Sir Mark Stiles had always been a pompous man, greedy, self-seeking and cold. It came as something of a shock when, after their marriage, Lady Fiona was found to have a little less money and a lot less breeding than he had expected.
Perhaps, he thought, it was a judgment on him that his rich wife from an unheard of estate in Wiltshire turned out to be the daughter of a Bradford lace maker with only a thousand pounds to offer her husband.
At least she was a very handsome creature so no disparaging remarks were made on that score. She was a consummate actress with a flawless accent, and his lordship was always welcome in polite society, especially when accompanied by his pretty and witty wife.
The challenge for both was how to keep up the luxurious lifestyle to which they aspired with such reduced means and staff.
His grandfather had been just as arrogant as Sir Mark and had bought a property in Shropshire far too expensive to keep. Before the money ran short, builders had been called in and a small and elegant house had been transformed into an ostentatious and sprawling monstrosity, and given the optimistic title of Stiles Court (he had wanted to call it Stiles Palace but was reluctantly talked out of it by his sensible wife). Since then, the extensive grounds had been sold off piecemeal to pay off the family's creditors.
The cook provided meals of a mediocre quality but Sir Mark and Lady Fiona both realised that if they were to dismiss her for someone more capable, they would have to hire another who would certainly not be content to work for the pitiful wage they paid Mrs Trent. Her inability to prepare even the most simple recipe was an advantage in itself, it meant that they would not be put to the expense of inviting their neighbours to dinner.
Indeed, their neighbours looked favourably on this. Many praised them for their frugality in the current age of frivolous and extravagant expense, some were relieved not to be obliged to attend since the Stiles had earned a reputation for being taciturn and disagreeable companions. Some however saw through the facade and privately despised Sir Mark and his wife (in public, however, they were always delighted to see one another).
The rest of the staff consisted of Nora, a girl who was both house and lady's maid and no good at either, and a particularly lazy boy whose job it was to combine the tasks of boot boy and footman, neither of which he did to any satisfaction. He had the misfortune to be Mrs Trent's nephew who had implored her mistress to employ him, if only to keep poor Martin out of the clutches of the law who were all too keen to arrest the innocent lad. His Lordship doubted his innocence, especially since one or two small and unused items of silver had mysteriously disappeared from the pantry. It was perhaps understandable though, the Stiles paid him no wages and expected him to be grateful to have a roof over his head and three unsatisfactory meals a day for free.
Mr Pierce, the aged butler, had known Sir Mark since he had been obstinate, bad-tempered young master Mark. With great sadness, he had seen the fortunes of the family dwindle and wings of the house fall into disrepair but loyalty to the Stiles family kept him from giving notice. His Lordship, however, had no such generosity of spirit.
"It's a great pity, of course" said Sir Mark, pacing up and down in front of the empty fireplace in his library "But one cannot avoid it. One has retrenched one's expenditure to the limit of one's power but alas we can do no more. Your wages will be paid until the end of the month, unfortunately there are no suitable estate cottages which could accommodate you. You're a good fellow and I am perfectly happy to provide you with a good character for your next employer."
Having, as he congratulated himself, discharged his responsibility as master of the house, Sir Mark left the old man rooted to the spot. Mr Pierce had borne a great deal during his time at Stiles Court but he had never expected to be dismissed, turned out of the house and left to fend for himself. He was no fool and he had at least some savings, but to begin again at his age? It was unthinkable but nonetheless he began to peruse the situations vacant in the local newspapers.
When nothing suitable was forthcoming, he swallowed his pride and applied to certain family members for any assistance they could provide. It came as quite a shock when a distant spinster cousin sent him a letter to ask whether he would consider moving to Dorset and help with the running of her little guesthouse. He accepted, since no other offer presented itself, and found himself agreeably surprised by his new situation.
Fernhill Cottage was larger than he had expected, the gardens were very well tended by an energetic niece and each summer, they opened a tea room which was always busy, Miss Fernhill's excellent baking skills being well-known in the surrounding towns and villages.
Into the disorganised surroundings of Stiles Court came the new butler, a Mr Thomas Barrow. He was a young man, evidently from Yorkshire to judge from his accent.
The current staff closed ranks and, despite Thomas' best efforts, were surly and unwelcoming. It quickly became clear that he had been employed not only because he did not ask for exorbitant wages but also because he was young and handsome and a bored Lady Fiona needed someone in the house to flirt with.
Thomas tried to enjoy his work, to bring order from what was essentially chaos and an apathetic staff but it was to no avail. His heart ached for his native Yorkshire, not only his colleagues at Downton but simply to be back in familiar surroundings where people understood him.
Mr Bates had rallied round the other below stairs staff and together they had bought Thomas an elegant pocket watch as a parting gift. It was a kind gesture but every time he pulled it from his pocket to correct the time on the ancient and ugly clock in the servants hall, he was reminded of his past life.
-o-
The post boy was late again. When finally he did arrive, he handed over the newspaper for his Lordship, the Ladies' Journal for Lady Fiona and a few grubby letters. He sat on his bicycle, looking at Thomas with outstretched hand.
"Not a shilling until you arrive here on time." replied the butler and watched as the boy cycled away "And oil those bloody wheels" Thomas murmured to himself, closing the door and returning to his room, shaking his head at the condition of the letters. Mrs Hobbs was the local postmistress and incurably nosey - she would frequently open her customers letters and she had no talent for resealing them again. By the look of it, at least two of the letters to Sir Mark were final demands for payment - no doubt Lady Fiona had been on yet another shopping spree.
Thomas was surprised to see that one of the letters was addressed to him and, moreover, that Mrs Hobbs hadn't tampered with it.
