Chapter Eleven;
England, 1917
It's funny, how important change can be in your life, no matter how big or small that change might be. Whether it be something as simple as changing the way you look or the way you act or something as drastic as changing your occupation or moving to a new town or village.
Change, as they say, is a part of life but it isn't until much later that you realise just how much of a difference it can make to the way you feel, the way you act and the way to live.
Some change is easier to bear that others, when the changes are made voluntarily, but a significant amount of changes appears out of nowhere through no fault of your own.
This can take some time to get used to, your mind and your body having to adapt to circumstances outside of your own control. Losing your sight during a gas attack…or losing part of your sight and your left hand to an explosion in the middle of No-Mans-Land…
Sometimes it takes a while to see change as a good thing.
It's funny, how important change can be in your life, no matter how big or small that change might be.
One of the things that Thomas still struggled with on a daily basis due to his injuries was slicking back his hair with pomade, creating the smart style required by the military. Before the war he'd have applied the pomade with both hands, running his fingers through the long strands of his hair, before using the comb but now he had to be a little bit more creative.
It did help that he had stopped trying to cover the worst of his facial scars with his hair.
If people had a problem with the state of the skin around his left eye then they could deal with it themselves as he had come to terms with how he now looked. He'd never be that handsome man he had once been, that simply wasn't possible, but he was by no means the gargoyle he had initially feared he would become upon waking up in the field hospital.
The scars were grotesque, yes, but they were beginning to fade. They were no longer red and angry looking, daily application of the cream he had been given aiding in soothing the skin around the unnatural ridges and dips, returning his skin almost to its natural colour.
Dipping the prongs on his comb into the little tin of pomade he studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror and began sculpting his inky black hair into his usual style, creating a deep parting above his "good" eye before smoothing the longer strands across his forehead. He allowed them to form a natural 's' shape which most men attempted to erase thinking it was too feminine but, given his personal persuasions, he quite liked the way it softened the shape of his face. The rest of his hair, however, was combed so that it lay flat and straight.
Once he was satisfied with his hair he carefully rinsed off the comb and replaced the lid on the tin of pomade. He then set about the equally difficult task of shaving away the stubble from his cheeks, thankful for the safety razor Flora had ensured he owned as he couldn't imagine using a straight razor on himself as he once had. Even with the safety razor there were still a couple of area where it was particularly challenging, where he missed being able to pull the skin taught with his other hand to make things easier. His top lip for example.
Returning to the supply cupboard which were his temporary lodgings he tidied away his things so they wouldn't be in the way, rolling up the mattress and tucking it into the corner of the room, and then picked up his cap and headed out to begin another days work. As soon as he arrived in the main ward his cap joined the others on the hat stand as, despite having to have it with him at all times, he wasn't actually required to wear it whilst at work.
"Good Morning, Sergeant."
"Good Morning, Nurse," he responded, offering the poor nurse who was coming off of night duty a small smile. She looked absolutely exhausted. "Anything to report? Any problems?"
"Just the usual nightmares and requests for more pain medication," she responded, rubbing at the skin underneath her eyes as she moved aside to allow another nurse to take her place. "Although Captain Etheridge did complain about his leg several times. Bed fifteen, amputation following burns. I've asked the Major to take a look at it as soon as he can."
Thomas nodded, confirming his understanding of her parting statement whilst silently thanking the universe for giving Lieutenant Courtenay a peaceful night. Ever since his attempted suicide the nurses reported if he so much as rolled over in the night, the straps and partition having been removed after a couple of days of calm and composed behaviour.
"Ah, Sergeant Barrow," Major Clarkson greeted him warmly as he strode into the ward. "I'd like to see you in my office quickly once I've checked up on Captain Etheridge's leg."
"Yes, Major Clarkson."
Great. What had he done now?
