That night in the village, Thomas Barrow cheated at cards. He only cheated a little, and it was all for a good cause, namely, for himself and for love.
It had been a Monday morning when Thomas woke early and decided to count his money. Jimmy still dozed in the morning light, tangled bedsheets hugging his chest and bare ankles. It was early summer, and the sun warmed Jimmy, their bed, the tangled sheets. Thomas looked away to count the bank notes that were his and Jimmy's life's savings as quickly as he could: 15, 30, 50, 100, 200, 300… Thomas frowned and stuck his hand back in the sock drawer where he kept such things. He pulled out each pair of socks individually and threw them to the floor. His rifling knocked over a stack of coins in one corner of the drawer, 8 pounds' worth. Jimmy stirred and stretched on the bed. "Mmm… Thomas. What time is it?"
"The sun's up, so you should be," Thomas said, picking up the socks again, two by two.
Jimmy gave him a sloppy grin and ran one hand through his hair. "Maybe you should get me up, then."
The suggestion, coupled with finding a mere 300 pounds where 500 should have been, made Thomas giddy. He was certain he'd made a mistake, hidden the rest of their money somewhere else. He wanted Jimmy badly, and a distraction wouldn't hurt. Thomas put down the bank notes and climbed onto the bed they shared, making the springs squeak. He kissed Jimmy's collarbone, ran his tongue along the length of it.
"I'd say no to you, Jimmy, but it is so early…" Thomas's mouth caressed Jimmy's chest down to where his stomach disappeared into the crumpled sheets. Jimmy tugged at the hem of Thomas's nightshirt. Thomas's kisses stopped.
"Somethin' wrong?" Jimmy murmured, a part of him still half-asleep.
"'Nothin. Just some missing money." Now genuinely distracted by the growing bulge between Jimmy's thighs, Thomas started to push the sheet down with his nose, then pulled it with his teeth. Jimmy slept naked on summer nights. Thomas made no comment, but it thrilled him - if Jimmy knew how much, he'd use it against Thomas at every moment he could. Thomas dipped his tongue into Jimmy's navel, and when Jimmy said, "Oh!" he half responded to Thomas's tongue, half to his words. "Don't worry." He tugged Thomas's nightshirt up again, bunching it at his shoulders. "You'll find it soon."
"When was the last time I counted our money, Jimmy?"
"Ah-our money?" Jimmy let go of Thomas, and pulled the sheet up to his waist.
"Yes, our money, Jimmy. The money we keep together in me sock drawer."
"That's - " Jimmy's startled face smiled. "Our money, of course it's our money."
"You didn't know that, Jimmy?"
"Of course I did! And you count it all the time, I dunno when you did it last." He pouted. "There's not that long before wake-up now, Thomas. Let's try not to worry. Please." Jimmy's hands crept up Thomas's neck to tangle in his his hair and cup his face, the look in his eyes beseeching.
"Just gimme a minute, dear," Thomas said, kissed Jimmy's slack lips, and hopped out of bed.
He checked all the drawers one-by-one, pulling out their contents and placing them on the bed, the floor, the dresser-top. He grew frantic when he reached the bottom drawer, throwing their clothing this way and that.
"Stop it, Thomas, please!" Jimmy begged when Thomas picked up the edge of their mattress to peer beneath it.
"Don't worry, Jimmy," Thomas panted. "I just forgot where I hid it, that's - "
"No, you didn't. You didn't forget." Jimmy was holding a pillow up to his chest.
"Stop it, silly. I'm an old man with a terrible memory."
"You didn't forget it, because I spent it." Jimmy blurted.
Thomas's eyes widened. "All of it? How the bloody hell, Jimmy?!"
"I – I didn't know it were yours – all ya had. I thought we kept me money in the sock drawer, and yours somewhere else." He wiggled his toes and rubbed his feet together. "So I took some with me to the pub in the village last week, 'n then I stayed late. Some blokes were playing cards, and I decided to try a hand with 'em…" Jimmy trailed off, biting his lip. "I went back again cause I thought I could win back what I'd spent, and more besides. But I lost again."
