser. "I don't want you to hate me." Jimmy took off the collar next and Jeffrey took off his undershirt himself, tossing it on the bed.
"I'd never," Jeffrey whispered. He stroked Jimmy's cheek. "God, but I've missed you."
"Don't," Jimmy muttered. He took Jeffrey's hand away. "I-I can't... I'm not like that anymore-"
"You can't just switch it off, love-"
"Yes, you can. I did, I-"
He was interrupted by Jeffrey's lips and it all came rushing back; they were sixteen and groping blindly in one of Lady Anstruther's linen closets, kissing shyly behind the tall hedges in the garden. There he was telling Jeffrey dirty jokes he'd heard from the boys downstairs and there was Jeffrey spinning horrible tales of what he'd like to do to the upstairs sorts who looked at him like he was some unwanted pet and most of all what he'd like to do to his father. It was so odd. They weren't at all alike. But Jimmy supposed if you met the right wrong person at the perfect age, falling in love was inevitable. Once he and Jeffrey had hidden away in her Ladyship's attic when they were both nineteen. They'd gotten drunk and Jimmy had let Jeffrey paint his naked body before taking him on the floor. That had been messy.
Now Jeffrey kissed him desperately and Jimmy was swept away again. How many times had Jimmy almost left Anstruther's even before the catastrophe with Jeffrey's father? As many times as Jeffrey had convinced him to stay. Because Jeffrey was mad, impetuous, uncompromising, and impossible. But he was also funny and he could do this sort of thing. That was not to mention, that they knew each other better than anyone else. Jeffrey's tongue was in his mouth and somehow Jimmy's arms were wrapped around his bare back. Then Jimmy flashed on Thomas's brutalized face, as if it had never healed, and he pulled away.
"Wait, wait, wait no. No, I can't."
"'Course you, can," Jeffrey muttered, kissing his way up to Jimmy's ear.
He pushed Jeffrey away, but gently. "No. No. I can't, it's too dangerous and...we shouldn't anyhow. It's over. It was over a long time ago."
"Is it because of him? Your Mr. Barrow?"
"No. No, it's not that." Jimmy stepped back and smoothed his hair. "Look, it is nice to see you. And we can talk. But nothin' else. I think you can dress yourself for bed tonight. I should go downstairs."
In the hallway Jimmy took a moment to compose himself and smoothed his hair. By all rights he should have been angrier at Jeffrey for sweeping into Jimmy's world and stirring everything up again. That was not to mention the danger of Jeffrey's father finding out. He made his way down to the servants' hall. They would only be here a few days. He just had to control himself and stick to his guns.
Funny though, how the thought of being with Jeffrey seemed like a terrible betrayal against Mr. Barrow. It was beyond ridiculous.
Jimmy made himself a cup of tea and found the man himself still sitting at the table with his newspaper and cigarette. He greeted Jimmy with a friendly smile. Sometimes Thomas's sweetness towards him made him want to break things. He tried not to question that strange impulse too much.
"I see what you meant by colorful," Thomas said slyly as Jimmy sat down across from him.
Jimmy sighed. "He's... He's..."
"A troubled soul?"
"Well, in more ways than one."
"Hmm." Thomas sucked on his cigarette, cheeks hollow. "Lady Anstruther's maid...what's her name?"
"Finley."
"Finley said he's a loony."
"I wouldn't call him that to his face," Jimmy said simply.
"But he's mad. Isn't he? That's what she said."
Jimmy glanced away at the table, carving a groove into the wood with his thumbnail. "As a hatter," he said. "But he doesn't hear voices or anything like that."
"You must know him better than you let on," Thomas said. He didn't appear to be implying anything.
"Well... I started at Anstruther's when I was sixteen," Jimmy said, trying to hedge. "Jef- Mr. Anstruther always spent a lot of time there. He doesn't care for his father."
"And here I thought I was the only one you knew," Thomas said.
Jimmy knew exactly what he meant, but only said, "Oh no, Mr. Barrow. I've known lots of mad men."