Making his way along the neat rows of beds, avoiding the temporary ones made out of stretchers on the floor, Thomas cracked up on Lieutenant Courtenay who was still sound asleep in his bed at the far end of the ward. He lay on his side, curled up like a child and with one hand resting on the pillow beside his head. The other hand rested on top of the blankets, the stark white bandages encircling his wrists standing out against the grey fabric.
Thomas found himself wondering what it would be like to wake up beside this man, to see his innocent face turned towards him on the pillow they shared, his wayward curls falling across his forehead as they were that morning, to have their bodies intimately entwined.
It would be perfect bliss, he knew that, but he also knew it would never happen.
"I'll need to operate again to remove the flesh that had become infected," Major Clarkson announced regretfully from where he was stood. "Please see that the necessary preparations are made at once. I should only be ten minutes or so with Sergeant Barrow."
"Yes, Major Clarkson."
"Sergeant?"
Thomas looked away from the officer who had so effortlessly melted the ice around his heart, turning to face his commanding officer who gestured towards the entrance of the ward. He nodded, obediently following the older man out of the room, along the corridor where their boots echoed loudly on the flagstones and into Major Clarkson's office.
He moved to stand in front of the large desk, his shoulder tense as he clasped his stump in his hand behind his back. Clarkson didn't even bother to sit down, merely leaned against the front of the desk only a couple of feet away from where Thomas had chosen to stand.
"As you know thanks to Mrs Crawley and Nurse Crawley's efforts we have been granted permission to transform a large part of the Abbey into a convalescent home for our wounded officers," Clarkson announced, the subject taking Thomas slightly by surprise. Was he not here for a dressing down? "Preparations are underway for the transfer of some of our patients as well as the arrival of some from other nearby hospitals. This is scheduled to take place tomorrow and so I need to appoint someone to oversee the running of the convalescent hospital as I must remain here to see to the patients who need treatment."
Thomas felt himself beginning to frown.
It sounded almost as though Major Clarkson were preparing to…
"I've given it a great deal of thought and have come to the conclusion that you are the best candidate we have in regards to taking on the task of running the convalescent hospital."
"…I beg your pardon, sir?"
"You are familiar with the house, the family and the staff, Sergeant Barrow," Major Clarkson readily explained his decision. Thomas was stunned. "Not only that but you have shown that you are perfectly capable of organising and running a hospital to suitable military standard."
His chest swelled with pride at the genuine compliment that had just been paid to him.
Normally in the past he had had to cheat and lie in order to get the praise he had believed he deserved but this was something entirely different and as such it felt entirely different. His pride wasn't tinged with bitterness or regret. He had done a bloody good job since becoming the Head Orderly at the hospital but for once he hadn't been looking for praise.
It was his job.
And didn't that must make receiving the praise all the sweeter?
"I will be the ranking officer, of course, so you shall still report directly to me," Major Clarkson continued. "You'll have a small team of Nurses at the convalescent home permanently but most will move between the hospital here and the Abbey as required."
He nodded silently to show his understanding.
"I leave it up to you to select which four orderlies to take with you," Clarkson informed him, reaching behind him in order to pick up a scrap of paper which he handed to Thomas. "I shall be making an announcement with all of the relevant information this afternoon so please ensure that you get your list to me before then. I'm placing a lot of faith in you so I trust that you won't let me down. You may return to your duties now, Sergeant Barrow."
"Thank you, sir," Thomas responded. "I…I shall endeavour to live up to your expectations."
Figuring out which orderlies to bring with him didn't take too long at all and by the time Captain Etheridge was returned to the ward following his latest surgery he'd already got the short list written down and tucked safely into his tunic pocket with his cigarettes.
He'd chosen three Privates and one Corporal from the dozen orderlies under his command.
Dickie Smith, the Corporal, was a no nonsense cockney in his mid-forties and was a valuable man to have when patients became violent, mostly during their nightmares and through no fault of their own. He was built like a prized fighter and had proven to be as strong as an ox.
Thomas, handicapped as he was, would definitely have need of him.
