"Give us a hand, would you, Miss Baxter?" Barrow asked politely as he indicated to the other end of a long strip of gilded cloth. Each pulling at his or her designated end of the damask runner, they carefully arranged the cloth along the center of the banquet table. At either end, they placed identical, gladiola-filled vases to provide not only the right aesthetic touch but also as a means of preventing the table linens from flying off at the slightest breeze.
"Oh, that is just lovely," said Baxter admiringly.
"It's a bit ridiculous, if you ask me," piped up Andy, who was carrying a large canapé platter containing a variety of Mrs. Patmore's finest hors d'oeuvres. "Who ever heard of having a garden party this late in the afternoon? They've only got another hour or two of sunlight tops! What's the sense of tripping around in the dark?"
Barrow shrugged, "Apparently, Lady Mary read that candlelit garden parties are all the rage with this-or-that Hollywood socialite, so now she wants to get in on the craze."
"More like crazy, if you want to know what I think," replied Andy with a shake of his head, "Does she really intend for us to light eight hundred 'n somethin' candles? She's going to set the whole place on fire!"
"Oh, no. That's her sister's department."
"Huh?"
"Never mind," said Barrow with a smile, "before your time here. Look, take some advice from your old Uncle Thomas and try not to expend too much energy trying to figure out the Crawleys. Because as soon as you think you've figured how they work, they'll up and surprise you."
"I'll try to remember that, Mr. Barrow." Looking over his shoulder to the servants entrance of the great house, "Well, I best be getting back to work."
As Andy trotted back to the house, Barrow could hear a muffled laugh from behind. "What? Oh, just spit it out!"
Baxter, trying to regain her composure but being only marginally successful, finally managed to say, "Uncle Thomas? Really? You want him to call you, Uncle Thomas?!"
"Oh. Just— Just shut up. Would you?"
"I'm sorry," she said with a laugh.
"You always think that you're so clever," he said with a scowl.
"Please, don't be like that," she said now with sincerity, "I'm sorry for teasing you. It's just—"
Finding that he couldn't maintain a sour mood for long when he was around the indomitable Phyllis Baxter, Barrow conceded, "Okay, fine! You're right. I'm absolutely ridiculous. God, I can't believe I said that. Uncle Thomas?! Ugh!" Eager to change the subject to something new, he asked, "What are you doing out here, anyhow? Shouldn't you be helping her ladyship change? Dressing gong rang at least fifteen minutes ago."
"Didn't you hear?" she asked with surprise.
"Obviously not, or I wouldn't be asking," he retorted with a roll of his eyes.
"Lady Grantham went to York this morning for a new haircut. She'll be here in about an hour."
"Oh, I hope she's not taking cues from Lady Mary!" he said with a slight cringe.
"Oh? Why not? I think Lady Mary's hair looks quite fetching."
Barrow shook his head decisively. "It makes her look like a mushroom," he said matter-of-factly. He returned to his work, carefully placing candles of varying sizes at regularly spaced intervals, and although his duty as under butler prevented him from saying so, he had to admit that the whole endeavor did indeed feel ridiculous.
"Excuse me? Mr. Barrow?" inquired Andy, who was precariously balancing a silver tray in each hand, one with crystal wine goblets and the other with porcelain tea cups, "Where should I put these?"
"Oh, let me give you a hand with those!" offered Barrow with a smile. "Let's put this one on this table. And, hmm, how about we put this one on the table over there."
Once the items were properly arranged, Andy turned to Barrow and thanked him. "I don't know what I would do if you weren't looking out for me, sir."
Barrow blushed, "Oh, well, you know. Uncle Thomas, here to help!"
"Thank you, sir. I better get back and see what else needs to be brought out."
As soon as Andy was out of earshot, Barrow let out a strangled moan of despair, "What is wrong with me?! Phyllis, please be a friend and find something to gag me with? I mean, really, why can't I just stop talking?"
Smiling at him with equal measures of sympathy, pity, and humor, Baxter did her best to offer some encouragement, "I'm sure he doesn't think it's anything out of the ordinary beyond a little, oh, eccentricity."
"Eccentricity? Eccentricity?!"
She grimaced.
"Eccentricity is a word people use to describe a bloke with 15-inch-long finger nails—the sort who lives with 30-something cats and sleeps with a ventriloquist dummy whom he likes to call, 'Mum' and/or 'sweetheart' depending on the weather," he ranted.
"You have a very impressive—and yet frighteningly precise—understanding of these things," Baxter replied wrinkling her nose. "Okay, not eccentricity. What's a better word for 'old man who wants all the bright young things to think he's the bee's knees'? Bee's knees—that's what the young people are saying these days, isn't it?"
"How should I know? Apparently, I'm an old man," Barrow pouted.
Offering a patient smile, Baxter raised an eyebrow as she prodded, "Thomas? What's going on with you? I'm not objecting, mind you, but I don't think I've ever seen you quite so, uh, animated—at least, not since I came here." She waited for a response, but when none came, she pushed forward, "It's perfectly fine if you don't wish to talk about your father—I just don't want to see you hurt yourself by bottling all of it up inside of you."
