Downton Abbey:

Guy(s) Night

by Mirwalker

Chapter Ten: Forward

With the promise given not to throw him out, and instead to work out some way to help him, Thomas could see Ian's posture relax, as the fear of exile slipped out of his whole person. Encouraging the physical, as well as the mental improvement, he cut and pushed another piece of mutton toward the healing body. "But, while I think on that, I am curious how you got from an orphanage in Manchester, to posh clothes on the night road to Newcastle, to a bloody pulp at Downton's back door…"

The tension seemed to return to the refugee, at least as much as had fled moments before.

"I'm not lookin' to judge," Thomas clarified. "Lord knows I've got little right to point fingers at anyone for where they're from, or what they've done. But if I'm gonna help, I need to know the whole story… Will you trust me, just a little more? Please?"

Ian finished chewing his bite, fixing Thomas with what must be his taking-stock gaze, nodded, and began reluctantly but dutifully. "I told you I grew up in an orphanage outside Manchester?"

Thomas nodded, passing him back the cup of tea he'd insisted on sharing, as a bolster for the telling. "They didn't know your birthday; but had your family name."

"They gave me a name, off letter-order lists," Ian corrected. "The boy that came to them before me was called 'Howard Bridges'; the next boy arrivin' after me got 'Jacob Dunny'. They had lists for girls as well. They're just names."

So 'C' may not be his actual initial…

"Whatever our names or families or future might've been… Long as I can remember, from time to time, some of us'd be gathered up, cleaned off and made to greet wealthy visitors. We was told they paid for our food and care, so to make nice with them. And it were easy enough to smile, let them pinch the cheeks, and savor a treat they might've brought."

"But you got out?"

"One of the wealthy men, he visited a few weeks ago, and offered me the chance to come away and serve him as an… apprentice of sorts. The heads of the home, they told me it was a great opportunity, that I couldn't refuse—for myself, or for the others: 'Happy patrons are generous ones,' they always said. And, I knew I were gettin' to the age where they'd soon put me out on me own, with no trade, no prospects; and I'd only ever known the home."

"So you agreed?" Thomas noted that Ian had grown still, stopped eating and drawn his arms back against him, as if folding up against the unfolding tale.

"One mornin' I woke in a room with forty other boys that had been me whole life. And by that night, I'd ridden in me first car, and been cleaned and dressed for a dinner so posh it gave me a stomach ache, and been assigned a bed—a room of my own! Just for me, and nobody else! It was hard to believe how different everythin' was: Multiple plates to eat at every meal. So many different pieces of clothin' it hurt to wear them all. And at first, it was so quiet at night, I couldn't sleep… I didn't sleep…" He seemed to be overwhelmed at the mere memory of the change in sleeping arrangement and status.

Thomas pushed another bite to him, which he obligingly forked and continued while chewing, "A few days ago now, I guess, the gentleman announced we were goin' to Newcastle, for his business. But we didn't take the train; his man drove us in the car. I think we were late in leavin', or slowed by the weather, as he insisted we push on despite the time and storm."

Ian shivered, but continued, "We came to a tree across the road; and when the driver couldn't move it alone, I hopped out to help. Three men came out of the darkness, threatened us and demanded all the valuables. I tried to protest, and got this for it," he pointed toward his eye.

"And as two of 'em worked on unloadin' the luggage from the rear, and the third held me beside it," he trailed off as his face grew dark for the remembering, "the 'gentleman' signaled his man, and… And they drove off."

"They left you?" Thomas was stunned, and instantly furious, for the apparent sacrificial lamb.

"As the only prize for some cold, wet and now empty-handed thieves, who made a point to let me know how very unhappy they were…" What energy he'd woken with had drained away; and he had crossed his good arm across its cradled mate.

"And your arm?

"I landed hard on me shoulder, or maybe from one of the kicks. It's all a bit of a blur…"

Thomas had stopped eating, and nearly breathing, entirely. "But you got away."

"While one held me up for the others, I managed to slip out of me jacket, and run."

