CHAPTER 1: AFTER
Summer 1925
Thomas Barrow's Room
"NO!" Thomas Barrow roared as he woke from the depths. In any case, his brain roared, but the word got lost in his throat, and he merely gurgled.
"I'm almost finished," Dr Richard Clarkson assured him as he trimmed yet another of the stitches he had taken in Thomas' wrists.
Thomas ordered his arms to grab Dr Clarkson by the collar and heave him into the wall, but his arms were indifferent to his demands. His mind stumbled. Why could he not move? Why was Dr Clarkson in his room? Why was his room so cold? Thomas tried to focus, but each thought faded into nothingness before he could seize it. Something about Molesley making a life for himself ... something about a warm bath ... something about never waking up ...
"NO!" Thomas croaked as panic seized him. "I WON'T WAKE UP!"
"Did you say something?" asked Dr Clarkson, rolling down his sleeves.
There was something Thomas was supposed to say ... something urgent ... something his mum had told him ... no, not his mum ... she had been gone for years ... but he had seen her ... he was certain he had seen her ... her warm smile ... her laughing eyes ... but where was her pompadour? Had he been dreaming? He remembered red water ... red water ... and there she was ... a lovely ghost with hair that flowed to her waist ...
Bates. Mum had said something about Bates. Bates and Anna. Perhaps if he saw them, perhaps then he would remember. "Bates and Anna, Bates and Anna," Thomas pleaded.
"Yes, we know," Dr Clarkson replied evenly. You've been asking for them. Baxter went to find them as soon as we understood that you weren't asking for a banana."
Dr Clarkson slipped into his coat. "Barrow, you've suffered a considerable loss of blood. You must remain in bed, drink as much tea as you can manage, and eat everything Mrs Hughes brings you. She's speaking to Mrs Patmore now." Dr Clarkson continued in his matter-of-fact way, "I'm not going to report your error in judgment to the police, but I won't untie you until I'm confident that your judgment has improved."
Untie me? Thomas looked at his arms and saw that they were tied to the bed frame and that his wrists were bandaged. The red water ... he remembered now ... a warm bath makes the blood flow ... he had read it in a detective story. How could they have found him? He had chosen the time so carefully. He was never supposed to wake up. WHY WAS HE AWAKE?
Elsie Hughes bustled in the door carrying a tray of soup, tea, and toast and set it on the bedside table. She was relieved to see that Thomas' eyes were open. "Here's an elixir from Mrs Patmore to revive you. Doesn't it smell delicious, Mr Barrow?"
Thomas could not bring himself to look at Mrs Hughes. She must think him an abysmal coward.
The Servants' Hall
John Bates could not believe what Phyllis Baxter was saying. "What could Barrow possibly want with us?" he thundered. Baxter fell back as though she had been slapped. Embarrassed by his outburst, Bates composed himself. "You must have misunderstood."
Baxter knew that Bates was not a callous man. "I don't know what he wants with you. I know he has harmed you in the past, but everything has worked out for you, hasn't it? What does Mr Barrow have now? Nothing."
Bates looked at his pregnant wife, Anna, who had collapsed onto a chair, her colour drained. He rested his hands protectively on her shoulders. "My wife is expectant. You can't ask me to subject her to more of such an appalling act ... and by a man like Barrow."
Baxter knelt next to Anna and made her case, "I've known Thomas Barrow since he was a boy. His sister and I were close friends. His father wouldn't accept what Thomas was, and he couldn't change it. He came to loathe Thomas and humiliated him at every turn. Thomas was thirteen when his mother died, and he ran away. He taught himself never to let down his guard, and that left him an isolated man. He has no friends and now the threat of no job and no home. It's too much for him."
Baxter stood and appealed again to Bates, "He came here a boy, but he's never belonged. He's tried to turn things around. You know he has." Bates was hesitant.
Anna had been overcome by the sight of Thomas so close to death, but now she collected herself. She knew she and Bates would respond to Thomas' request. She stood and took Bates' arm. "Let's not keep him waiting any longer. He's been through enough."
Thomas Barrow's Room
"Here are Bates and Anna to see you, just as you asked," Mrs Hughes announced cheerfully.