The next morning Jimmy sat next to Thomas at breakfast because all the other seats were taken. Not that he had an objection to sitting next to Mr. Barrow anymore, except that to his mind, when they were that close together there was a tension so palpable that he couldn't imagine others didn't notice it. In the beginning when Miss O'Brien had manipulated his admittedly toxic sense of ambition, Jimmy had only been aggravated by Thomas's constant advances. He had come to Downton to start over and already there was an annoying lovesick valet to appease if he wanted to make his way. But the kiss had awakened an intense paranoia which O'Brien certainly stoked. They would know. They would all know about him and it would be Jeffrey Anstruther's father all over again. Well, kill or be killed.
He liked to think he wouldn't ever have called the police.
It was the year after that that had driven Jimmy to distraction. Thomas emanated love like a magic spell from a sorcerer in a story. Every look, word, and gesture expressed constant devotion. It only made Jimmy more angry. Even now.
"Saved you a scone," Thomas said easily, passing him a plate.
You're a fool, Jimmy thought. You're a mad fool. As mad as Jeffrey is.
"Thanks," Jimmy muttered, and smiled tightly.
Under the table, their knees were touching. This didn't seem to affect Mr. Barrow at all. To Jimmy it seemed as audacious as if he were massaging Jimmy's neck at the piano again. Or kissing him in his sleep. He imagined that scenario often, in a million different ways, and never with the reality of Alfred interrupting them.
Jimmy didn't move his leg, allowing the contact. He lost the thread of the conversation for the next few minutes, trying to sort himself out.
"I think Mr. Anstruther's alright," Alfred said. "Even if he's a lunatic. And he does prance about a bit."
Jimmy glared daggers at Alfred but no one noticed. He clenched his fork in his hand.
Mr. Carson spoke up. "We will not speculate on the mental wellness of our guests, Alfred."
"But he does prance," Alfred said with his mouth full.
Mr. Carson said nothing to that and Jimmy kicked Alfred's leg. Hard. Immediately he felt stupid.
"Ow!" Alfred yelped. "Wassat for?"
"Bein' a dunce," Jimmy muttered.
Thomas looked surprised and chuckled.
Good job being inconspicuous, he thought to himself.
Jeffrey and Lady Anstruther spent much of the afternoon wandering the grounds with the Crawleys. When they returned and Jimmy served them tea, he got the impression that Jeffrey had perked them up a bit. He was good at that when he wanted to be. Not when he was in one of his dark moods. Then you wouldn't want to be anywhere near him. Sometimes he got too cheerful, to the point of delusion. You wouldn't want to be anywhere near him then either.
Jimmy got Jeffrey dressed for dinner that night with only a little bit of flirting on Jeffrey's end. But he didn't try anything.
At dinner, they were all talking about travel and Jeffrey said, "I'm thinking of moving to Berlin. Or America. Striking out on my own."
Lady Anstruther almost choked. "Whatever are you on about?"
"You know I've always thought of it," Jeffrey said. "Perhaps it's time now. Might take someone with me. If I found the right person."
His gaze shifted almost imperceptibly to Jimmy who was going around with the sauce.
"Sounds like rather a bold plan," Lord Grantham said.
"I'm a bold man," Jeffrey said.
Jimmy heard the Dowager Countess say to Mary, "That is the understatement of the century."
There was no easy way for Jimmy to say, You are out of your bloody mind and that's not happening, with his eyes. So Jimmy just went about his duties. They'd talk about it later, he supposed. It wasn't a new idea. Jeffrey had promised to run off for as long as Jimmy had known him.
Something distressing happened after dinner.
Mrs. Hughes had asked Jimmy to fetch some winter blankets from a storage closet in the attic, because the autumn was becoming particularly chilly and she wanted them checked for moth if they were needed. Jimmy had publicly grumbled. Why were they keeping blankets in the attic to begin with? Shouldn't they be with the linens?
This particular storage closet was in the dark recesses of the attic and you had to carry a candle to see anything. It was late and the attic was a little spooky. Jimmy had to duck under the low doorway into the closet where he found Mr. Barrow fighting with a collapsible cot.
"What're you doin'?" Jimmy said.
"Thought I'd help you," Thomas said, shoving the cot into the corner. "You won't be able to carry them all down by yourself. Got nothin' better to do."
