"Don't Alfred realize that's cheatin'?" Jimmy whined.
"What is?" Thomas said.
"Ya can't come to a costume ball dressed as a chef if you work as a chef. Cheatin'."
"Ya went downstairs already?" Thomas called from the other side of his bedroom door. Jimmy slouched outside in the hall, waiting for Thomas to finish changing. Thomas had kept his costume a secret for weeks, even inebriated, on that one night drinking in town when Jimmy had kept his wits about him enough to ask.
The costume ball had been all Rose's idea, proposed one spring evening. A way to bring Downton up to date. "It'll be like we're properly in London this fall. We could even have a fund-raiser for Aunt Isobel's latest cause, whatever that will be come October. All the servants will be in costume, too! It will be delightful!" After four courses of deliberation, the elder Crawleys relented.
Jimmy, standing stiffly to the side of that dinner conversation, could hardly contain his glee, and had burst into the servants' hall at the first chance he had to announce Rose's plan to the rest of the staff. Mr. Carson made it clear, though, that such a party would be no excuse for frivolity or for the staff neglecting their duties.
"You take any longer, we'll miss the whole party!" Jimmy whined at Thomas.
"Rather be down with the upper crust than up here with me?" Thomas asked, cajoling.
"I've got you all the time, Thomas," Jimmy said and suddenly discovered that the tops of his boots were fascinating. "We're best friends. Not every day I mingle with the upper-crust."
"We've jot our jobs to do, Jimmy, you know that? You won't be playing cards with Gillingham and Blake."
"I know..." Jimmy whined, and he forgot what else he meant to say when Thomas opened the door.
Thomas stepped out of his room in black from head to toe, a silken mask across his eyes. His shirt and trousers clung to him, making his body all one long shadow. He pulled on the second of his black leather gloves.
"So, Jimmy? Too simple, is it? Going to tell me I'm cheating, too?"
Jimmy's mouth hung open for a moment. Douglas Fairbanks in The Mark of Zorro. The first film he'd seen after the war and still his favorite, he'd gushed all about it to Thomas about it one night at the village pub when he found out his best friend had never seen it. He could even recall acting out some of his favorite scenes. He absolutely made a fool of himself gushing about that silly bloody movie.
"Where'd you get that?" He pointed to the sword hanging on Thomas's belt.
"You've got one, too."
"Made mine out of cardboard," Jimmy muttered, "not like the real thing."
"Well, I think you look dashing as a pirate," Thomas said and rested one hand on the hilt of his sword. "If I may..."
"Thank you!" Jimmy said in relief. Spare pieces of fabric that he'd begged from Anna were wrapped around his head and his waist. He'd taken the liberties of unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt and of rolling up the sleeves, and he wore a pair of over-sized boots he'd saved Mr. Bates from throwing away. He knew it was a mish-mash, piecemeal excuse for a costume, but Thomas liked it. He grinned. "I may be a ladies' man, Thomas, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate a compliment."
A small, strained smile peeked from beneath Thomas's mask, and he started off down the stairs.
Of all the bloody things to say! I'm a ladies man... It's true, Jimmy assured himself, as he followed Thomas down the narrow flight of stairs, not taking his eyes off of Thomas's leather-gloved hand gliding down the railing, but it weren't the right thing to say, sure.
But he forgot completely about his faux-pas when he came into the large parlor, filled with glittering people in costume. He took the tray of hors d'oeuvre each footman was to carry and stood in the doorway. He couldn't help but notice eyes beneath several masks follow Thomas as he took up position halfway across the room. Some of them narrowed, likely cursing the pomp and stupidity of their own costumes when something so elegant existed in the room with them.
Jimmy tore his eyes away from Thomas and his costume and his damned sword and let himself take in the sight before him, pretending all the noble guests were here just for his amusement, that Lady Rose might come up and ask him to dance anytime. That he could say, "Yes," put down the plate of hors d'oeuvre, and be one of them that night.
Lady Mary was in costume as Night itself, obviously, gold stars on her mask and all in black. Lord Grantham had on the uniform of one of the guards at Buckingham Palace, tall fuzzy hat tucked beneath one arm. Jimmy couldn't quite tell what Lady Rose was going for, except that it involved a lot of jewels. Same went for Lady Edith.
His gaze drifted through the crowd and finally settled on a tall, dark figure in a loose white shirt and tall black boots.
"Did you see Lord Gillingham as a pirate?" tittered a young lady dressed as a fairy, complete with wings, as she took one of the hors d'oeuvre from Jimmy's tray.
"I could just swoon!" agreed her friend.
They had a point. Gillingham was all silk from the waist up, velvet and leather from the waist down, with what must have been an actual jeweled cutlass dangling from his wide belt. What was it with men coming to parties armed? Was it the London fashion? Lady Mary better not kiss anyone tonight, or blood could spill.