Thomas sank onto the mattress, and it bent to his weight. "Two hundred pounds, Jimmy."
"Don't hate me." He hung his head. "Please don't hate me for it, Thomas."
"Good God, Jimmy, I don't hate you. I just don't know what to do."
They sat in silence for a while as the room brightened. Before long the hallboy's knock fell on their door.
They didn't speak all that day, mostly for lack of opportunity, but when the staff sat down for lunch, the icy silence between the two of the frosted the entire room – Thomas didn't mean to shut Jimmy out, but he found he had nothing to say to him.
At supper that night, Jimmy stared at Thomas the entire meal, who found that he could hardly eat. He had had such plans. Downton had become his home, and it was starting to become Jimmy's. That was all fine and good, but Thomas's mind wound not be contained within the House's walls. Jimmy was still young, very young, still, and Thomas suspected all his talk to Ivy all about champagne and parties came from someplace real. He'd wanted to give Jimmy and himself a chance for a different life. He'd planned on going down on one knee, at night, of course, lit only by a the moonlight and a single candle, flattering lighting, taking his lover's hand and asking him, "Jimmy Kent, will you leave Downton Abbey with me?"
"What on earth?" Jimmy's voice interrupted Thomas's daydream. "What does Lady Mary need with more suitors? What could she do with them? I don't think she even wants them around. Those gentlemen act like vultures around a woman with money to her name."
"James Kent, you will give the guests of this house the respect they are due." Mr. Carson folded his hands. "And you will not speak about a duke in that manner. Have I made myself clear?"
"Mary's caught herself a duke?" Thomas gave a sideways smile to Jimmy.
Carson lifted his nose at the both of them. "Had you been listening, Mr. Barrow, you'd know The Duke of Crowborough is paying Downton a visit this week."
Thomas hid his suddenly tense and fidgeting hands beneath the napkin on his lap. Philip was coming. "Of course," he smiled.
"And as under-butler, you also ought to know it is your duty to attend to him."
"What?" Thomas wrinkled his lips in disgust. "Can't a footman do it?"
"I've always wanted to meet a duke," Jimmy said and smiled, begging in his eyes.
"I think Molesley ought to." Thomas lifted his nose in the air. Jimmy's face fell.
"Really?" Molesley's chest puffed up. "It'd be an honor to valet for a duke!"
"Thomas," Carson's voice fell like an anvil. "The job is yours to do, like it or not. I hope I've made myself clear."
"Yes, Mr. Carson," Thomas grumbled. Jimmy stared at his hands the rest of the meal, and, as soon as he was finished, practically ran from the servants' hall. Thomas pulled out a cigarette, and made like he was going into the yard. He just caught Jimmy's sleeve before he started up the steps.
Jimmy yanked his arm away. "Now I'm not good enough to dress a bloody duke?" he hissed.
"Jimmy, I know that man. I wouldn't want him within a mile of you, if I could help it!" Thomas placed his hands on Jimmy's shoulders, a comforting gesture, he hoped.
Jimmy's shoulders fell, and he allowed himself to be pulled into a brief embrace. "He's that awful?"
"Bloody horrid," Thomas said. Jimmy nuzzled his shoulder. "Also might look at your arse more than I'd like."
Jimmy's head snapped up. "What?" His eyes searched Thomas's face. "Were – were you and he… lovers?" Jimmy made a face like he'd just seen Molesley naked.
Thomas bowed his head to muffle his words, so that only Jimmy could hear, "We were, but – "
"Bet you're lookin' forward to dressin' him all week, then?"
"I'm not!" Thomas whined.
The sound of a plate shattering in the servants' hall startled them, and then half a meter of empty space gaped between them.
Jimmy looked at his shiny boots. "You comin' to bed?"