He had chosen young Billy Rawlings simply because he still didn't trust the boy not to do something idiotically stupid in order to get himself transferred to the front. He was too young, too naïve and far too innocent to survive life in the trenches.
It would destroy him.
Paul Harrison had spent over a year at the front before being transferred back to England suffering from a nasty case of shell shock which had resulted in him losing all capability of speech. Thankfully his commanding officer hadn't branded him a coward as had happened to so many poor souls and since coming back to England he had slowly begun to improve.
He was a conscientious worker, however, and could always be trusted to complete any task given to him to the best of his ability without complaint. No job was ever left unfinished.
Lastly he'd chosen Isaiah Sykes, another older man who came from an almost inconceivably large family. He himself was one of thirteen, eleven of which had survived childhood, and had been married three times. His first wife had died in childbirth bring the first of his nine children into the world while his second wife had caught a chill and died unexpectedly only three months after giving birth to his fourth child. The current Mrs Sykes was apparently quite a bit younger than her husband and in good health, pregnant with child number ten.
He had a boisterous, cheerful personality and could raise anyone's spirits with one of his tall tales, often delighting an entire ward for over an hour with various stories about his family. There was always a smile on his weathered face and he could be relied upon to cheer even the most distraught souls. Thomas only ever had to follow the sound of laughter to find him.
Major Clarkson didn't argue against a single one of his choices.
In fact if anything he seemed impressed by the selections he had made or at least that was the vibe Thomas got as he followed the senior officer out into the hallway where as many of the staff as could be spared had been gathered to hear his "important announcement."
"I know we all have lots to be getting on with before the patients receive their dinner so I shall be brief," Major Clarkson announced firmly, gesturing to where Thomas had moved to stand beside Sybil in the silent group. "Sergeant Barrow will be overseeing the running of the newly created convalescent hospital up at the Abbey and will report directly to me."
His posture corrected itself of its own accord as everyone turned to stare across at him.
"Staff Nurse Rawlings will be in charge of the medical side of things until the new matron arrives, at which time she will become her second-in-command," Major Clarkson continued without hesitation, gesturing to the sympathetic nurse in question. "Nurses Crawley, Dustan and Bryant will be transferring to the convalescent home to join the team of nurses being sent from London. At this time we have not had a confirmed date for their arrival so be prepared for a hectic few days, ladies, until they arrive." The three nurses in question, Sybil in particular, seemed happy with this decision. "Corporal Smith and Privates Rawlings, Harrison and Sykes will be transferring to the convalescent hospital to act as orderlies. Unfortunately at this time we do not expect to receive anyone to replace them here at the hospital, nor can we expect any more orderlies to aid you in your duties at the Abbey."
These four looked both pleased and annoyed all in a fraction of a second, pleased with the transfer and the possibilities it would bring but annoyed by the apparent lack of assistance.
"I have already informed those at the house of these duty assignments," Major Clarkson concluded, explaining the brief stop off in his office to make a quick telephone call on their way to the meeting. Thomas could easily imagine the look on Mr Carson's face when he'd heard. "These changes will be effective immediately as of tomorrow morning. Thank you."
To say that Lieutenant Courtenay was beyond relieved to hear that Thomas would be transferring to the convalescent hospital with him was something of an understatement. He'd been so stunned by relief that he'd dropped his spoon back into his bowl of soup, splashing the steaming liquid all over his blanket and the napkin tucked into his collar.
"Truly?" he demanded breathlessly as Thomas hurried to clean up the mess he'd made. "I don't…I don't have to go somewhere without you? You're coming with me to…to the…"
"Yes," Thomas interrupted quickly. "As will Nurse Crawley."
"Thank you…" Lieutenant Courtenay exhaled deeply. "Oh, thank you…"
It was all hands to the pumps the following day, those who were transferring packing up their kit and being ferried up to the Abbey by a helpful farmer whilst arrangements were made for the ambulances bringing the men from other hospitals to collect the patients from the village hospital once they'd dropped off their initial charges. It would mean that they wouldn't have to rely on the generosity of the local farmers and their carts to move them.
