Weekly Provisions Chapter 4

Sorry its been so long since I updated this story. Some good friends helped me with ideas, I'm very grateful to them

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Chapter Four

Meeting Fred became a weekly oasis for Thomas in the desert of servant life. He and Fred set their pocket watches to exactly the same time so Fred arrived at 2.30 on the dot every Monday. Whatever Thomas was doing at the time, he mysteriously disappeared, leaving others to cover for him.

He was always aware of Carson watching him with a sneer however, and did his best to avoid the scowling butler. Luckily, the gormless Alfred always seemed to appear just as Carson was about to waylay him, and ask him some silly question which distracted him from the activities of Thomas.

One afternoon, Thomas wondered if the footman was asking the butler advice about how to woo Ivy, who he still mooned over, the daft 'aporth. He must have run out of questions about the silver polishing by now. But he couldn't dislike Alfred too much as he seemed to be on the side of Thomas and Fred, if the number of times he distracted Carson were added up.

This afternoon in the grocer's van, Fred seemed distracted, looking away from Thomas more often than not, fiddling with the edges of packing cases and not saying much.

"What's the matter?" Thomas finally asked as they were cuddled up as usual in their secret hideaway.

"Nothing. I just—at home it's difficult—"

Here it comes, thought Thomas. The excuses and apologies—I can't see you again. Or, it's not right. Or, people know about us. Or, I like girls, this was just a phase.

Thomas took a deep breath. "If you don't—if you don't want to see me again, it's alright, I understand. These days, it's very—"

"Shush." Fred laid his finger on his lover's lips. "It's not always about you, y'know."

Thomas raised his eyebrows.

"It's me dad. He's not well. He—" Fred brushed at his eyes. "He likes a drink, he's made himself ill, he—"

"I see." Thomas pulled him closer into his arms. "I'm sorry. My dad hated me so I'd be glad to see him ill."

"Really?" Fred paused. "Me dad thinks I'm an idle layabout but he doesn't hate me."

Someone knocked on the door of the van.

"Bloody 'ell," said Thomas. "Can't we get a moment's peace?"

"Who is it?" called Fred.

"It's me, Mrs Hughes. Can I speak to you, Mr Tufton?"

Freed peeked out of the door.

"I'm so very sorry to disturb you, but we need Mr Barrow. Lady Mary's party is tonight, we need all the pairs of hands we can get."

"Oh—er—right. I'll send Mr Barrow out as soon as possible."

"Thank you. I'll just—er—I'll see Mr Barrow when he returns to the Abbey." Her footsteps tapped across the cobbled yard as Fred pulled the door shut.

His face was beetroot. "That was bloody awkward."

"Story of my life." Thomas sighed. "I better go. I'd forgotten about their bloody party tonight." He kissed Fred goodbye on the lips and they spent a few minutes doing that before parting sadly.

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That evening, the Crawleys were upstairs enjoying the musical at Lady Mary's party, while the servants rushed round like ants downstairs getting it all ready.

"It's always the bloody same," complained Jimmy. "They swan around while we work our arses off."

"MR KENT!" thundered Carson. "Lord Grantham has VERY KINDLY asked all the servants upstairs after the refreshment break so we can enjoy the wonderful singing of Miss Nellie Melba. Please show some respect."

Jimmy opened his mouth to reply—despite a glare from Mrs Hughes—but was luckily interrupted by a knock at the back door.

"Who the devil can it be at this time of night?" boomed Carson.

"I am quite sure it isn't the devil, Mr Carson," said Mrs Hughes with a frown.

"I'll get it," said Alfred hastily, and strode to the door. He came back biting his lip. "Mr Barrow, it's for you."

"Me?" Thomas strolled to the door, wondering who it could be. Surely not—

Carson watched, frowning even more deeply. "I think it's that Tufton boy again," he muttered to Mrs Hughes. "We should really stop—"

"I didn't finish asking you about the silver polishing, Mr Carson," said Alfred. Ivy passed by, beamed at Alfred and glared at Jimmy, who looked haughtily away.

"Where's Mr Green?" asked Jimmy. "Is he still upstairs with Lord Gillingham? We could do with some fun around here."

Ivy burst into sobs and ran off, followed by a worried Alfred.

"Really!" snapped Carson. "It's like a madhouse in here tonight."

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Thomas peered cautiously out of the door. No one stood there. Was this a joke? He'd slap that Alfred.

He was just turning away when Fred appeared from the side. Slumping, with red eyes and pale face, he stepped towards Thomas, then fell into his arms.

"What the hell—what's happened?"

"It's me dad," Fred mumbled into his neck. "He's only gone and died."

"What?" Thomas helped him to sit down on the bench outside. "I didn't know he was that ill. God, what a shock."

They sat there cuddling for a bit, then Fred told him the story of how Jos Tufton liked his food and drink a little too much, he'd overindulged and in the end it had killed him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, I know you're busy," he finished, still leaning on Thomas.

"Don't be daft. There was only some woman singing tonight at this party."

A muffled scream rent the air, making them jump.

"Is that the singing? Sounds like you didn't miss much," said Fred with a small laugh.

Thomas laughed too, but then another scream, this time cut short, echoed from the building.

"I'll just take a look." Thomas stood up but Fred took his hand.

"I'm not letting you get murdered. Not without me there anyway." They went off towards the servants' back door hand in hand.

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Sneaking along the servants' passageway, Thomas and Fred heard a man's voice.

"Shut it, or you'll get worse." And scrapes of furniture moving across the floor.

"What the hell," whispered Fred.

The noises were coming from the store room, so Thomas cautiously turned the handle. Locked, but a woman screamed "no!" from inside.

He and Fred looked at each other.

"Come on, we'll have to break the door down." Fred hissed.

"No, I've got all the keys." Thomas smiled grimly. "I copied them from Mrs Hughes' set." He selected the right key and unlocked the door.

Inside, the valet Mr Green was pushing Anna against the table, bending her over it while he undid his trousers.

"You're asking for it, bitch!" he shouted, then looked up to see Thomas and Fred.

Thomas leapt across the room and grabbed Green by the throat. "You evil bastard!" he shouted in his face.

Fred went to Anna. "No, no, get help," she quavered, shaking all over and pulling her skirt down.

He ran to the door and shouted, "Help! Help!" No answer.

Meanwhile, Thomas shoved Green against the wall. "You don't touch her! That woman is a saint!"

Fred ran like a greyhound along the corridor shouting "Help! Help!" and his voice faded.

Green struggled against Thomas but Anna grabbed a pan from the wall and walked over to them.

"Stop struggling or I'll hit you with this." Her voice was cold as ice.

A commotion at the door and heavy footsteps walked in.

"I'll take it from here thank you, Thomas." Mr Bates's voice was colder, like the grave.