Thomas looked down at the shattered ashtray at his feet as if he did not quite know what had gone wrong. He cocked his head to one side. The pieces of glass were scattered far and wide around the Great Hall. He would have to pick them all up himself.
He had not slept in days since Philip had left Downton. Last night in particular he was up wondering whether he should have taken him up on one last fuck.
He knelt down on the polished wood floor, careful not to stab himself with a shard of glass in the process. He cupped one hand and carefully picked up all the pieces within reach. This would take forever, and Carson would be furious with him for dropping the thing in the first place.
He was so lost in thought that he did not notice the footsteps approaching him.
"Thomas?" Daisy said.
Startled, he dropped all the shards he had collected.
"I'm sorry!"
"What is it, Daisy?" he said, careful to keep his voice calm.
"What's happened, Thomas?"
Thomas breathed deeply before he snapped at her. Daisy was one of the few in Downton who still had a good opinion of him since Saint John Bates had arrived. "I was carrying an ashtray into the library. I broke it."
"Wait right here. I'll get a broom." She was off again, scurrying away.
Thomas closed his eyes. He licked his lips, as if he could taste Philip's still there. He tried to tell himself he would have the memory of that kiss forever. Perhaps he would, but it would always remind him of the heat of the fire stinging his eyes as he dove for his burning letters.
From the far end of the hall, he heard a soft shushing noise. Daisy was sweeping. He rose and walked towards her.
"Do… do you want me to take over?"
"No, I can take care of it," she smiled shyly at him. "Don't worry yourself. Nobody's up yet, they'll hardly notice."
Letting Daisy do his chores for him seemed the wrong thing to do, but Thomas told himself that was what made it so wonderful. "Excellent," he told her and walked away, onto other tasks to set the house in order before the Crawleys woke.
He looked back at Daisy before she was quite out of sight and wondered whether he could make himself care for her. Caring for men was too great a risk. They burned and broke things. Men were good for nothing.