Climbing down from the cart Thomas picked up his heavy kitbag and joined the others as they made their way towards the grand front doors of the Abbey, a little voice in the back of his head all but squealing at the thought of how them entering through the main doors would cause Mr Carson's blood to boil. Who was he to pass up such a rare opportunity?
Sybil led the way, of course, and Thomas himself brought up the rear.
"Why are you coming in this way?"
Smiling to himself Thomas turned to face the owner of the disapproving voice, finding Mr Carson approaching rapidly wearing a thunderous expression. Either the butler hadn't noticed the others or he'd dismissed them in his desire to focus his ire on Thomas. Had he noticed Sybil's presence Thomas knew he would have forced himself to be more polite.
Speaking of his friend she looked almost as amused by the situation as Thomas felt.
"I'm the manager here now, Mr Carson," Thomas couldn't risk pointing out, resting his kit back on the floor as he gestured around them with his stump. "Or had you forgotten?"
"No, I have not forgotten," Mr Carson harrumphed with annoyance, looking down his long nose at Thomas. No, the totalitarian butler definitely didn't approve of his new posting. "And will you be moving into your old room, or should we prepare a guest bedroom?"
"I'll sleep in my old room, thanks," Thomas responded cheerfully, already looking forward to the prospect of settling into the familiar room. After all it would be better than a trench, a tent or a supply cupboard. "I've got four male orderlies to house as well as the nurses. Will there be room for them up on the servant's floor or should I make other arrangements?"
"We are currently without footmen due to the war and have only the one hall boy, as I'm sure you are no doubt aware, Mr Carson all but snarled down at him. Thomas hadn't been aware, actually, but he didn't let that show on his face. "I'm sure we shall find suitable accommodation for them without disturbing myself, Mr Lang or Henry, the ball boy."
"Wonderful, Mr Carson," Thomas exclaimed cheerfully, looking around at the Main Hall which had been stripped bare, even the carpet had been removed so that the floorboards were visible. "So, are we ready for the big invasion? 'Cause they'll be here at tea time."
Mr Carson bristled indignantly.
"We'll have to be ready, won't we, Thomas?"
"We will, Mr Carson," Thomas agreed, picking up his kitbag and moving to join the others St the foot of the stairs. He paused before reaching them. "Oh, and it's Sergeant Barrow now."
Carson's glare could have curdled milk.
"Nurse Crawley, I assume you shall be sleeping in your old bedroom as well," Thomas spoke clearly, delighting at the choking noise which came from behind him. Sybil, giggling, nodded and began leading the way upstairs. "I can lead the orderlies up to the male quarters but do you think you could find a maid to take your fellow nurses up to their accommodation?"
"Oh, I telephoned and asked mama if they could stay in the guest rooms," Sybil responded with a bright smile. "It made more sense, you see, as there are still quite a few female servants in the house so I doubt there are many spare beds upstairs. Penny and Charlotte will have to share but you'll have your own room, Agatha. Mama said she'd sort out rooms for the new nurses when they arrived but the Green and Blue rooms are ready for you."
"What an excellent idea, Nurse Crawley," Thomas chuckled, imagining their reactions to the small but grand rooms they'd been given. "I shall leave them in your capable hands. Half an hour to settle in and then we shall start preparing the wards. Gentlemen, follow me."
His room looked as though it hadn't been touched since he vacated it at the start of the war.
Settling in took him significantly less than the half an hour he'd allowed, placing his new things where his old belongings had once sat and hanging up his spare bits of uniform. At least the sheets had been changed recently, the familiar scent of the soap filling the air.
Unlatching the window he opened it just enough to allow some fresh air to move around the small room before picking up his cap and heading back downstairs, confident that between the four of them the orderlies would be able to retrace their steps back to the Main Hall downstairs when they'd finished settling into the rooms they were sharing.