It was an invitation from Sir Robert and Lady Cora to attend Lady Edith's wedding. Thomas' heart swelled with happiness for Edith, she might finally have a happy ever after. Many nights were spent in considering whether or not to attend, while it would be a pleasure to see the house and inhabitants again, he would nonetheless have to wrench himself away again to return to Shropshire.
-o-
The bride and groom looked suitably ecstatic, the house was as elegant and well-ordered as he remembered although someone ought to keep a regular check on the various clocks - there were at least two running either slow or fast.
Thomas sighed. He would have to go to the station soon for the late night train back to Shropshire, a journey he was not looking forward to at all. Rather than waiting any longer, he decided to take his leave. Approaching Sir Robert, standing near Lady Mary with Mr Carson pouring the champagne for the many wedding guests, Thomas prepared to thank them for their hospitality.
Thomas watched in disbelief as a tremor in Mr Carson's hand caused him to spill champagne. After an unusual outburst of his temper, his wife began to soothe him while the others began to discuss what they should do. Thomas was speechless when they asked whether he would consider returning to his precious Downton as butler and they were all delighted when he instantly accepted.
Whereas only half an hour previously Thomas had been dreading returning to his current employer, now the train could not go fast enough and he resented every station they were obliged to halt at.
The following morning, he astonished Sir Mark by respectfully thanking him for his welcome but handing in his notice. He would remain in the house until the end of the month, a period of only ten days, after which he would be removing himself to take up employment elsewhere. Thomas did not feel it necessary to disclose where he was bound.
Lady Fiona was in London at this time, unaware that her handsome young man was due to depart. When she arrived home, to be greeted by the news that Thomas would be leaving in a few days, she sank to the ground in her best impression of a dead faint. The butler, however, was not taken in.
-o-
Once again he cursed the slowness of trains. Whose idea was it to put so many stations and halts on the way to Yorkshire? It was mid-afternoon when he arrived at his destination and before the train had even stopped, he had opened the door of his third class carriage and jumped down, carrying his battered suitcase. Tom Branson waved at him from the other end of the platform and soon they were speeding through the lanes back to Downton.
Thomas was hoping for a quiet welcome and thankfully the Granthams had accurately guessed his wishes. Sir Robert and Lady Cora were the only ones waiting for him in the entrance hall and they greeted him with a hearty handshake and a "welcome back, dear boy" and, in Cora's case, a soft kiss on the cheek and a whispered "welcome home Thomas". Too overcome with emotion to speak, he nodded acknowledgment of their kindness and turned to go downstairs to the servants hall. He stopped on the way to the door, glancing at the ornate clock by the fireplace which, to his annoyance, was three minutes slow when compared with his pocket watch. With an impatient sigh, he adjusted the hands to show the correct time and walked away muttering "who winds the clocks in this place?"
He reached the foot of stairs, smiling at the familiar sound of Mrs Patmore barking at a new kitchen maid and nearly colliding with Mr Bates who stretched out a hand to shake Thomas', a genuine smile on each of their faces.
Carson's voice was heard in the distance asking whether that Thomas had arrived yet so, cutting his conversations with his Lordship's valet short, he made his way to the butler's room.
During his time as under-butler, Thomas had thought he had learned all there was to know about the house and the tasks assigned to him however it was almost an hour later when Mr Carson rose from his chair and handed his bunch of keys to a mildly bewildered Thomas. "The keys of the kingdom" Mr Carson quipped, "I couldn't be leaving Downton in safer hands."
"Thank you sir" said Thomas "And I'll come straight to you when I need your advice."
Mr Carson shook his head "No Thomas. No advice from me. Downton is your responsibility now and how you manage it will be very different from how I managed it. I'll support you from a distance, but it's your ship to steer if you'll pardon the nautical metaphor."
-o-
Thomas carefully dressed in his uniform. Miss Baxter, or Mrs Molesley as she was likely to be whenever the man got around to asking, had arranged for the pressing of his suit in time for his arrival.
He looked at himself in the mirror, rather pleased at his appearance, and left his room to visit the kitchens.
"Well, would you look at you!" cried Mrs Patmore when she saw him.
"Do I look smart enough?" he asked, with a smile.
"You look far too skinny for my liking" she replied "That suit would have fitted you six months ago."
The new kitchen maid commented "She'll be stuffing you with sandwiches and cake by the end of the day, Thomas!"
"That'll do, Leah" snapped Mrs Patmore.
"And it's Mr Barrow to you" added Daisy before running over and hugging Thomas.
It would soon be time for the dressing bell so Thomas went to look at the dining room and make sure everything was immaculate. He paced around the table, inspecting every last piece of silverware and glass, sighing with relief that he could find no fault.
The footmen were preparing for the pre-dinner drinks when Thomas returned downstairs to ring the bell, sending Mrs Bates and Miss Baxter into a flurry of activity as they hurried to dress their respective mistresses.
The evening was flawless from start to finish although Thomas could not remember nights having ended so late when he was under-butler. Exhausted, he stretched out in the worn armchair in front of the fire in his room and had almost fallen asleep when there was a quiet tap on his door.
Mrs Patmore poked her head around carrying two small glasses and a bottle without a label.
"A drink to celebrate your first day?" she asked "Don't get your hopes up though, it's only cooking sherry."
Digging in his pocket for his keys, Thomas rose and unlocked a nearby cupboard.
"I don't think his Lordship would begrudge us a drop of the good stuff, do you?" he asked and filling the glasses the cook had brought, they drank a toast to the future.
A future which, for the first time in his life, Thomas looked forward to.
A big thank you for reading! Extra thank yous to fiveby10eighty3, Manygreentrees, dustnik and kkrabappel for the reviews. I only intended this as a one shot, but if you kind readers would like some more of Mr Barrow's adventures then I'll put my thinking cap on...