Anna tried to match Mrs Hughes' breezy tone, "I hope you're feeling better, Mr Barrow. Is there anything you need?"
Thomas stared, unable to unscramble his thoughts. He knew he wanted them there, desperately, but he could not remember why. What had mum said ... what had she told him to say?
Bates approached Thomas intending to make some casual remark. But when he saw Thomas' colourless face and weakened state, he was shocked. For a moment, he thought Dr Clarkson had bandaged the wrists of a dead man. When he saw that Thomas had been tied to his bed, Bates was filled with shame. Baxter was right. Things were going well for Anna and him now. He had witnessed Thomas' failed efforts to make friends among the staff, yet Bates chose to be suspicious and seldom resisted a sharp retort whenever the man spoke.
Anna gave Bates a reproachful glance. He knew she was waiting for him to say something pleasant to Thomas. But saying something pleasant was not going to suffice. Bates had good instincts, and his instincts told him that Thomas would try suicide again, and probably succeed next time. Someone needed to make a connection with Thomas, but how? Thomas lived apart, encased in a shell of his own making ... a hard shell that Thomas polished to a high sheen with every syllable he uttered, with every self-satisfied smirk. That shell had to be cracked, but Bates was not the man to do it. No, he was not the man for this job.
Thomas struggled to remember what he was supposed to say to Bates and Anna. He stared at Bates who was towering over his bed. "My mum came to me ... I'm supposed to ask you ... tell you ... ask you ... I can't remember!" Tears slid down Thomas' cheeks and dissolved the last of Bates' resistance.
Bates handed his cane to Anna and sat on the bed. He wiped away Thomas' tears with his handkerchief and with his fingers smoothed Thomas' mussed hair away from his eyes. He leaned forward to speak privately into Thomas' ear. As his face brushed Thomas' bloodless cheek, he was shaken by the iciness of his skin ... skin so cold it was almost blue. Bates let go of his shock and spoke with an easy calm, "Everything's going to work out, son, I promise. When you're strong enough, we'll have a long talk. But right now, we're going to take care of you, and you're going to let us. There's no cause for you to worry."
Bates untied Thomas' right arm, and Dr Clarkson immediately untied his left. It was Bates' nature to inspire confidence, even in a doctor.
"Dr Clarkson, he's shivering," Bates remarked casually so as not to upset Thomas.
Dr Clarkson was unconcerned. "That's to be expected. He'll warm up with some hot soup and tea. Be careful that he doesn't burn himself."
Bates stood and looked at Baxter, Anna, and Mrs Hughes, who were staring at him agape. "Would you please help Mr Barrow to sit. I believe he'd care for some soup." Leaning against the bed for support, he removed his coat and handed it to Anna.
Mrs Hughes and Baxter flanked the narrow bed and scooped Thomas into a sitting position. Bates leaned the pillow against the iron headboard and slid himself between the pillow and Thomas. He gently eased Thomas back against his own chest.
While Anna tested the temperature of the soup, Bates pulled the blanket around Thomas' shoulders, carefully slipping his bandaged wrists underneath. Then he reached his arms over the blanket and held Thomas close. "I'll warm you."
Thomas, still shivering but cognizant enough to be deeply embarrassed, blurted, "You're treating me like an infant."
Thomas did not mean to sound unappreciative. He glanced up, expecting to see a ring of annoyed faces, but Anna, Baxter, Mrs Hughes, and even Dr Clarkson laughed with relief. Mrs Hughes observed, "I'm glad you're getting back a little of your own, Mr Barrow."
Dr Clarkson headed for the door with Mrs Hughes. "I'll explain to Carson that Barrow must not be left alone. Perhaps Mrs Crawley would like to help. She does love to be of assistance," Dr Clarkson chuckled. "I'll check back tonight."
It was Baxter's half-day, but she excused herself to get a start on Anna's duties. She thought it was sensible for Anna to stay off her feet for a bit and remain with Bates.