From what Major Clarkson had said both the Drawing Room and the Small Library had been transformed into wards whilst the Library was to be split in two with a temporary screen, the military half to become a recreation area for the patients. On the first floor the two largest guest bedrooms had been turned into smaller wards for patients who could manage the stairs so he guessed that Sybil had had the nurses placed into the two guest rooms at the end of the corridor where her bedroom and Lady Edith's were. They were much smaller.
The Main Hall, stripped bare as it was, would serve as the patient's dining room whilst the nurses and orderlies would use the servant's dining room down in the basement. He needed to speak to Mrs Patmore about that, actually, as he needed to sort out the complicated schedule of various mealtimes that they'd need to keep with the cook. It wasn't going to be easy juggling the family's mealtimes, the servant's mealtimes, the patient's mealtimes and the nurses/orderlies mealtimes but they would have to find a way to manage somehow.
No doubt she would appreciate the extra food which would be delivered weekly as per the army regulations regarding a convalescent hospital. Everything was difficult to come by for civilians these days, what with the military requisitioning everything they could get hold of.
The Morning Room, Dining Room and the family's private bedrooms, dressing rooms and studies were out of bounds for all hospital staff and patients, something which Thomas would be ensuring they understood completely. He might not work for the Crawley's any more but that didn't mean he'd let people go poking their noses into thrust private things.
Making his way through the hospital rooms he hummed with approval at the layout of the two wards, the beds having been carefully laid out to allow free movement around them despite the tight quarters. They'd certainly worked hard to squeeze in as many as possible.
It was in the library that he came across Robert, the Earl of Grantham, sitting at his writing desk bent over what appeared to be a rather long letter using multiple sheets of paper. The room had yet to be split in two, the screens required having arrived along with them, and Thomas wondered if his previous employer knew about the planned use for his sanctuary.
His attempt to leave without being noticed was thwarted by a creaking floorboard.
"Thomas?"
"It's Sergeant Barrow now, your lordship," Thomas responded automatically, standing perfectly still as he watched the older man blatantly study him for a long moment, paying particular attention to his various scars. His stump received the most attention, of course, and Robert did nothing to conceal his horrified expression. "I hope we haven't caused too much of a disruption for you, taking over so many of your rooms for the hospital."
"No, it's…it's the least we can do…" Robert murmured, pushing himself out of his chair and meeting Thomas' gaze as he held out his hand. "I knew you'd been injured but I had no idea…the picture in Lady Cora's magazine was too out of focus to really see any detail at all."
Thomas was surprised when his old employers hurried expression faded into one of sympathetic understanding as they shook hands briefly, his grip firm yet gentle all at once.
"Congratulations are in order, of course," the Earl of Grantham continued softly, glancing briefly at the distinctive ribbon on Thomas's tunic. "I've never had the privilege of knowing a Victoria Cross Recipient until now. You've done us all proud, Tho…Sergeant Barrow."
"Thank you, sir," Thomas responded, using the military title afforded to the other man due to the uniform he wore. He'd never see active service in this war but he was still an officer. "I have to admit I wasn't thinking much about medals at the time. Just about staying alive."
"Understandable."
Thomas found himself glancing at the ribbons adorning the officers own tunic.
He wore two campaign medals, the Queens South Africa Medal, the Kings South Africa Medal alongside the King Edward VII Coronation Medal and the King George V Coronation Medal. Despite having seen active combat in Africa, the Cape Colony clasp confirming that, the officer had never been awarded any sort of medal for bravery although Thomas knew from heading the Earl speak of his military career that he had been mentioned in dispatches four times. It made him smile to think he had technically "one-upped" his former employer.
"I should probably be getting on," he eventually mumbled awkwardly. "The first patients will be arriving shortly and I still have things to get organised. If you'll excuse me, sir?"