He stroked his chin, carefully considering what she had just said, before admitting, "I really am talking too much, aren't I? I must be driving you batty."
"You could never drive me batty."
And now it was Barrow's turn to raise an eyebrow.
Baxter laughed, "Okay, you can drive me batty. But not by being yourself. I really wish that you would open up more."
"I thought that I was."
"Maybe with me, but I still see you skulking around in dark corners plotting plots and scheming schemes. There are some very kind people here; you ought to know that by now."
She waited for Barrow to respond, but at that moment, he appeared to be preoccupied with examining the stitching on his glove. She was about to say something further, when Barrow spoke at last, "Did you know that Bates talks about me to his lordship? Claims to be concerned for me, but—"
"I'm sure he talks to Lord Grantham about lots of things. He is his valet after all."
Barrow nodded, acknowledging her point, "I've always suspected that he was spying on the rest of us downstairs. Miss O'Brien and I used to try everything that we could to get him sacked."
"Miss O'Brien? That's the woman I replaced, yes? Were the two of you friends?"
Barrow winced; even though he despised the woman for turning on him so cruelly, there was still a part within his heart that missed her a great deal. "I thought so. But not so much in the end. What have you been told about her?"
"Daisy tells me that I'm much nicer."
"You are. But that could be said about just about anybody. I don't— I don't mean that 'just about anybody' could be said to be nicer than O'Brien. I mean: you're nicer than just about anybody."
"I don't know about that. The people here seem rather fond of Anna."
"She isn't always as nice as people think," he said with a frown, "neither is her husband."
"Are you certain all of this animosity isn't just a bit one sided?"
He shook his head. "Did you know, before you came here, Anna pulled aside Miss Braithwaite—she was Lady Grantham's maid for about an hour-and-a-half; don't ask—to tell her about how, 'Oh, that Thomas Barrow! You better watch out for him! He's trouble and does all kinds of naughty things!' She says it as if I'm not standing just a few feet away! As if I couldn't possibly overhear her! But to my face, she acts as though she's my friend," he recalled with no small amount of anger.
"Well, did you tell her? Did you tell her how much it hurt you?"
He shook his head. "Uh, no. No, I didn't. I, uh, I made it so Anna would get the blame for ruining a scarf, uh, some sort of scarf-thing of her ladyship's. Right? Made it sound like Anna was being cruel to Braithwaite."
"Thomas?"
"Yeah?"
"That makes no sense. You can't expect people to know what you're thinking, what motivates you if you're unwilling to say something out loud. You can't expect people to read your mind."
"No! But it does! It does make sense. Quit looking at me like that. Before— It used to be me and O'Brien against the world. And, I just— I just really wanted to have that back."
Baxter furrowed her brow and ever so slightly shook her head, "Would that have made you happy? You against the world?"
"I don't know. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to do it all on my own." He paced the courtyard as though he were in a small room with only a finite amount of space to move.
Baxter sighed, for she was beginning to feel as though the two of them were running in circles. "But, why is it even necessary for you to be on your own? Why do you need to be against the world?" She was trying her best to empathize with Barrow, but it was difficult when her own nature was so much more forgiving. "I don't want to negate your feelings, but is it necessarily so bad if Mr. Bates speaks on your behalf to his lordship every so often? I know you've had your disagreements every now-and-then, but if he's only speaking out of concern—"
"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" he interrupted.
Baxter looked at him in confusion, not understanding his meaning.
"Phyllis, you're one of the kindest people I've ever known, but sometimes you can be so naïve about how the world works for somebody like me," he scuffed the ground with his foot, trying to think of a way to proceed, "I'm trying not to be angry with you, I really am. But answer me this: when you said that you thought I was brave to want to change myself, what did you mean by that?"
"I'm sorry, Thomas, I don't understand. But I'm trying, I really am," Baxter could feel herself growing uneasy. How easy it was to forget Barrow's capacity for wrath.
"Okay, I'll try to put it another way. Do you think that changing myself is something that I should want to do? Is that why you find me so brave? That I was willing to do whatever it takes to be happy?"
"Thomas, I want nothing more in this world than to see you happy."
"But what does that even mean? You're like Dr. Clarkson, did you know that? You say that you want me to find happiness where I can, but that's just another way of saying, 'So, sorry to hear you're abnormal Thomas. Tough break, old chap. Hope you enjoy a life of celibacy.' You keep telling me that you love me and accept me for who I am, but do you really? Would you be happy for me if I were to live my life, as me, in every way that living that life entails?" He could feel his chest heaving with the exertion of this speech, his heart pounding with the anxiety of knowing that he could very well be alienating one of few people he considered to be a friend.
