Chapter 1: The Cruelest Kindness

Thomas Barrow felt a little strange now that he was back. Downton Abbey had changed little in the two years he'd been away in France. The war seemed like a distant dream, happening to someone else, somewhere else. It felt almost comforting to find the familiar faces and familiar places; and at least O'Brien seemed glad to have him back, if nobody else was.

'What about your blighty?" she asked, as they shared the familiar smoke in the kitchen courtyard. Thomas let out a puff and smoothly took off his glove to brandish the bullet wound through the flat of his left palm. The doctors had suspected his cowardice, he was sure of it. Luckily, a lowly medic didn't warrant an investigation, and he was sent back. He was going to continue service under Major Clarkson, so he couldn't be a complete traitor, eh?

'My God', O'Brien whispered.

'It's not so bad. And it lived up to its name, and got me home.'

There was a brief pause. 'You'd better come inside,' she said, leading the way. A final puff and Thomas followed her in.

Carson the butler and the rest received Thomas's return decidedly coolly, but he didn't care. He wasn't working for the big house anymore, and his services were certainly welcome at the hospital. He rather enjoyed his work, and although he would never admit it, he found joy in helping the soldiers heal and recover. Although he sometimes felt like he was just a different kind of footman, especially with Mrs Crawley and Lady Sybil – or properly Nurse Crawley – working at the hospital.

One day, as he was entering the room with some freshly laundered linens, he heard them arguing about some dinner Sybil could or could not attend that evening. 'Thomas, you can cover for Nurse Crawley, can't you?' Mrs Crawley suddenly asked. How insufferable! Would he have to remind her that he had seen active duty?

'Of course I can, I'd be glad to'. Someone would have to, and he'd rather not be responsible for a prolongation of their maddening chatter. Sybil asked him if he could give Lt. Courtenay his pills. Thomas didn't know him at all, but administering medicine seemed like a fine way to talk with the quiet fellow.

Most of the hospital staff had retired to their quarters for the evening. The soldiers were settling in for the night, and Thomas found himself chatting with Lt. Edward Courtenay, describing his his pre-war life at Downton Abbey, getting shot (in this version, it wasn't on purpose), , and his work at the hospital. Thomas was embarrassed to think he might be boring him. Maybe he should let Lt. Courtenay speak for a while.

'What about you, sir?' Thomas asked. 'What did you do before the war started?'

'I was up at Oxford.' Edward said wistfully. 'But I only ever planned to farm… Farm, and shoot, and hunt, and fish, and everything I'll never do again,' he concluded with a twinge of bitterness.

'You don't know that, sir. We've had cases of gas blindness wearing off.'

'Rare cases, and much sooner than this,' Edward replied. 'It doesn't help me to be lied to, you know. I'm finished, and I'd rather face it than dodge it,' he concluded.

Thomas really did feel embarrassed now. This is what comes of getting too familiar with officers – you get cosy and then they knock you off the armchair. 'I'd better go,' Thomas said quietly. It seemed the conversation was over.

As he walked away, Edward cursed himself. The truth was, he felt terribly lonely, and now he'd rebuked the one person who'd spoken more than two friendly words to him since he'd arrived here. Edward decided to be more civil next time.

Edward's widowed mother lived on their estate near Huddersfield, and Thomas helped Edward cope with the distress of having to break news of his blindness to her. Edward looked close to tears by the time he had finished dictating the letter to Thomas. Poor, dear Edward! How Thomas wished he could wrap him in a tight hug and ease his troubled mind. But that would be wholly inappropriate.

'Don't be upset sir, she'll be proud of your sacrifice,' Thomas reassured him, as he went about changing his bandages. His life nowadays seemed to revolve around wrapping and unwrapping people, like macabre Christmas presents.

'How? How can you be sure of anything?' Edward snapped back. 'I'm terribly sorry Barrow,' he continued, reigning in his tone, 'It's a vexing business for me.'

'That's alright sir, we're in it together.' Barrow replied with a small chuckle.

At least the mustard gas had spared most of his youthful face, Thomas thought thankfully while he finished changing the bandages on Edward's eyes. The fine tracery of scars around his left eye looked almost translucent in the morning light, as it lit up his pale, beautiful features. His eyes were rendered a ghostly blue-grey by the poison, and it made him seem hauntingly ethereal in Thomas's eyes. Edward kept a stiff upper lip through all if it, of course. Hope and despair danced upon his face like light and shadow.

'Thank you Barrow,' Edward said as the bandaging was completed. An involuntary smile crossed Thomas's lips - if only Edward knew how much his happiness meant to him.

'Now, shall I read you the paper, sir?' Thomas asked.

'Very kind of you', he replied with a little nod.

A reply arrived next week from Edward's mother. Thomas made it a point to read it to him. It gave him an occasion to spend time with Edward again.

Mrs Courtenay was concerned about his well-being, but seemed even more concerned about the management of the farms. Apparently "Jack", whoever he was, sent his love and had suggested that he should take over the reins from Edward. Now that, you know, he was blind and useless. People are cruelest when they think they are being kind.

'…and whatever you think, Jack has your best interests at heart.' Thomas read out.

'Stop', Edward said in disgust as he turned his ghostly eyes away.

'Who's Jack?'

'My younger brother – he means to replace me. It's what he's always wanted.'

Thomas could sense the darkness returning, clouding Edward's visage. He wasn't sure what to say next. He fumbled with the letter instead.

'I'm sorry, I mustn't bore you,' Edward said.

'Don't let them walk all over you,' Thomas responded quietly, 'You've got to fight your corner.' Heavens knows, he'd been pushed to a corner himself more than once.

'What with?' Edward asked with a pained smile.

'Your brain. You're not a victim, don't let them make you one.'

'You know, when you talk like that, I almost believe you,' Edward said, his eyes glistening with barely contained tears, and a joyless frown playing upon his brow. Thomas lamented Edward's misfortune, but in that moment he felt a deepening kinship with the lieutenant. Here they were, two broken clocks both in need of mending. Edward may not recover his sight, but at least Thomas could try and heal his spirit.

'Well you should believe me. All my life, they've pushed me around just 'cause I'm different,' Thomas blurted out.

'How? Why are you different?' Edward asked, puzzled. Thomas felt ashamed. He was supposed to be helping Edward – instead he was trying to help himself. He cursed his craven, perverse flesh and decided to brush off his momentary weakness. 'Never mind,' he said lightly. He knew Edward was too much of a gentleman to try and pursue it further.

'Look, I…I don't know if you're gonna see again or not,' Thomas said, hesitating to put into words the nameless truth they both knew, 'But I do know you have to fight back.'

Edward seemed to freeze. With the afternoon sun forming a halo around his curly hair, he seemed just like an angel to Thomas – a seraph of marbled loveliness. Soundlessly, Edward placed a tentative hand on Thomas's knee and gave a gentle squeeze. This simple gesture gave him more assurance than anything Edward might have said. Thomas responded with a gentle pat. Edward's fingers felt warm and strong under his own. In that moment, the world felt right again.

[End of Chapter 1]