"Oh, yes, of course," Robert grunted softly, coming back to himself and offering Thomas a somewhat strained smile. "Let us know if there's anything we can do to help, Sergeant."
Thomas nodded politely to the older man before heading out of the room and into the Main Hall where Sybil was talking to the nurses and orderlies, explaining the layout of the house to them as best as one who had grown up above stairs could. He would have to explain the hidden aspects of the property later, show them all the servants passages which would allow them to travel between floors and rooms quickly and without being seen as well as the basement level. For now, though, that could wait as they had plenty of work to do.
"Corporal Smith, could you get this room set up as an appropriate dining hall with the supplies we've been sent with? I believe you'll find them leaning against the wall outside," Thomas instructed the other man as he joined the group. "Take Sykes and Harrison with you. Rawlings, I want you to assist our nurses in putting the final touches to the wards."
"Yes, Sergeant."
"I shall be downstairs organising the meals with Mrs Patmore, the cook here at Downton Abbey, but I'll be back to oversee the arrival of the patients," he announced calmly. "Staff Nurse Rawlings, I leave you in charge up here for the moment. Let's get this place ready."
Sybil smiled across at him before following the other nurses into Ward One, also known as the Drawing Room and his team of orderlies disappeared quickly, muttering amongst themselves about how they'd definitely fallen on their feet being posted to the convalescent hospital. He could understand that. Downton Abbey was a stunning building to perceive.
Heading down to the basement level he was met by the familiar atmosphere of barely controlled chaos as he nodded towards the people he had once worked with, friends and enemies alike, as they snatched a quick sit down with a cup of tea in the servants hall and made his way along the narrow flagstone corridor to the madhouse that was the kitchen.
"…do you call that straight, girl?" Mrs Patmore's shrill voice greeted him as he stepped into the large room, coming to a halt just inside the door. The enormous table was positively covered with sandwiches waiting to be cut into squares by the kitchen maids, one of whom was Mrs Patmore's latest victim. "I've seen straighter edges on a banana! Straight, girl!"
"Yes, Mrs Patmore. Sorry, Mrs Patmore."
"We have injured officers joining us today and I won't have them believing that I run a substandard kitchen by offering them afternoon tea with crooked sandwiches," Mrs Patmore snapped. "Daisy, how are those savoury scones for the family's luncheon coming?"
"They're nearly ready to come out of the oven, Mrs Patmore," Daisy reported obediently before jumping as she spotted Thomas by the door. "Hello Thomas. What brings you here?"
"I've come to discuss how the hospital mealtimes will be arranged around the family and servant mealtimes with Mrs Patmore," he answered simply as the cook in question left her spot looking over the poor kitchen maids shoulder as she work and came to stand before him. "I'm hoping we can figure out a way to make things as simple as possible for us all."
Mrs Patmore hummed in approval.
"I've already been speaking to Mrs Hughes and her ladyship about that very subject," she responded, causing Thomas to arch an eyebrow in surprise. They'd only known for certain that they were coming for a day although they must have been thinking things through since they'd initial agreed to the scheme. "Breakfast and luncheon will be no problem as whatever the family have I can serve up a simpler version for the patients at the same time with the help of the nurses and orderlies of course. Dinner might be a little bit more challenging although only when the family is entertaining. Once again a simpler version can be provided for the patients at the same time as the family eat theirs in the dining room."
"This all sounds very logical and mercifully simple, Mrs Patmore," Thomas admitted, pleased that their ideas were very similar to his own. "Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?"
"With the money coming in from the army I've been able to take on another kitchen maid so we'll be able to cope just fine, thank you very much," she responded somewhat peevishly. Thomas wasn't surprise or offended by her tone. "Regarding the nurses and orderlies meals; will they be able to join us at the servant's meals or will they require a separate time?"
"For the most part they should be able to join the servants for their meals," Thomas conceded, his answer obviously pleasing the redheaded cook. "However those on the night shift shan't want to have dinner for breakfast and vice versa which may be problematic."
