Author's Note-
Please, do read on past chapter one,
And don't judge the story before it's done
And while I appreciate the non-member review
It's rather hard for me to responde to
Without commenting on my own fiction
Which is a very tacky kind of diction.
It was a cold afternoon. Most of the inhabitants of Downton village were safely holed up in their homes or the pub, where the strong scent of beer and the large masses of heavy male bodies created a familiar, warming scene. However, not everyone had sought the refuge of a sweaty bar stool. Three young people were strolling through the chilly streets. Two were walking together, the sleeves of their coats brushing from their closeness, and then another came behind, sneaking along and trying to stay out of sight. Anyone watching them would have thought the two people sweethearts and the sneak an unfortunate reject. That is, they would have thought this had not the man in the front been Thomas Barrow. Because of this monstrous fact, the window-creepers, for there are some in every town, were utterly bewildered by the scene that they soon saw unfolding silently beneath them.
Thomas knew he had to begin. They had been walking for nearly half an hour; he knew the stage was set. He glanced at the girl beside him, who was of course Lydia, and noticed with a smirk that her nose was flushed pink with cold. She looked back at him curiously. Now he really had to begin. So his walking slowed to a halt, and letting a wave of calm indifference wash over him, Thomas bent down and kissed her. He was immediately taken by just how small she was. His arms wrapped around her like she was a small child while the wind fluttered loose strands of her hair and caressed them against his neck. A little hand made its way up to trace the outline of Thomas's ear. It was awhile before they stopped.
"I want to marry you." He whispered, when they finally broke off from each other. His is voice came through sounding strangled as it pushed through his mask of longing.
Lydia almost fainted.
"But…you are…I thought you were…" she sputtered.
"You must be an exception." Thomas said softly, cupping her cheek with one hand. "I just need to find some way to make the money. I've barely a pound to my name at the moment."
This last statement struck Lydia as odd. Her insides were doing a 360 degree flip, but she had just enough wits left to wonder at the words coming out of Thomas's mouth. They weren't the words of an Englishman, and especially not those of an Englishman who had picked up the ways and mannerisms of posh society. These upper class folk and their servants never spoke freely of their feelings, even in marriage proposals. There was always sentiment, of course, because England was not country made of stone, but one did not gush about marriage and exceptions when one was valet to a Lord. Lydia had been under Thomas Barrow's skin, and she could sense she was now on the surface again.
"…but I've come across a plan." She could hear Thomas continuing, "I'll need your help, but if everything goes well, we should have enough to settle down properly."
Lydia drew back at this, suddenly wary.
"What plan?" she asked.
Thomas felt her hesitance, and decided that speed was necessary. He must get her to agree before she heard the false emotion in his voice. He turned and gestured to Jonathan, who had been waiting for just such a summoning, to come forward. Would he have to introduce Mr. Forbes? She would probably remember the face of a former co-worker.
Thomas's musings were answered in the form of a muffled scream. Jonathan had dashed up in time to stifle Lydia's shriek of recognition, and was now paying the price for his interruption as her fists pummeled against his chest and face. Thomas decided that no introduction was necessary and stepped back to watch the rather amusing scene.
"How dare you come here?" Lydia snapped at the grinning man before her. "You're supposed to be dead!"
"The grave can't hold me, Lydia." He answered smugly, "Didn't I tell you I'd come back to get what I wanted? You're going to tell Mrs. Newberry all about her husband's affair, and I'm going to get a load of money from it."
Lydia spat at him.
"And for this you faked your own death? I'll never do it." She said, before turning her anger on Thomas.
"And you?" she asked, a note of disbelief in her voice, "You didn't mean anything you just said, did you? You were going to split the profits with Lazarus here and then leave me to rot."
Thomas's face slid into a cool, self-assured smile. If he did feel a twinge of regret, he couldn't let it show. Maybe this whole thing had been a mistake, but he couldn't hang his head like a scolded child and limp away. That cunning smile was all he had, all he could cling to when his grand plans fell apart, and he would wear it come hell and high water.
"I'm not one to pass by a good plan when it waits for me in dark rooms." He replied coolly.
Lydia examined Thomas for a few moments more before turning away in hurt and disgust.
"You've always been so sure of yourself." She began again, speaking to Jonathan this time, "You think you can just arrange the world how you like. You should've learned something from last time. You can't control me."
"Oh, so I'm the devil, am I?" Jonathan cut in, his blonde hair not as neat as it was. "What about you, and all the impressive little stories you tell everyone? You worked in a grand hotel, did you? And I, your little footman friend would rather have married you then exposed your secret. You always have to feel wanted, don't you? Lydia has to be in demand. You're pathetic, with you're superior little grins and your white lies. It's not a wonder mother never liked you."
This last part sounded wrong to Thomas's ears. He had been following the shrill argument from a few feet away, gazing from one to the other in turn.
"So you didn't want to marry her at all?" he asked Jonathan carefully. The story was starting to make sense, and not at all in a nice way.
"Oh, no, of course she wouldn't have told you." Jonathan said with dazzling smile, "She is my sister. Half-sister, really, as we share only a mother, but I wouldn't dream of marrying her if she was heiress to Downton Abbey. I detest liars."
Thomas let this information sidle its way into his brain. So they were siblings. He should have seen it earlier. They had the same flashing eyes and easy smiles, and both had used their soft, plying hands to dig themselves a place in his life. Thomas had loved one and kissed the other, he just didn't know which was which.
