Thomas Barrow was quality. Charles Carson knew it because he'd spent his life learning to recognize quality, and now, in his autumn years, he rested assured that he was an expert on the subject.
Elise Hughes was not so certain. "Have you given him the job already?" she asked, standing before the desk in Carson's office.
"I will this very afternoon." He looked satisfied, settled back in his leather chair.
"You've seen all the applicants for the position?"
"Yes, Mrs. Hughes."
"And you don't want to advertise for more?"
"No, Mrs. Hughes."
"And out of allof them, you took a shine to Thomas?" She knew it would be bad form, at best, to criticize Carson's choice, but she wondered if the old man's mind was no longer working in perfect form.
"The man has the sort of professionalism Downton needs, the very sort I pride myself on bringing into this house."
Elise Hughes opened her mouth to speak, but closed it before any words came out.
"Do you have anything else to say on the matter, Mrs. Hughes?"
She squared her shoulders. "I don't like him, that's all."
"Of course you don't," he said and smiled indulgently.
"He's so vain, Carson!"
"A footman ought to be vain, Mrs. Hughes. It's part of his job to represent the house through his good looks. He cannot be plain, and he cannot be sloppy. Thomas Barrow is neither."
Elsie pressed her lips together the way she did whenever Charles Carson refused for even a moment to see things her way, and Charles Carson raised his eyebrows at her the way he did whenever she refused for even a moment to see that his way of seeing things was right. No one could tell how long they would have stared unblinkingly if there didn't come a knock at the door.
"Come in," said Mr. Carson.
A young man with shiny black hair slipped in through the open door. "Am I interrupting, sir?" The heavy scent of pomade clogged Elsie's nose.
"Not at all," Carson gestured to the chair facing his. "I've called you back to give you good news."
The edges of the young man's mouth twitched, but he fought the smile, and nodded instead.
"You have been hired to work as second footman here at Downton."
When the smile won over Thomas, it did not break over him suddenly in a wash of bright glee, but crept slowly across his face like wine staining a linen tablecloth.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Carson."
"You understand, of course, this is hardly a tenured position. One slip, and we'll advertize for your replacement. Is that clear, Thomas?"
"Yes, Mr. Carson."
"I'll give you a tour of the house this evening, and you will stay the night. On Sunday, you'll be free to go home to gather your belongings and to spend time with your family."
"That won't be necessary, sir. I brought my things with me to Ripon," he said with another smile that said a lesser man would not be so prepared. He shared this smile with Elsie Hughes, and she considered that her cue to speak.
"Free days come rarely here at Downton, Thomas. Take my advice and take them when they're offered."
"Yes, Mrs…"
"Hughes. Mrs. Elsie Hughes," she didn't know why she offered her Christian name to this slimy little man. "How old are you, Thomas?"
"I'm nineteen, Mrs. Hughes."
Nineteen. What nineteen-year-old had such steely eyes? But she had to agree with Carson: the boy looked polished as a perfect piece of silver.
"Were your parents in service, Thomas?"
"My father was a clockmaker."
"Where did he work?"
"Braithwell. Up by Manchester."
"You came from so far away?"
"I couldn't turn down such a wonderful opportunity, Mrs. Hughes."
Carson beamed at that, and Elsie wanted to tell him it had nothing to do with Downton. It couldn't. Those steely grey eyes were running from something.
"Are we quite finished, Mrs. Hughes?" Carson lifted his caterpillar eyebrows.
"As much as I'd love to get to know Thomas better, I do have work to attend to." She glared at Carson for a moment before turning to Downton's newest footman. "I'm glad to have met you, Thomas," she told him. His smiles never reached up to his eyes, that was the problem, she realized as she shut the door behind her.