"I think I'll stay up a bit." Jimmy's face fell. A dozen times, he looked about to speak, a dozen times his lips closed in silence. Thomas watched him walk up the stairs, helpless.
The rest of the staff followed Jimmy up the stairs, in their own time, and Thomas merely stood motionless in the hall.
"Trouble in paradise?" Bates' voice came from over Thomas's shoulder.
He shuddered, and insults sprang to his tongue, but Thomas realized it not the best idea to antagonize a man you needed. "Nobody in this house lives in paradise, Bates."
The valet smiled. "Goodnight." When he began to hobble away, Thomas felt the gaping hole inside himself widen. This just might be his last chance.
"Mr. Bates."
The man turned around, an indulgent smile on his face. "Yes, Mr. Barrow?"
Thomas lit the cigarette still waiting patiently between his fingers. When the smoke obscured the face in front of him, he said, coolly as could be. "Teach me to cheat at cards."
"What" – the word cut the air between them like a knife – "makes you think I know how to cheat at cards, Thomas?" Bates was angry, no question.
Thomas shrugged. "I just thought… so long in prison, you mighta learned something."
"Mr. Bates?" Anna called from the door to the yard. "You coming?"
He slowly, ponderously crossed the space to the yard door. "I have business to attend to here, Anna. Don't wait up for me."
Anna shot Thomas an almost murderous glance before crossing the threshold into the night.
Once more Bates walked to Thomas. He planted his cane in front of him, leaned on it with both hands. "This means, Thomas Barrow, that you are asking me for help?" Bates said, the question was so giddy and disbelieving so as to sound nearly mad.
Thomas sucked on his cigarette. "Yes," he said with a cloud of smoke.
When Thomas returned to his room that night, Jimmy wasn't there. Nor was he when he finished cheating lessons every night that week. Jimmy sometimes slept in his own room, to allow them to avoid suspicion, but sometimes because his skin so bristled with anger that he could not abide sharing space with Thomas, with anybody.
At week's end, Philip arrived. And Thomas had a plan.
Thomas drew off Philip's jacket that night with trembling hands. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight, Your Grace?"
Philip poured himself a glass of brandy, crystal clinking in his hands. "Very much so, Thomas, thank you. Is it… Thomas, still?"
"No, Your Grace, it's Mr. Barrow now." Philip should have known that. He did know that, but Thomas did not fault him for asking. The air in the room hung so heavy that it felt hard to breathe, much less to speak. Thomas took as deep a breath as he could before saying, "Though I don't mind… you calling me Thomas."
Philip's hand closed convulsively on the crystal tumbler while his other loosened his necktie. "I somehow thought you would."
Thomas crossed the room with deliberate steps, and unclasped Philip's cufflinks with shaking, deliberate hands. A lazy smile appeared on Philip's lips, and he filled his mouth with brandy. "May I finish undressing you, Your Grace?"
Philip's face went blank, telling Thomas he didn't know what to make of the remark, but the tumbler returned to the side table, making a wet circle on the mahogany. He held out his arms so Thomas could remove his waistcoat, his shirt, his necktie, leaving only a think cotton layer between the hair on his chest and Thomas's hands. For all Thomas's careful planning, coming so close to touching Philip's skin made him giddy, recalling how lonely he'd been all week, and how lonely he might stand to become, should all his schemes come to naught. He bit his lip hard. "Will that be all, Your Grace?"
"I don't know," Philip said. He wet his lips, a nervous gesture, Thomas recalled. "Is it?"
"Tonight it is, Your Grace. I'm almost late." Thomas gave him a small bow and made for the door. He counted one, two, three, and –
"Late?" Philip whined. "Late for what? What could you be late for… at this hour?"
"Well, it's not anything I'm supposed to be doing." Thomas allowed his hips to swing as he walked back towards Philip.
Philip snorted. "Nothing is, at this hour." He picked up his brandy again.
"The pub down at the village has a poker game going tonight. High stakes."
Thomas watched as the pupils of Philip's eyes dilated. He wet his lips again.