"I'm sure we'll be able to work something out."
"And there will always have to be someone on duty in the wards so those persons may be either early or late to the meal, depending on when they can slip away," Thomas continued, thinking of the amount of times he'd barely had time to snatch a cup of tea and a bit of bread and dripping before the cooks closed up. Sometimes he hadn't been able to manage that. "But that's something we can work out once we've got the daily routine working nice and smoothly. No point worrying over something which might not actually be a problem."
Mrs Patmore made a sound of approval before cutting herself off with a frown, obviously hesitating as she thought of the best way to put whatever had just crossed her mind.
"Where will Lady Sybil be dining?"
Ah.
"Nurse Crawley will be dining with her fellow nurses unless her presence is required by her family," Thomas answered as diplomatically as he could having already heard from Sybil herself that she refused, point blank, to dine with her family every night. She was a nurse now, she had said firmly, not a naïve debutante. "I hope this won't cause any problems?"
"No," Mrs Patmore mumbled, surprised by his answer. "No problem."
"Wonderful," Thomas responded brightly. Contrary to her response Mrs Patmore definitely had a problem with Sybil eating downstairs but she'd never voice her problem, at least not to him. He imagined he'd be hearing from Mr Carson sooner rather than later. "Well that covers everything for the moment so I shall leave you in peace and return upstairs."
Returning to the ground floor he head the unmistakable sound of tires on gravel signalling the arrival of the first ambulance full of patients and, ignoring the unexpected appearance of the Dowager Countess who looked very unhappy with the current situation, he picked up his clipboard which held a list of the patients they were expecting and followed the nurses as they hurried out of the building, the orderlies he'd selected already waiting outside.
"How many are there?"
Mrs Crawley's voice was almost drowned out by the painful sound the ambulances brakes made as it came to a stop, the back opening a second later to allow the first of the patients to emerge. Where she'd come from Thomas wasn't entirely sure but Major Clarkson was beside her, offering Thomas a nod as they got to work helping people inside the Abbey.
"Thirty-six," Major Clarkson answered. "Although there may be a few arriving tomorrow."
"Thirty-six?" Mrs Crawley repeated, surprised. "Right…well…"
For someone who claimed to be a logical thinker, calm in situations just like this she had the appearance of a deer caught in the headlights. Even the rest of the Crawley family, untrained as they were, were reacting more favourably to the situation and welcoming the patients.
"Quick as you can, gentlemen," Major Clarkson ordered clearly before turning to the man sat behind the steering wheel. "Driver, use that road here and go straight into the hospital. You'll find the patients there ready to be loaded into the vehicle. Please, make haste."
"Yes, sir."
"This way, please, gentlemen," Robert piped up, his tone both welcoming and gentle. "We have beds for all of you, not to mention a cup of tea and some freshly made sandwiches."
This news went down very well and Thomas could understand that, given how far these men had travelled. Some had barely been at the other hospital a couple of days after returning from the field hospital they'd been evacuated to in France so a cup of tea would still feel like a little piece of heaven. He wasn't sure how the dainty sandwiches would go down with some of the men who, although officers, had been given battlefield commissions.
"Don't worry," Sybil reassured the young officer she was escorting inside slowly, placing a hand on his arm as he struggled to navigate the steps with his crutches. "We'll see to you."
"Major Bryant?" Thomas called out as he approached the group of 'walking wounded' who had been escorted inside and told to wait there until they were told where to go, pausing as he waited for the officer in question to indicate himself. He was a handsome man, Major Bryant, and judging by the care he took in his appearance and his somewhat haughty expression he knew it too. "You're in the Armada Bedroom. Do you mind the stairs?"
"Depends on what I find at the top."
Oh, yes, Thomas could already sense that this man was going to be trouble.