Jimmy knew that was a lie. "I can do it myself," he muttered. "It's my job."
"Don't be stupid."
"You don't have to do me favors," Jimmy said.
"I like to do you favors." Every once in a while he would say something like that. Something that meant: You know, because I'm in love with you.
As if it were ordinary.
You know why.
Once again, the reminder made Jimmy feel guilty, enraged, frustrated, possibly a little ecstatic...
The list ran on.
Thomas poked about looking for a step stool because the shelves with the blankets were too high. "They've caught that murderer in London. Or they think they have."
They had both been following the story that Jimmy had seen in the paper weeks before. The others thought they were morbid when the spoke about it.
"Is it a lady?" Jimmy said, shoving his feelings to the back of his brain. He put his candle on the shelf next to Thomas's. "Last week they said they thought it was a lady."
"Yes," Thomas said. "A washer woman."
Thomas set the step stool in place and Jimmy climbed it to reach the blankets atop the shelf. "Why did she do it? Was it because..." He trailed off because he lost his balance and grabbing the shelf for support, he jostled it. Both candles tumbled to the floor and were extinguished. "Oh, what the devil..."
The darkness fought with his equilibrium. He lost his balance again, and stumbled off the step stool and falling into Thomas against the opposite shelf. He'd twisted his ankle slightly. It wasn't bad but it was sore.
"Blast it," he muttered. He was stunned momentarily and didn't move. He blinked and got his bearings.
Thomas said, "Are you alright?"
Jimmy closed his eyes for a moment in the pitch blackness and couldn't tell a difference when he'd opened them. He was right up against Thomas, who held his arms gently, having caught him. He felt Thomas's breath on his neck.
For a minute, nothing felt real. The darkness made it imaginary; a dream. You could do anything you wanted in a dream, he thought in a second of madness.
Thomas said, "Um...Jimmy?"
Jimmy closed his eyes again.
It's a dream. You can do anything you like in a dream.
Jimmy leaned back into Thomas and heard his intake of breath.
I can still pretend I was stunned. I got dizzy. I didn't know what was happening.
He turned around, fumbling to grab the shelf for support on either side of Thomas, who dropped his arms. Jimmy felt the warm of his body so near. Jimmy could tell just where Thomas's lips were from the puffs of air on his cheek. Their breath mingled. Feverish.
He imagined what expression Thomas might be making right then. It was strangely exciting not to know. He assumed it was either astonishment or desire.
He wanted Thomas so badly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted anything so badly. Maybe Jeffrey. Back when he was sixteen and everything was new.
I was dizzy. I was just composing myself. For the longest minute in the world.
Well, he was rather dizzy. But not for falling.
He didn't even realize he was tipping his head forward until he felt skin brush his lips and it brought him crashing back to his senses. He all but jumped back, feeling along the shelves to dash out the door, through the attic, and down the stairs, his ankle throbbing.
He headed away from the servants' hall and into the main corridor to the saloon. He stood for a moment, breathless and stupid. Everyone had gone up. Which meant Jeffrey was about to ring his bell soon enough anyhow. Jimmy headed up the stairs; coherent thought having taken a bit of a holiday.
He knocked on Jeffrey's door and walked in before it was answered. Jeffrey was in his black tie shirt sleeves. He stood over his dresser with a drink and looked up at Jimmy in surprise.
Jimmy closed the door and locked it behind him.
"Hellooo," Jeffrey said.
Jimmy licked his lips and strode forward with purpose. "I'm not runnin' away with you, so you can forget that right now. It's bloody mad."
"Well, I've got a couple of days to try to convince you."
"I'm not."
Jeffrey squinted at him. "What's wrong with you?"
"Wrong with me? That's a laugh." He stood close to Jeffrey. Jeffrey who knew about him. Who knew nearly everything about him, except the really awful parts which were mostly recent. "I'm not runnin' away with you and everything is over between us. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good." Jimmy didn't really believe him and he didn't care. He took Jeffrey's head in his hands and pulled him forward for a rough kiss. Jeffrey clutched his shoulders so hard it hurt and they fumbled with buttons and ties and waistcoats, stumbling to the bed. Jeffrey gave up unbuttoning his shirt all the way and yanked it off over his head. He pulled Jimmy down on top of him as they fell back into the blankets.
