Chapter One
The Truth
As Jimmy handed back the newspaper, he asked Thomas if he needed anything. The under butler shook his head no, smiling as though it didn't hurt to do so. It was obvious this was the happiest he'd been in weeks. To see that made Jimmy crumble a little inside.
'I should let you rest.' He said. They made their farewells and Jimmy walked out of the room, trying not to play that final grateful smile over and over in his head. A man should not have to be beaten to a pulp before someone did the kindness of spending one whole hour without insulting him.
If he'd trusted his instincts long ago instead of listening to O'Brien... Just the act of telling Thomas he would be friends with him had released the knots of tension that'd been building in his stomach since this whole sorry episode started. He'd been wrong about this. All wrong.
He felt regret burn through him. He knew he'd got there in the end and done the right thing, but he'd had to be shamed into first and that was what made him feel so bad.
When he got back to his room, Alfred wanted to regale him with all the day's gossip, but he made it clear he was exhausted, hungover, and wanted nothing more than to shut his eyes. He felt like he could sleep for a week.
To everyone's surprise, Thomas got up the next day and struggled downstairs, but his Lordship insisted that until his ribs were fully mended, he was to have bed rest. After an hour or two, Thomas crept back down to the kitchen and insisted he be made useful. Mrs Patmore came to the rescue, and found him a 'dry goods labeling' job to do that mostly required him to sit by the range and keep them both awash in cups of tea.
It was not until after luncheon before Jimmy finally got to see him. He was shocked when he did so, as the whole left side of Thomas's face had swollen up like a bruised peach. As Jimmy's eyes travelled over his wounds, Thomas caught and held his gaze, raising his chin as he did so. He tried a smile, though Jimmy found it too distressing to give much of a smile back.
A couple of weeks passed without event. Thomas was back at work, though on reduced duties. Whenever he met Jimmy in some hallway or another, he was polite but strangely standoffish. It was as though their night of easy laughter after the fair had never happened. He made Jimmy doubt that their friendship was repaired after all.
Thomas spent a lot of his free time alone. Whatever fight he and O'Brien had clearly had caused them to circle around each other like prize fighters mid-bought. And now he no longer was in her confidence, he seemed to have no-one.
On his breaks Thomas stood beneath the eaves of the house and smoked. A couple of times Jimmy tried to start a conversation with him, but Thomas would make a polite excuse and go back into the house. At first the footman thought nothing of it - after all a butler's duties were seemingly never ending - but then after a while he began to see a pattern. It only happened with him.
'O'Brien says that young Miss Sybil cries any time Lady Grantham goes into the room!' Jimmy said one day, walking up behind Thomas and taking him by surprise.
The under butler turned to face him. 'Aye, well that doesn't surprise me. I'd cry too if I had to look up at that face!' He smiled, but then seemed to think better of it. His foot hurriedly stubbed out the cigarette, and he tried to leave.
Before he knew what he was doing, Jimmy grabbed the older man's arm.
Thomas looked at him in shock, so Jimmy unhanded him.
'I'm sorry, it's just that, well, you've only just lit that.' He said, indicating the stubbed out cigarette.
'I can't stand around gossiping all day, I've things to do.'
'Are you avoiding me?' Jimmy asked bluntly.
Thomas didn't reply. His grey-blue eyes looked away, but when they looked back, Jimmy could see how troubled he was.
The footman frowned. 'Why?' He asked, his face open. 'I thought we said we would be friends? And I'm trying, I really am.'
'I know you are. That's the problem.' Thomas said quietly.
He looked awkward and made to walk around him, but Jimmy took a step sideways and blocked his path.
'I meant what I said. You don't have to be afraid I'll change my mind. We can be friends.'
Thomas looked embarrassed, 'I want to be friends with you, I do,' he swallowed hard, 'but I can't. I just can't. I'm sorry.'
Thomas bundled past him, and Jimmy let him go.