But as the night went on, Jimmy started wishing something would bloody happen. Other than the costumes, nothing was different. When his tray was yet empty of food, Jimmy went all the way downstairs to the kitchen, lay the tray down as Daisy was explaining something to the new kitchen maids, and went out the kitchen door.
Jimmy walked and walked until he saw the manor silhouetted against the stars, and despite the cold of the October night, sat down in the grass. Even this far away, he could hear dance music.
He held his knees to his chest and wished the night were over.
The chill had cut completely through his shirt to prickle Jimmy's skin when he heard footsteps behind him. Carson coming to tell him what was what, surely. As though Jimmy cared. He leaned back on his elbows and spread his legs. If Carson were to find him, he'd find a careless and insolent young man, not bothered by a thing.
"Jimmy?" Thomas said. "Is something wrong?"
Jimmy spun to face him, a tall shadow but for the light glinting off his sword. Thomas sat next to him in the grass. "You know, an actual pirate couldn't afford to dress in silk and velvet."
"A good one could," Jimmy grumbled. He pulled the cardboard sword from his belt.
"Thomas, am I a joke?" he said.
"A joke? You'll have to explain." Thomas settled back on his elbows, long, long legs stretching out next to Jimmy.
"With my pretensions? Wishin' I were one of them?"
"Nothin' wrong with wantin' a good life, Jimmy."
"But no. I'm superficial, I am! Champagne and pretty girls! Costume parties and fancy things!" He threw his cardboard sword across the lawn.
"I want all that, too, Jimmy," Thomas said, voice soft as velvet. "It don't make either of us bad."
"You want pretty girls?"
Thomas shrugged. "They're nice to dance with, parade around on your arm. Not bad as friends, either."
"Lady Sybil, you mean?" Jimmy said and bit down hard on his tongue. It seemed he couldn't be trusted with speaking tonight.
"You think I haven't known plenty of pretty girls, Jimmy Kent?"
"I'm sure you have," Jimmy said. He stretched out next to Thomas. The grass was wet.
"Your costume... looks nice. Really nice," Jimmy said.
"Thank you," Thomas said.
Jimmy inclined his head toward Thomas's shoulder. He smelled the heavy scent of pomade and inhaled deeply.
Thomas bristled.
Jimmy pulled away. "Somethin' wrong?"
"Yes. Yes, somethin's very wrong." Thomas stood. "Jimmy, you need to stop this."
"Stop what?" Jimmy asked, and he meant it.
"Stop all..." Thomas gestured wildly. "This! This flirting! All this! All this lying in the grass with me – "
"I were here first!"
"Look, Jimmy, you don't know what you do to me. And tonight, with your ... costume and... You said you could never give me what I want, and I'm happy with that!"
"Happy?" Jimmy's heart fell.
"I mean I'm not unhappy. I'm fine with us as we are, but I need you to know when you're flirting with me, and I need you to stop."
"I know when I'm flirting, Barrow," Jimmy hissed.
The song ended, and inside the crowd applauded. Quiet, tired applause.
"We should go back before Carson has a heart attack." Thomas reached down and pulled Jimmy to his feet.
"Thomas..." Jimmy's eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he could see the mask dark against Thomas's skin. "Would you dance with me?"
"Dance?"
"Yes, right here." The music began.
"It's a waltz, Jimmy."
"So it is," Jimmy said and held out his arms.
When Thomas stood stock still, Jimmy cleared his throat. "You know, the thing these people love about costume balls is the freedom ya get, when you're someone else, you know? You can do things ya'd never do otherwise."
Thomas hesitated another moment, and then he stepped into Jimmy's arms.
Thomas's hand was firm on Jimmy's shoulder, and Jimmy found himself following before he'd even given much thought as to who was going to lead. Thomas's legs pushed firmly against his, guiding them in circles over the grass. Jimmy felt his heart filling up, overflowing with so much warmth he feared he could not hold it all in.
When the music ended too soon, Thomas's arms pulled away. Jimmy's heart hammered in his chest, he grabbed the front of Thomas's shirt, and he kissed him. As soon as their lips met, Jimmy froze. He hadn't expected Thomas's lips to be soft, and warm. So warm. A flush ran over him from head to toe.
Thomas pulled his lips away, his hands gripping Jimmy's arms tight. "Jimmy, just to be clear, you're doin' this 'cause it's a damn costume ball, right? 'Cause people do things in costume they'd never do otherwise?"
Jimmy gasped, forcing air into his lungs. "No," he said. Thomas's arm wrapped tight around his waist, and he tilted Jimmy's chin up with one gloved hand. Jimmy's lips parted when Thomas kissed him again.