"You were the only thing that got me through Vienna," Jeffrey said, throwing Jimmy's shirt on the floor.
"Don't say things like that." Jimmy tugged Jeffrey's trousers down and tossed them aside. "It's one night. Alright?" He buried his lips in Jeffrey's neck and ran his hands up his chest. Jeffrey was a little thinner than he used to be. It felt different.
"Yes. One night," Jeffrey whispered, and grasping Jimmy's backside, arched up into him. Jimmy groaned in response. "Then you can go back to your stupid monk's life and your silly Mr. Barrow."
"Forget him" Jimmy mumbled.
Jeffrey took Jimmy's trousers and underwear away, possibly by means of magic. He was dexterous that way.
Then they were naked and writhing together before Jimmy dispensed with the flirtation and looked up, saying, "Do you have any-"
Jeffrey tossed him a pot of petrol jelly that he caught neatly in his hand. He tossed Jeffrey a look of knowing annoyance. But he took Jeffrey's prick into his mouth anyway.
A few minutes later Jeffrey's legs were around him as he thrusted, sweaty and blissfully brainless. He braced himself above Jeffrey and gazed down at him; his pretty blue eyes and that face that liked to smile with deceptive innocence.
"I remember this..." Jimmy said, his voice husky. He grinned and Jeffrey laughed. When that wonderful feeling begin to reach a tumult, they kissed. Jimmy tried to ignore Thomas's beaten face in his head as they came one after the other on the Crawley's sheets.
Once returned to his room (he had gone nowhere near the servants' hall after he left Jeffrey), Jimmy laid in his bed, still smelling of sex. Having come down from the high, he was panicked now about what might happen with Mr. Barrow in the morning.
I'll just deny everything, he thought. I was getting my bearings. Why, Mr. Barrow? What did you think was happening?
Thomas wouldn't press it. He wouldn't want to start trouble again. They had just become friends. He might look at Jimmy a little funny. Was there a chance on earth he would make advances again? Hands on the shoulder or standing just a bit too close? Unlikely.
Jimmy rubbed his eyes. A large part of him so intensely wished for that, it hurt.
Thomas might say nothing at all. Nothing at all ever and give him the cold shoulder; too wary, and rightly so, about reacting the wrong way when it came to Jimmy. He might freeze him out entirely. No more saved scones, chats about the news, and how ridiculous almost everyone in the world was. No more compliments, or that smile that was so incongruously sweet on such a man whenever Jimmy made a point of being nice.
In the morning, Mr. Barrow hadn't saved him a scone. Not that he always saved him a scone. Then Jimmy felt simple when he finally noticed that there were plenty of scones to go around in the first place.
"Mornin', Jimmy," Thomas said, and glanced up with his usual friendly morning smile.
That was all.
Absolutely normal.
Then he went back to his paper.
"Morning, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy managed to say.
Thomas acted like nothing had happened. It didn't even seem like he was awkwardly pretending everything was normal. It just was.
It boggled Jimmy's mind to the degree that he wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing. Maybe he hadn't been standing as close to Thomas for as long as he had thought.
Jeffrey was a little handsy when Jimmy dressed him in the morning. Jimmy knew well how immeasurably idiotic he had been the night before.
He went so far as to apologize.
"I'm sorry for last night," he said as he buttoned up Jeffrey's shirt. "I shouldn't have done. I don't want you to get the wrong idea."
"God, don't apologize for that," Jeffrey said with a laugh. "Soon they'll be putting you in the sanitarium. But... It makes me sad that you hide. You're so different now."
"I'm careful now," Jimmy said. "Last night was... It won't happen again."
"You know who I remember fondly?" Jeffrey said, wistfully sighing. "Jimmy Kent losing all his money at cards and laughing it off. Pretending to drop something at dinner and grabbing me under the table? Jimmy Kent swimming naked with me in our fountain when nobody was about? Every time Auntie went off to London, it was like we had to the whole world to ourselves."
He tied Jeffrey's tie. "Yes, well I'm better at cards now. And... And you can't pretend everything was rosy before your father found us out. It wasn't. Certainly not in your dark times. When you were too far the other way, it was just as bad."