Back in their London season, the gambling tables had been a weakness of his. A terrible weakness. "How high?"
"What, sir?"
"How high are the stakes?" Philip sat on the bed. It creaked.
"It depends."
"On the men playing?"
"Yes, sir."
Philip stretched out on the bed, kicking off his shoes. "I've always been a fan of gambling, you know, Thomas," he let the final word fall heavily. "But only when the stakes are high."
"I know, Your Grace." Then Thomas forced himself to give Philip a slow, almost salacious smile. He tried imagining Jimmy in the duke's place. It helped, a little. "Goodnight."
Thomas stole the ace of hearts when he despaired the Philip would ever show up. He slid it into his left sleeve, just as Bates had taught. He folded that round, so no one could see he that gave back only four cards, not five. Now thirty pounds poorer, he resolved to play one more game, and one more game only. He could pull off the trick Bates had taught him, win back the money he'd lost and then some. And then go home. Cards were dealt, and Thomas's heart skipped a beat. Two aces stared back at him. Forget the fucking duke, he'd win tonight, hands down. But shoes scuffed the floor, and the pub grew silent.
Philip shook hands with the barkeep. "Philip, Duke of Crowborough. I heard there's poker here tonight?" He drank in the awe coming from every man in the pub, and his dark eyes found Thomas. "Fancy seeing you here, Thomas." He smiled.
"Ev'rybody put yer cards down, the duke wants to play!" the barkeep called out.
The words hit Thomas like a punch to the gut. Let go of his winning hand. So that the duke could play. So that he could cheat the duke, just like he'd planned, he tried to reassure himself. Thomas set his cards down. The dealer reshuffled the deck. The game began.
Philip started slowly, Thomas observed, betting merely spare change, but when he pulled out a fifty-pound note, the other men seated at the table perked up. Their backs straightened. One ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. Thomas, who'd expected as much, put down fifty pounds of his own. The other men shuffled their cards. One of them coughed.
Philip made a face. "I came here for a game of poker. I didn't expect child's play."
Pockets emptied at his words, and money appeared on the table as though Philip had charmed it there. He met Thomas's eyes across the dingy table and pulled out a hundred pound note. Thomas matched his bet.
Thomas didn't notice when the other men folded, only when Philip signed a check worth 1000 pounds and Thomas thrust his hand into empty pockets. "That's all I have."
Philip smiled and pulled a small piece of paper and a pencil from his coat pocket. "That's alright." He put down his cards and wrote a short message, pencil creaking on paper the only noise in the room.
He pushed the paper across the table to Thomas.
I win, and you come work for me in London.
Thomas could throw his cards down and leave, leave now. He'd be hundreds of pounds closer to penniless, but he had a job that he was proud of, and he had Jimmy. He didn't need Philip's dramatic ultimatums. He didn't need anything the man had to offer. But the thought of returning to Jimmy empty-handed closed up his throat and turned his stomach. Thomas's heart raced as he pulled a pencil from his own pocket and wrote:
I win, and you leave tomorrow, and never come to Downton again.
He pushed the paper across the table. Philip's breath caught in his throat as his eyes darted over it. Thomas noticed sweat staining the duke's temples, an uncomfortable flush on his neck. Philip nodded quickly and tossed the little folded paper onto the pile of cash, coins, checks, silver lighters, pocket watches, and cufflinks. Thomas was certain he had not a bit of metal left on him but the clasps of his belt and braces. The other men, now clustered with the rest of the crowd at an invisible barrier a meter from the table, had been similarly stripped of their valuables.
Thomas picked up his cards. He had a full house, if he could switch one of his cards with the hidden ace of hearts. Slowly, carefully, he inched the card out of his sleeve, pushed the other one down in its place.
Philip's eyes were glowing when Thomas looked up at last, trying to hide the relief on his face. There was a chance he'd lose. Lose everything. God, he missed Jimmy. Somewhere from deep inside himself, from a part of him he knew well in the war, Thomas started to pray.