The jacket the police had found…

"I just set off in the dark. I had no idea where I was, or where I was goin'. And they chased me a good while, cursin' and threatenin'. But the storm was growin' so bad, it was hard to tell afore long. Eventually, I saw the lights and ran here." He looked up at the savior that hope had brought him.

"You came to our windows; the Earl's daughter saw you out on the drive." Thomas picked up the tale.

"In case I were still followed, I only needed them to see that I'd reached the palace—the house. To think I'd been seen, or was goin' in. I hoped they'd give up if I'd made it to other people."

"Why didn't you knock, or let us know you were out there, and needed help? Why sneak around back and hide?"

"Before that week with him, I'd only been outta the home a handful of times in my life, and then only in Manchester. I had no idea what the royals—or whoever was in the house—would think of me. Or would do to me." He seemed apologetic, as if disappointing Thomas in his survival thinking.

For his part, Thomas noted that Ian had grown quiet, angry, even sad in the telling; but there were none of the tears or self-crimination that he'd arrived with. Just two nights before, in the moment, he'd wanted to die, felt he deserved it—and that didn't come from being a robbery victim alone, much less from surviving it. There was something more to the story; another level or incident… But maybe now wasn't the time to push for it.

Thomas shifted the all-but-finished dinner tray to the chair, and scooted forward toward the withdrawn storyteller. "Ian, I don't know what to say. Except that you haven't deserved any of the bad that's come to you." He placed his open hand on the bed between them. "But I'm glad, at the end of all that, you saw our lights, and ran here to be found."

Ian slowly accepted the offered grasp, and all it symbolized. He grinned and looked up through bed-flattened curls, "I think you weren't quite honest when you said you wasn't an angel. Perhaps I should just call you that."

Shaking their clasped hands as he chuckled at that suggestion, Thomas countered that, "If you call me that, I'm going to have to call you 'Wink,' as that's what you seem to be doing every time I look at you. Makes we wonder whether I didn't find myself a mischievous imp on the doorstep…"

"Hardly," Ian laughed openly, before a quick melancholy overtook him again. "But, I'm no angel either.' He again seemed uncomfortable under Thomas' contented gaze, at whether his new patron might see beyond the imperfect surface, to something worse.

Thomas stood, and went to the cloak box to seek an outfit with which they might try to introduce some normalcy at least in fashion. "Well then we're a good match in our imperfection, you and me. And the non-angels I'm more concerned about are the men who attacked you, and the pompous bastard who left you to them…"

"No, please." Ian almost stumbled out of the bed, reacting as if Thomas were setting out on a manhunt that instant. "I don't want to return—not to him, or the home, or to any of it. And seekin' them will only lead back." There was an urgency, almost a fear in Ian's reaction, before he took Thomas' arm and led him to the bed with a forced nonchalance. "I know I can't stay here, but there's nothin' good can come from me looking to the past. I've lost nothin' I want, or wants me."

Standing there together at the bed, Thomas could appreciate the desire to close the door on one's past completely, and to focus forward. Hadn't he recently found a not quite angel, who'd added some adventure, and perhaps affection, to his dreary life of service? Would he give that up so easily, to go back to the simpler time before Guys Fawkes Night? No; because now he basked in the imperfect face smiling back at his own odd grin, glad for its exclusive presence—for now being known only to him, perhaps in the whole world.

"Whatever happened back there and then, you're wanted here and now, Wink," he promised the brown eye-and-a-half peering up at him. With a quick brush through the tousled tow, the ugly bruise and scattered scabs interrupted his relish and gratitude. And for all the good reasons his heart was full, he knew there was still spare space enough for a vow to repay each slight upon his angel.

Replacing the grim conviction that had leaked onto his face, Thomas renewed his smile, and led Ian back toward the wardrobe. "Before we turn in, let's see what I have that might fit you, until we can get to a proper tailor…"

Friday, 8 November 2012

"Thank you, Molesley," Isobel smiled genuinely, as the butler stepped back into the hall. "Lord Grantham, what a pleasant surprise. If we'd known you were coming, we would have had tea waiting for you. Mrs Bird has put the kettle on…"

Robert had stood as the sitting room door opened, and remained so until she waved to take his seat as she did. He noted that, unnecessarily thanking the staff aside, she seemed to be well versed in the etiquette of hosting. A good sign overall, especially if Matthew had learned or was as fast a learner. But, it might also make the needed conversation a little awkward. He said, "I'm sorry to bother you unannounced. I was in the village, and thought I'd pop in. To see how you were settling in to the house and community."