"You make it sound so dramatic," Jeffrey said, but his tone betrayed him.
"Jeffrey..." Jimmy shook his head and turned away to fetch his suit jacket. "You said you'd off yourself if I ever left you."
Jeffrey tossed his head. "Well, I didn't, did I? And...I have flair."
He took Jeffrey's left wrist and traced the thick white scars there with his thumb. "You're not allowed to joke about that sorta thing."
"It was only the one time," he said, as if it were all so casual. But he yanked his wrist back. "I was very blue then. I didn't want to go to war. Didn't want you to go either. Although, it was romantic to be your wartime sweetheart."
"It wasn't as if I was at the front," Jimmy said with a snort. He helped Jeffrey on with his jacket. "I pushed papers around in Bristol for a year."
"They can't put a face that lovely in front of the guns. That's just not cricket."
Jeffrey was dressed but now Jimmy was thinking about old times and Jeffrey's horrible father. What he'd done the night before...and Thomas. He felt a little sick.
"Don't look sad when I'm so happy to see you," Jeffrey said.
"I can't run away with you."
"Just think about it."
"If you'd really wanted to go, you would've done a long time ago," Jimmy said.
"It's different now," Jeffrey said softly.
"Why?" He tipped his head. Jeffrey did look overly serious. And not fake-serious like he sometimes did. "What's happened?"
"Look, never mind that. I don't want it to be the reason. I want you to want to come with me."
"Well...I don't," Jimmy said sadly. "I'm sorry."
"Is it because of him?"
Yes.
"No."
Jeffrey was in a foul mood for the rest of the day, from what Jimmy saw of him. Lady Anstruther kept having to interrupt him when she knew he was on the verge of saying something shocking. The Crawleys shot each other anxious looks. Mr. Anstruther had apparently lost his charm. Meanwhile Thomas was as nice as ever.
It was driving Jimmy insane.
When he went up to change Jeffrey for dinner, Jimmy found him brooding over a drink.
"Tell me what you like about him," Jeffrey said.
Jimmy rolled his eyes. "It's not like that."
"Pull the other one," Jeffrey said dryly. "I knew you when you were a virgin. I deflowered you. What do you like about him?"
"I...I don't know," Jimmy groaned, leaning on the bed. "He's brave. Like you are. Very brave. And he's funny in a bit of a nasty way. I always like that. And he's so...kind. To me anyway. He's so kind, I get angry 'cause he's got no call to be kind to me for what I've done. Then I act like a bastard and...the whole thing is a farce. He was followin' me around for a year like a bloody puppy. When all I did was act awful. It was pathetic and infuriating and...sweet. Sweet as bloody hell. And he's just... He's a good man is all."
Jeffrey sat back in his chair and took a sip of drink. He smirked. "And he's got a lovely mouth."
"And he's got a lovely mouth," Jimmy said, chuckling.
"What did you do that was so bad?"
Jimmy just shook his head. There weren't many things that he could imagine would turn Jefferey against him, but that sort of hypocrisy was one.
"Well, I don't blame you for liking him. C'est la vie." Jeffrey sat forward in his chair. Then he burst into tears.
Oh no.
"Oh, damn it," Jimmy muttered, and kneeled in front of him. "I didn't think... We used to talk about blokes all the time. I fancied stupid Neddy while we were together and you didn't care. I'm sorry."
"It's not that," Jeffrey croaked, covering his face. "It's only..."
"What?"
He sniffed and fixed Jimmy with tragic eyes. "Jimmy, he'll have me committed."
"Oh..."
"Not in Vienna either. In London. For good. Unless I marry and give it all up-"
"Then get married. It's what's done-"
"NO!"
"Shhh!" Jimmy panicked and tried to cover Jeffrey's mouth. "Shhh. Keep it down."
Jeffrey clutched at him, as if for dear life. "I can't. I can't live like that. I won't live a lie. It's fine for other men who don't mind ladies. I'm not like that. I don't care what you do, I can't do it. I'll die first-"
"Don't say that-"
"But don't you understand? That's why I've got to go away. But I can't do it alone."
"But what about Agatha? She'd never stand for it."