"Ready to declare, Thomas?"
Thomas half closed his eyes as he splayed his cards on the table. "A full house."
Philip gasped, and the cards fell from his hands to the table. Two pairs, and the three of spades. His jaw dropped.
Cheering erupted all around him, and Thomas felt his vision go blurry. "Did – did I win?"
"Ya bloody well did!" A dirty man in a newsboy's soft cap clapped him on the shoulder. "Beat a bloody duke out of fifteen-'undred pounds, you did!"
"I won," Thomas savored the words like a strong whiskey. Philip's eyes were still frozen on his inadequate hand. "Philip," he said. The duke lifted his eyes. "Good game."
"Right, Thomas. Good bloody game," he hissed. He shoved his hat onto his head and pushed his way through the crowd and out the doors. For a fleeting moment, Thomas pitied him.
Then someone was pushing a canvas bag into his hands, and Thomas swooped down on his winnings, making sure to shake the extra card out of his sleeve, where no one could see it.
Thomas ran all the way from the village to the house, all the way up the servants' stairs, all the way to Jimmy's door, and tried to knock gently. "Jimmy," he whispered. "Jimmy?" When there was no answer, Thomas sank to the floor, back to Jimmy's door. All he could hear over his own panting was the pounding of his heart. Then the door to his room creaked open down the hall.
"Thomas?" Jimmy whispered.
Thomas was on his feet in a minute and racing to his room. "Jimmy, you won't believe it, I – "
But Jimmy's fingers were on his lips. "Thomas, before you say anything, there's something I need to say first."
"Yes," Thomas said against Jimmy's fingers.
"Would you sit down?"
Thomas sat on the chair next to his bed. Jimmy shut the door behind them and scuffed his shoes and worried the soft hat in his hands. Thomas noticed for the first time that he was fully dressed, in his finest suit. "Look, Thomas, if I'd known how much that money meant to you, I wouldn'ta touched it."
"Jimmy, it's fine, it's - !"
"Please, Thomas!" he begged, so Thomas shut his mouth. "'n I know you think I'm careless – everybody does, but I wanted to give you this." He reached into his pockets and held out a wad of bills.
"Forty pounds?" Thomas asked, counting them.
"I been workin' down at the pub in Ripon most nights this week. It's late and it don't pay well, but I make money there, 'n I know how to save it. I know it's not much, Thomas, but you're smart enough for the both of us, 'n I think we could get by, you and me, if… if ya ever wanted to leave."
"You're…. you're asking me to leave Downton with you, Jimmy Kent?"
"Well…" his eyes searched the entire room before landing on Thomas. "Yes?"
"Jimmy," Thomas held out his hands, and Jimmy took them. "I want nothing more than to start a life with you."
The happiness on Jimmy's face started with a twitch in his mouth, but it spread until he glowed with giddiness. "Really?"
"Of course! I'd leave Downton with you penniless, Jimmy, but," he picked up the canvas bag, "but we'll be far from penniless."
"What?" Jimmy looked down and sank one hand into the bag. "Where'd you bloody get this, Thomas?"
Thomas couldn't contain his grin. "Poker game in the village. Cheated the duke out of fifteen-hundred pounds."
"You what?!" Jimmy's eyes bugged out.
"A little slight of hand, that's all." When Jimmy said nothing, Thomas bit his lip. "It were only a little money, in his eyes."
"I – I'm not blamin' you, not at all. But… how?"
"I just hid a card in me sleeve. That's all. A single card and so much luck."
Jimmy sank to the bed, practically sobbing with relief. "Oh, thank God, Thomas, thank God."
Thomas kissed him. Jimmy wrapped his arms and legs around him, pulling Thomas down on top of him. They moved together, discarding item after item of clothing on the floor. Hats and ties and undergarments fell onto the money scattered on the floor, and that night, Jimmy and Thomas did not doubt that they had luck on their side, so much wonderful luck.