Anna offered a spoonful of soup to Thomas. Thomas had always counted himself lucky to live in a house with a cook as capable as Mrs Patmore, even if he had never said so. He closed his eyes and savoured the hot mouthful. He was certain that he had never eaten anything as comforting as Mrs Patmore's bone marrow soup. It was flavourful and rich, and when he swallowed, it soothed his parched throat and warmed him from the inside. Thomas sighed and surrendered to Bates' warm chest and arms. He could not remember when he had felt this comfortable. He made short work of the soup and murmured, "Mrs Patmore's soup is like a taste of heaven."
"You should know, son," Bates chided gently, but only he understood his little joke.
Anna smiled. "Mrs Patmore will be gratified to hear such a high opinion of her soup."
Thomas was startled. Had he said it aloud? Something was not right. Bates and Anna were not his friends. He had no friends. Well, there was Baxter. At least she was not his enemy. Thomas had no friends, but merely people who were not his enemies ... yet.
Why were Bates and Anna behaving this way? Why had he needed to see them? He wanted to remember ... he needed to remember ... but he was so comfortable ... he only wanted to close his eyes and sleep.
Was Bates trying to make a fool of him? Was Bates going to mock him later in front of the entire staff? Thomas tried to break free from Bates' hold but barely had the strength to lift his head. "Don't treat me like a baby!"
Anna had been admiring Thomas' handsome face. He could be an attractive man during those odd moments when he was relaxed. Now he was glaring at her in that ugly, disdainful way of his.
Bates was alarmed. Already, Thomas was slipping back into that confounded shell of his. If only he could make one crack. One little crack. He had to shock Thomas ... knock him off balance. Bates held Thomas tightly in his powerful arms. "You're my baby until you're strong enough to sit up on your own. So accept it." And with that, Bates planted a big kiss right on Thomas' cheek.
The tiniest bit of colour crept up Thomas' neck and face and over his ears. What was happening? Had he died? Was this Hell? Was Bates his personal Satan?
Anna was stunned. Was she sitting with not one, but two, madmen? She knew her husband well; who was this lunatic? She looked at poor Thomas. Gone was disdain. In its place was utter bewilderment.
"You must drink some tea," commanded Bates. "Anna, please bring Mr Barrow a cup of tea, not too hot." Anna prepared a cup of tea and held it to Thomas' lips. Thomas drank the tea obediently without comment.
"You're not shivering now. Help me, Anna. I think Mr Barrow needs to rest for a bit." Bates slid out from behind Thomas and lay the pillow flat. From the other side of the bed, Anna helped Bates lower Thomas to the pillow. Bates made sure Thomas' wrists were in a comfortable position before tucking the blanket securely around Thomas from his neck to his feet. Then he sat on the bed.
Thomas wanted them to go. Leave me alone. Leave me in peace. Leave ... leave ... get out! the voice inside his head screamed.
Isobel Crawley burst in the door accompanied by Mrs Hughes, who was carrying a fresh tray of tea and biscuits. "I'll take charge of Barrow now. You're to go and have your dinner," announced Mrs Crawley beaming. She immediately began to rearrange Thomas' sparse furniture into a more efficient sick room. "Mrs Hughes, if you could locate a few extra pillows and sheets and as many towels as you can spare, that would be helpful."
"I'll see what I can do, Mrs Crawley." Mrs Hughes set down the tray and hurried out but not before advising Bates and Anna to get their dinners while the getting was good. Bates shifted his weight to his sound leg and stood.
"Don't go!" Thomas did not mean to say it, he did not know why he said it, but he said it all the same, and he said it once more for good measure. "Don't go!"
Bates turned back to Thomas and smiled. "I'll be back in a bit," he assured Thomas as Anna helped him with his coat. "I think Mr Barrow would feel more comfortable with another man in the room, Mrs Crawley. I'll come back after dinner to see what help I can offer you." He gave Thomas a wink, and he and Anna were out the door.
With the door shut behind them, Bates leaned against it heavily and sighed. He squeezed his wife's hand. "Did I refuse to see it, Anna? Was I too busy being smug?"
Here was the pensive, compassionate man Anna knew. She squeezed his hand in return. "You're doing what you can now. That's what matters. Let's eat, John. I'm starving!"
Bates hurried to keep pace with his pregnant wife.