"She thinks I'll give in." Jefferey sniffed and shook his head. "But I won't. I can't, Jimmy. Not ever."
"Even if I wanted to, it wouldn't be any good," Jimmy said. His heart ached. "I wouldn't know how to look after you. I never did know how. I was only ever good when it was easy."
"No, no, it was better when you were around-"
"It was better when you were better-"
"Please, please... They won't let me paint. They'll put me in a dull white room forever. Or if you won't go with me, if you talked to my father-"
"Talk to your father?" Jimmy stood up. Now he did feel sick. "Is that a joke?"
"If we stood up to him. Together. If we got auntie on our side-"
"I can't just talk to your father. He'd kill me on sight or call the police."
"But...but if it were two against one, if we-"
"I can't. Jeffrey, I can't."
There was a soft knock at the door. It was Anna. Everyone was waiting for Mr. Anstruther.
"I'm afraid Mr. Anstruther's taken ill," Jimmy said. "I'm just goin' to put him to bed."
She accepted this and left.
Jimmy knelt down by him again. "Go to Agatha. She'll talk him out of it-"
"She won't..."
"Oh, don't cry. I hate it when you cry," Jimmy muttered. "Come on, love. Chin up. There's got to be somethin'... Maybe you should go on your own. America's not so bad. Or Berlin, if ya like. Agatha would probably give you some money if you asked. Enough to get by anyway."
He was scrambling and he knew it. Jeffrey would never go by himself.
Jeffrey sniffed and cleared his throat. He sat back in his chair, gripping the arms and stared straight ahead. "I'm not leaving Downton until you agree to come with me. Either to go away or to help me talk to my father."
Jimmy sighed heavily. "Jeffrey...love. I can't do it. This is my life now. After everything with your father, I can't get all tangled up in it again. I almost did get tangled up in it again. I-"
"This is your life?" Jeffrey snapped. "Living like a monk and pining after a butler you'll never touch because you're too afraid?"
Jimmy huffed and turned away. "I'll talk to Agatha. I'll try to get her on your side if-"
"It's not enough. Berlin or my father. Pick one."
"No."
"Then I'm not leaving."
There was a decent chance he wouldn't; that the Crawleys would literally have to pry him out of his chair to get him out.
"It wouldn't work me runnin' off with you," Jimmy said slowly. "And I can't talk to your father and you know why."
"Because you're scared of an old man? That monster raised me and I'm not even afraid of him. I just don't want to live in a cell. But I need help."
"Yes, alright? I am afraid! Of going to prison or-"
"Coward."
Jimmy had a terrible thought. A terrible awful thought that would fix everything. It would fix everything for him anyway.
"I'll tell you what happened," Jimmy said quietly. "With Thomas. With Mr. Barrow. I'll tell you and then you won't want my help."
"Then I don't want to hear it-"
"I thought you hated lies."
Jimmy sat on the bed and started talking.
It worked like a charm and Jimmy felt dead inside. He told Jeffrey how Thomas had made advances and he hadn't liked it, but he'd let it happen for a chance at first footman. He told Jeffrey how he'd almost destroyed Thomas's life; how he'd demanded there be no reference, and threatened to call the police. Jeffrey had never looked at him with such hatred as he did at that point in the story. Jimmy told him every bit of it.
When he was done, Jefferey's only response was, "We'll be leaving in the morning, I think."
He looked done in.
They'd be missing Jimmy serving at dinner. He could only hope they'd understand that Mr. Anstruther had "taken ill." But he did manage to find Lady Anstruther by herself when dinner was done and begged a word with her. Agatha adored her Jefferey. She was forgiving about his lifestyle. She also knew that Jefferey and Jimmy had been "friendly." They snuck into the library alone and Jimmy pled Jefferey's case.
"You can't let him be committed," Jimmy said. "I beg you. He'll do something desperate. But he'll never agree to getting married."
She smiled kindly at him. "I understand your concern," she said. "But you know how impetuous he is. Obstinate. Jeffrey's the heir. It's his duty and he knows that deep down. He'll say he won't get married, but given the choice-"
"No, my lady. Honestly, I don't think he will."
