Chapter 3
As Thomas approached the house, he noticed smoke streaming from the servants' entrance. He held his breath as he quickly walked through the dining area and up the stairs to his room. He sat on his small cot, the springs squeaking in protest. What the bloody hell happened back there? Could it be? Does Jimmy...? He shook his head, as if trying to shake the thoughts from his head. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe it was a dare from Alfred. Feeling more confused every second, he decided to take his mind off the day's accidents by cleaning himself up. Standing in front of his mirror, he noticed that his encounter with the log had opened up the old wounds on his face. His mind drifted back to that day at the fair.
Thomas heard boisterous laughing behind him, and turned around to see a rather tipsy Jimmy half on his feet, half falling down, chugging yet another drink.
"I got' a go take a piss," Jimmy slurred to his newfound "mates".
Thomas rolled his eyes, pretending to not care about the irresponsible footman, but found himself wracked with worry. After Jimmy stumbled out of the fairgrounds, Thomas started to follow him. I'm not stalking him, Thomas assured himself. I'm just looking out for him, in case he falls in a ditch or something. That's what co workers do, right? They look out for each other. His thoughts were interrupted as he had to concentrate on where he placed his feet, as the shrubbery grew thicker. Where the hell could Jimmy have gone? He must really be drunk. He heard shouting further in front of him. Speeding up into a run, he emerged into a clearing under a bridge, to see two men of the losing side of "tug of war". They had pushed Jimmy against the brick, and were searching his pockets for cash.
The last thing Thomas remembers is having a rush of adrenaline, much like the feeling that mothers get when they see their babies in peril. He remembers that despite everything Jimmy has done to him, he must protect him at all costs. He remembers shouting, fists, blood, Dr. Clarkson and Jimmy standing over him, and waking up in his bed.
Remembering that day made his heart ache, as if the wounds on it had been reopened as well. He splashed some water on his face and his knee, and changed his livery. Hoping that most of the smoke was gone, he proceeded downstairs.
Thomas awoke the next day to sunlight streaming into his room, shining right into his eyes. A good day for His Lordship's foxhunt, I suppose, he thought. Swiftly changing into his livery, he ran out the door and down the stairs, composing himself for the breakfast table. He saw Jimmy glance up to meet his gaze, and then quickly turn away, turning as red as one of Mrs. Patmore's tomatoes. Thomas immediately felt hot and uncomfortable in his stiff livery. Luckily, Carson walked in just then. "James, you're needed with the earl," he ordered. Jimmy rushed out of the dining area, sparing Thomas the awkwardness of trying to confront him. For now.
Thomas stood stiffly as he watched the family mount their steeds, one by one. Sure enough, the earl had chosen the young thoroughbred; he couldn't have been more than three or four years old. He was a blood bay color, with an impressive build.
Thomas knew a thing or two about horses, since his father had owned a few drafts to transport the clocks that he built. He never had much interest for equines, but many of his lessons had been taught by them. And he knew that a horse could know every secret you held in your dirty little mind, from the moment you mounted one. They tested your skill and they tested your patience. And he knew that the Earl of Carnarvon's mount was no different.
It was immediately obvious that Branson had been right; all the horses he had bred, all the knowledge he had of them, and every penny he had earned from their winnings could not change the fact that he was an absolute horrid rider. As much as he despised Lady Mary, and as much as he despised when she was right, Thomas despised cocky noblemen more.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by an angry Carson barking in his ear. "Mr. Barrow! Do as you're told!" He yelled. Thomas picked up his drink tray with the utmost elegance and proceeded to start serving small glasses of champagne to the riders. At one point, he looked away to make sure everyone had a glass. And that's when it happened.
Witnesses would later tell him what actually happened. But here's how the next 30 seconds happened, according to Thomas.
"Would you like a drink, m'lady?" Thomas asked Lady Rose, holding the drink tray above his head.
"Yes indeed, Mr. Barrow. Thank you," she replied.
Thomas held back a smile. Lady Rose was his favorite member of the family. She reminded him so much of Lady Sybil. Not just her liberal views and her love for being wild, but also her knack for having class toward people outside of her class.
"WOAH!" A man shouted from further away. Thomas didn't have time to make sense of who had shouted it; all he had time to do was glance up to see a tall, brown animal coming straight for him. It knocked into him with incredible force, and the last thing he saw was the horse falling on top of him as he hit the hard ground.