"Very kind of you, Lor—"

"Cousin Isobel, as family, I hope we don't need to stand on such formality in present company. Please do call me Robert, or Cousin Robert, as you prefer."

She smiled graciously, relieved to have an additional barrier between the ancestral branches removed. "Cousin Robert… It's very kind of you to check in on me. You're welcome any time, of course." She also knew what parts of the pleasantry exchange were still required.

They continued as the butler entered and set a tray between them; and she almost invisibly suppressed the urge to get up and prepare her own and her guest's cup. Nodding to the happily served offering, she continued, "I am beginning to know my way around the area, to recognize some of the locals, and even to be brought into the confidences of some persons of significance."

"Oh?" he genuinely wondered what scuttlebutt she had come across already. "Dare I ask what sordid tales the postmistress has imparted?"

"Oh, not her," Isobel affirmed, making note to befriend that well-placed source. "But for example, just today, I've learnt from Dr Clarkson that there was apparently some type of assault on the road nearby within the past few days."

"He discussed that you?" Robert asked, not entirely surprised given the physician's recent penchant for speaking his mind.

"Yes, after I stopped in at his practice, to find a very serious police constable showing him a damaged jacket and a weathered, single shoe. I was understandably curious, and am now a little concerned, I must say. But it was I who pressed them to share, given the safety implications for a newly arrived widow, among others," she clarified in the doctor's defense.

"You insisted?" Robert wondered with some amusement, needing to build rapport here, not blanch at the unladylike boldness and morbid curiosity. In fact, he was counting on those latter qualities.

"The Dowager Countess is not the only aged lady able to assert herself when needed," Isobel noted with her own twinkle.

"Well," he chuckled, "that actually makes what I wanted to ask you about slightly easier, then."

She paused mid sip, and settled her cup into its saucer. She'd expected there was some agenda for the visit, but not some tie to the blood-stained clothing, or her involvement in village affairs. "I am intrigued; do tell."

"I have a favor to ask, that I hope is not too inappropriate or too much…" And as their tea cooled in its cups, Robert caught her up on the events that had transpired up through Edith's second vision, the doctor's advice, and his own surprise at hearing that the police had now found a shoe.

"I realize that asking you to spend time with a daughter who claims to be seeing angels is perhaps not the best way to make a positive impression on a hopeful… in-law…," he admitted.

She looked up at his very forward invoking of that intended relationship; and recognized he was both desperate to do so, and not finished with his proposal.

"However, Edith would be rightly skeptical of any encouragement from anyone at Downton. We've all made our disapproval quite clear. And, you are clearly a woman of great intelligence, clinical experience, and… confidence. Your interest and advice to Edith will be well received, and a more than positive influence as she works through this."

Isobel placed the cup on the table, and folded her hands neatly in her lap, primarily so that she could inconspicuously clutch herself in disbelief at what the drop-in visit had become. She narrowed her eyes at her cousin-by-marriage, but maintained her decorum, "I am flattered by the confidence you have shown in me, both by sharing the situation—I recognize that couldn't have been easy, and by suggesting I can be of some assistance. However, if I'm to agree, I must understand, mother to father, what specifically is it you want me to do?"

Robert smiled and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. She had sensed immediately there was an ulterior motive to his visit, and now to this request. Which meant she was perfect for the task at hand. "Without getting in the way of—or involved in—the police investigation, or letting on our intentions or discussions, I'd like you help Edith disprove herself. Any man she saw in the storm is long gone; and her imagination has literally put her at risk, never mind her larger reputation. Quietly, thoroughly and quickly, please help my daughter confirm to herself that there is no one to find or follow, at Downton or beyond. For everyone's sake, she must leave it behind, and move on."

tbc...

A/N: With Angel and Wink having to leave the nest soon, would love to know what folks think of how it's going. Please review constructively!