She looked around as if someone might hear through the walls. "We'll find him a nice understanding girl who'll look the other way-"
"It's not about that-"
She went so far as to take his hand in hers. "Jimmy, try not to worry. I know you care for him. He'll never go back to that horrid place in London. And he's certainly not running off by himself. I promise you. He'll come around."
"I don't know..." Jimmy shook his head.
"Listen to me," Lady Anstruther said calmly. "The worst that could happen is that Jeffrey will go away to London for a short time. It's a battle of wills between them. I can't imagine that Jeffrey's father would put the their of his estate in an asylum indefinitely. It's absurd. He's trying to call Jeffrey's bluff."
"Maybe. Maybe," Jimmy said. "But I don't think he'd go back to that place for a day. It's the principal of the thing for him. It always is."
She squeezed his hand again. "I'll take care of him. I promise you. And I don't go back on my word."
They left in the morning and the Crawleys were understanding and gracious. It wasn't hard to see that Jeffrey was out of sorts. He didn't spare Jimmy a glance when they said their goodbyes in front of the house. But he was pleasant enough to Lady Mary and the others. Jimmy wanted to cry. It was an impossible situation. But Jeffrey had been his best friend and his lover for all the years he'd worked in Lady Anstruther's house. He'd come of age with Jeffrey. You couldn't recreate that feeling with anyone else.
They'd work it out, Jimmy told himself. Maybe he would marry. Stranger things had happened. Maybe someday the married couple would visit. He'd end up with a girl who understood things. Jeffrey would roll his eyes and say how she teased him about his men but she was awfully good at Bridge. It might all work out.
But when he watched the car drive away he had a terrible feeling.
Autumn turned to winter. Jimmy wrote apologetic letters to Jeffrey that he posted himself whenever he was given a chance to go to the village. He never heard back. He didn't hear back from Neddy either. Jeffrey had probably told him not to write as well. He considered writing directly to Lady Anstruther. It wouldn't exactly be proper.
Meanwhile Thomas acted nothing but pleasant and if he noticed that Jimmy let his hand rest very near his on the table or let his gaze linger too long, he never said anything. They chatted and laughed together, except for the times when Jimmy would snap at him out of nowhere because he'd fallen to thinking about all he wanted and couldn't bear to ask for.
Christmas and New Year's came and went. Dour affairs. The absence of both Mr. Crawley and Lady Sybil was like a leviathan in the great hall that no one would speak of. But everyone remarked on how lovely Jimmy and Lady Rose had looked dancing together at the servants' ball.
One January morning, Jimmy was serving tea to Lord and Lady Grantham. Lady Grantham went back and forth between needlework and Darjeeling, once in a while throwing out the name of some gentleman she imagined might be a prospect for Lady Mary, whenever she was ready. Lord Grantham was reading a letter. Jimmy was standing still in the corner, and bored as all bloody hell.
Lord Grantham said suddenly, "Oh... Oh my God, how ghastly."
"Robert, what is it?" Lady Grantham said, looking up in alarm.
"It's from Rosamund... Terrible news about the Anstruthers."
Jimmy's ears pricked up.
Lord Grantham said, "Jeffrey Anstruther's died."
Jimmy didn't start. Didn't blink. He heard the words. Abstractly.
"Oh dear Lord, " Lady Grantham said. "What happened?"
"Well, he was to be committed. I knew he was a bit touched but... And it's quite terrible. He offed himself, I'm afraid."
"You're wrong," Jimmy said, and took a step forward. He'd broken a cardinal rule of service.
They both looked up at him and Lord Grantham paled. "Oh, dear. Oh, James, I'm so sorry. Of course, you knew him quite well. I'm so sorry, my dear boy to have-"
"You're wrong, it's not true. It can't be."
Lord Grantham stood and came to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's true, James. I'm so..." He handed him the letter. "You may read this, if you want to. I'm going to fetch Carson-"
"No, no, I'll go myself, I'll go..." Jimmy babbled, not even aware of what words were coming out of his mouth. "I'll..."
He left the room, dumbly holding the letter. His brain had blanked out. A white sheet.
In the hallway he stood and read it. The words swam and squirmed around the page.
...a most tragic thing...