The footman felt utterly lost. Isn't being friends what Thomas had asked for? What he'd wanted? He shook his head, utterly confused.
Alfred looked into the dregs of his pint, 'D'ya want another?'
'Better not. We've got to get back, or Carson will send a search party.'
'It's my day off. Yours too!'
'I know, but you know what he's like if you're late back.'
Alfred shrugged. 'I don't care. I'm having another.' He strode to the bar, before coming back with only a half. Jimmy smiled, before the smile slid from his face. He turned his empty glass.
'What's wrong with you?' Alfred said as he sat down. 'You've 'ad a face like a wet weekend all afternoon.'
Jimmy shrugged.
'Come on, tell me. You've been off key all week. What's up?' Alfred stared at him and when there was no reply, he rolled his eyes. 'Oh God, don't tell me it's this thing with Mr Barrow.'
'How d'you know?' Jimmy said feeling like some guilty secret had been revealed.
'I sleep in the same room as you don't I? You haven't slept right since that night at the fair. And you'd have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to notice the fact that he's avoiding you.'
'Why do you think he does it? I told him we could be friends. I said so, didn't I? Why won't he believe me?'
'He's in love with you, you fool. Don't you know that? 'ere, give me your empty and I'll take it to the bar.'
When there was no response, Alfred got up and removed the empty glasses. When he got back he sat down slowly. The colour had entirely gone from Jimmy's cheeks.
'Don't tell me you didn't realise?' Alfred said, somewhat shocked that this appeared to be news to his fellow footman. 'No, you couldn't possibly not know. Everyone knows.'
'What d'you mean 'everyone knows'? I didn't! Why didn't you tell me?'
'Course he is, you fool. Why'd you think he let seven bells get knocked out of him?'
'Well, I know he he...' Jimmy looked down at his hands on the rough wooden table in front of him, 'liked me. But I never thought it were anything serious.'
'What you going to do now?'
The panic was back in Jimmy's face, 'What d'you mean, 'do'?'
'Are you going to tell him you know?'
'No. I'll do nothing. Say nothing. And neither will you if you know what's good for you.'
Alfred held his hands up. 'Don't shoot the messenger.'
There was a pause before Jimmy fell head first onto the table. 'Oh, Jesus.' He mumbled.
'No good asking him. I don't think he approves of this kind of thing.'
'Shut up, Alfred.'
They got back to the house just before midnight. Thomas was busy attending the men of the house, who seemed to be lingering over their after-supper conversation.
Jimmy paced the hall outside the footmen's lockers like a man possessed.
'Everything alright, James?' Came a familiarly gruff voice.
'Yes, Mister Carson.'
'Well, don't hang around here wearing a hole in the rug, head upstairs if you've nowhere else to be.'
'Yes, Mister Carson. Goodnight sir.'
'Goodnight, James.'
Once in his room, he took off his jacket and hat, and kicked off his shoes - grateful he was alone for once. Alfred had permission to move to a different room as one of the grooms was away at Tattershall buying breeding stock, freeing up a bed for a week.
Jimmy was grateful for the peace. He needed time to think.
He lay back on his bed in his shirt and braces and looked at the crack in the ceiling where that leak had sprung last winter.
Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, nor anyone he ever knew. It was one thing knowing that another man had - well - lustful feelings for him, it was another altogether if those feelings were... romantic.
Even thinking the word felt strange. 'Romantic' feelings from another man. Who'd have thought it?
He didn't for a minute doubt its truth. Alfred merely put a name to what he now realised he'd known all along. Thomas couldn't be friends with him, because despite himself - despite that one night where they had tried - he wanted more.
Jimmy turned over onto his side. He wished he had someone to talk to about it. Alfred was all well and good, but he was just a kid - and this was man's business. He wanted someone he could trust; someone who wouldn't blab a load of old tosh all 'round the house. Better, someone who wasn't connected to the house at all...
And suddenly it hit him. Emily.
He had to go home.