Baxter shook her head, "Thomas, I'm sorry. I want to be able to tell you what you want to hear. But this, it's just not— it's just not healthy. I'm sorry. Yes, I think it's brave of you to live with this burden. Yes, I thought it was brave of you to do whatever you could to be free of this burden. But you can't expect me to believe that your life is better or richer because of it. I'm sorry. I just can't." She dabbed at her eyes, where tears were beginning to well from the strength of her competing emotions.
Watching his friend struggle—she wanted to be supportive and yet she could only support him so much—Barrow tried to gentle his tone, "Phyllis, you're one of my truest friends. You've stood beside me even when I've been horrible to you. So, if you can't accept me—and I mean really accept me—how could I ever expect someone like Bates to? He doesn't particularly like me, in case you hadn't noticed. Why would I ever want to trust him with my life? And, yes, this is my life that's on the line. Maybe today he speaks out of concern, but what about tomorrow or the next day?"
Feeling overwhelmed, she sniffled and attempted to plead, "But, Thomas, I do accept you."
"No," he said, shaking his head, "you pity me. And that's not the same thing."
"I'm sorry."
Barrow frowned, not at all caring for the direction of the conversation. He knew that he was hurting Baxter by behaving in such a confrontational manner, and that wasn't at all his intention. Endeavoring to lighten the mood, he sniffed, "And, I don't skulk around in dark corners."
"Oh, really? My mistake," replied Baxter with a relieved smile.
They continued working in comfortable silence, walking along the grounds of Downton, placing and lighting candles every ten paces. Without warning, Barrow slapped his neck with a low growl, "Blasted midges! Andy was right. Bad idea having a party outdoors at this hour." He stopped suddenly, and looked around, "Say, where is Andy? He left ages ago!"
"Maybe he's helping Uncle Charles and Auntie Elsie?"
"Oh, shut up, would you?"
Baxter was about to retort, when a stray thought changed her mind. "Uh, Thomas? Earlier, when you were speaking to Andy. You said something about the Crawleys surprising you. What did you mean by that? Did something happen when you spoke to his lordship?"
"Did something happen? Yeah, you could say that. I don't think I've ever seen his lordship so—"
But he was unable to complete the sentiment, for at that moment, Lady Mary stepped through the front door. "Baxter? Mamma just rang from the station. She'll be here in about ten minutes." As she returned to the house, she smiled warmly at Baxter before nodding to Thomas with the ever so slightest hint of distain.
"She's still quite sore with you over the little 'joke' you played on Lord Sinderby. You do realize that, don't you?" admonished Baxter.
Looking like a little boy who had been caught with his hand in the biscuit jar, Barrow deflected, "That really wasn't my fault! It was his butler who called the woman!"
"Oh? And who put him up to it?"
"That's— That's not the point. I didn't force him. Not my fault he got himself completely zozzled."
"So you're saying you didn't help him along the way?"
"I may have poured him a glass. Or two. Possibly the entire bottle," he grinned sheepishly, "But it's not like I held a gun to his head!"
"Would you just admit that you bear some responsibility in the whole matter?"
He gave her an exaggerated scowl before finally relenting, "Okay, I can admit that I bear a teeny, tiny, minuscule share of the responsibility"—he paused for a moment before quickly finishing, "but it really wasn't my fault!"
Baxter smiled patiently as she advised him, "You probably shouldn't let her hear you say that she looks like a mushroom if you ever want to be back on her good side. I— oh, I can't believe I'm telling you this— you do realize that the fun you had on that trip to America—and despite how naïve you think I am, I know exactly what you mean when you go around telling people about how 'different' and 'modern' it is there— You do realize that the fun you had was thanks in no small part to Lady Mary, don't you?"
Barrow blinked with surprise, "You're joking! I mean, I gathered that she had recommended me for the job—but that was just so Mr. Bates wouldn't have to leave Anna behind. Wasn't it?"
Blushing an intense shade of scarlet, Baxter explained, "Word is, she said something about wanting you to enjoy a boat full of, um, handsome stew— handsome strutting stewards."
Barrow couldn't help laughing, "Oh, Phyllis, I'm so sorry! I know you don't approve, but I do have to say that was very thoughtful of Lady Mary!"
Baxter furrowed her brow as was her custom whenever she spoke with Thomas Barrow. "I should go inside and help her ladyship," she said as she walked away, leaving him alone in the candlelight.
Author's Note: Did you make it all the way to the end of this monster chapter? Good for you! Have a cookie! (Hope you don't mind that you'll need to bake 'em yourself). I had several goals for this chapter. I wanted to: 1) Portray Baxter's support in a manner that isn't out of step with the times. It's important that we remember that Downton Abbey is set in an era when homosexuality was believed to be a mental illness, so "supportive" in those days was very different from what "supportive" is today. 2) Allow Anna's not-so-sweet side to show just a bit. I find it incredibly dull when I see characters portrayed as 100% good (as often happens with Anna) or 100% bad (as often happens with Thomas). Same thing for Baxter. These characters are so much more interesting to me when we can examine them—warts and all—and still find them to be compelling. 3) Fill in some of the gaps that Julian Fellowes has the unfortunate habit of leaving.