...Lady Anstruther is beside herself...
...never did get along with his father...
...shot himself before he was to leave for the asylum...
Lord Grantham was speaking. "Let's take care of you, James."
Suddenly he was sitting at the servants' hall table in front of a cup of tea. He didn't know how he'd got there. Lord Grantham's voice echoed in the hallway. That was odd for him to be in the downstairs. He'd found Thomas.
"He's not absorbed it," Lord Grantham was saying. "It's a terrible shock..."
Jimmy stood, the letter in his hand. No, but this was stupid. No...
He couldn't breathe and headed towards the yard. He wasn't wearing a coat, just his livery, and outside there was snow. He wandered out into the bitter cold and read the letter again.
...shot himself before he was to leave for the asylum...
He muttered, "No, but...no..."
He heard Jeffrey's voice in his head; pleading, his eyes red and raw. That deceptively innocent smile. His painting. His daring. His heart. Everything that was Jeffrey now gone. "No..."
Jimmy stumbled to the back gate, as if trying to escape the words. Clutching the icy green wood, he dry heaved, bent over, until his chest ached. But it wouldn't stop. He stumbled and fell to his knees in the snow. "No..."
He clutched at the ground, the jolt of iciness somehow made the truth real in his brain, like waking up from a dream.
He's dead.
He's gone.
"No..."
He couldn't stop saying it. If he kept saying it, it would all go away.
He didn't know how long he knelt there.
"Jimmy," Thomas said quietly. Where had Thomas come from? "Come on. Come on inside."
Thomas helped Jimmy to his feet. Jimmy stared at him. Thomas looked ever so grave. That made it more real. He didn't like that all. He wished Thomas would smile suddenly like it was all a joke.
"His Lordship told me what's happened," Thomas said dully.
"Jeffrey's gone," Jimmy said. "Mr. Barrow, he's gone."
"I know. I...I'm sorry." He gestured towards the house. "Come on inside now. You'll catch your..."
Jimmy shook his head and turned away, leaning against the gate for support. He thought he might fall down again. Everything was white and silent around Downton. It had been a particularly heavy snow lately. Every tree was a stark black skeleton on a canvas.
Jimmy glanced back at Thomas, fumbling for his hand. He didn't even think about it. When he had it, he held it tight as if afraid he might drop it in the snow and the hand would be lost. Thomas's fingers were cold, but his glove was warm.
A sob choked him and he raised his other hand in a fist to his mouth, crumpling up the letter. "Thomas..." He croaked.
Thomas dropped all pretense and sighed. "Oh, bloody hell," Thomas muttered. "I don't know what to say. I wish I did."
A few tears fell but Jimmy swallowed it all back down, like shoving a rock down his throat. "He shot himself."
"I know."
"I can't feel it's true. I don't understand," Jimmy said, abruptly coherent and sounding like his usual self. He sniffed. "The letter said... And it's likely. With Jeffrey. It's likely. He'd tried it once before. I know it's true. I can feel it but I can't. At the same time. That's strange."
"You were close."
"Yes. A... little." Another lurch of a sob crawled up throat and he coughed and sniffed. It was hard to speak. It took him a moment. "I don't want to go back just yet. They'll be talkin' about it. Alfred..."
"I'll stay here with you. If you want, or I can go-"
"No, don't go. Please?" He held fast to Thomas's hand. They stood there awkwardly for a long minute. "I just have to..."
I could've helped him. I could've helped him and I didn't.
He felt nauseous again. Thomas might wonder why he was this upset. Everyone might wonder. He ought to keep it to himself. He felt doubly guilty that he was even worried about such a thing. He let go of Thomas's hand and wiped his eyes.
"Take the day, if you need," Thomas said. "I'll tell the others not to gossip. If Alfred says a thing, I'll put him through a window."
Jimmy nodded. "Yes. I'll go in now, yes."
"Look, I know it's rubbish to you, but... I'm here if you need me. For anything. Even if it's just to bring tea." Thomas spoke lowly, staring at the ground.
Stop being nice to me. Can't you see I as good as killed him?
"Yes, no. I'm fine. I'll be fine." Jimmy nodded again and made for the house, the letter still crumpled in his hand.