There was nothing he could do about it, however, as he had to continue assigning them to the various bedrooms and wards. Not even when he saw the Major wink up at the new maid, Ethel, who giggled as she continued polishing the bannister with her little cloth.
"Captain Hancock? You're also in the Armada Bedroom," Thomas continued, offering the young man a reassuring smile when he held up his hand. "As are Captain Grace and Lieutenant Marks, so long as none of you have any problems with the stairs. No, excellent."
Lieutenant Courtenay arrived at the same as their three other cases of gas blindness and Thomas personally escorted all four of the, to their beds in the far corner or Ward One, getting each of them settled but leaving Edward until last so that he could pay particular attention to him. He was directly below a large window so would be able to feel the warmth of the sun on his face even what he was stuck inside the building for whatever reason.
His relieved smile and peaceful expression made Thomas's heart thump rapidly in his chest.
"Thomas?" a soft voice called out as he left the ward, intending on checking on the officers who had been housed up on the first floor of the building. It was Daisy and she looked rather flustered. "You need to come back downstairs. There's…there's a bit of a problem…"
"A problem?"
She nodded, her eyes flickering towards the servants stairs.
Frowning he altered his direction of travel and followed her down the stairs and into the servants hall where almost everyone seemed to be gathered in front of Mrs Crawley.
"…and I, of course, shall be in charge of the day to day running of the hospital."
What?
"But I am to supervise the medical staff…"
"Overseen by me," Mrs Crawley shrugged him off calmly before turning her attention back to the gathered servants, seemingly ignorant of their shocked expressions. Thomas grit his teeth, holding back a snarl of annoyance. "And Carson, I'm relying on you to make that…"
"What's going on?" Cora, the Countess of Grantham, demanded sharply as she entered the room followed by an anxious looking Mrs Hughes who instinctively moved to stand by Daisy.
"I was arranging the household duties where they overlap with the duties of the nursing staff," Mrs Crawley answered, smiling briefly toward Cora. "Now, Carson, as I was saying…"
"Shall we continue this upstairs?"
Oh, Cora was definitely annoyed with Mrs Crawley's behaviour.
"Well, I've made some charts and…"
Mrs Crawley was silenced by the most severe look Thomas had ever seen Cora produce.
"Of course."
The tense atmosphere didn't abate even after the two woman had returned to the ground floor of the house, no doubt heading to Lady Cora's Sitting Room to continue the discussion.
"Did you say you were the manager or the referee?"
Thomas couldn't help but smirk in Ethel's direction even as Miss O'Brien turned to face him.
"You can see what we're up against."
"Don't worry, we'll find a solution," Thomas reassured not only his old colleague but everyone currently gathered in the servant's hall. "For now let's leave it in her ladyship's capable hands. I'm sure she'll make us all aware of any changes that need to be instigated."
Offering both Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes a polite nod he delighted in seeing their confused expressions, obviously thrown by his professional demeanour, and slowly began making his way back upstairs. They'd never dealt with Sergeant Barrow, only Thomas the footman and they certainly hadn't had any experience of him post-injuries and wartime experience.
He'd learned that there were other ways, significantly more honourable and respectful, to garner the attention he craved. Of course there were still times that his skills in lying and scheming could be a useful asset but there was a time and a place and that this wasn't it.
No, now was the time for controlled efficiency.
"Sergeant Barrow? I need you."
"Coming, Major Clarkson."
Now was the time to show them all what he could really do.
A/N This wasn't where I had planned to leave this chapter but it just kept getting longer and longer so I've tagged the last little bit onto the beginning of the next chapter. I had a wonderful week off in France but didn't get a single bit of writing done (too busy having fun touring Brittany in our collection of 1940's vehicles) but I'm getting lots done now. Hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. Comments & Suggestions welcome as always. X
A/N: I apologise for the lack of 'It's funny,…' section at the beginning of this chapter but I couldn't get it to work and felt that it did the chapter more harm than good to include so from this point on in the story if it works, there'll be one and if it doesn't, there won't.