Note: Last call! Laaaaast caaaall! Close up your cards! You don't have to go home but you can't stay here! Or really I guess you could. I can't stop you. Do what you like.

Chapter 26

Thomas rang Schiller who, in an enthusiastic squelch over the telephone, agreed to giving Jimmy a job: "A first footman? Why of course, old sport. We'll teach him how to make cocktails! Yes, have him audition for me on the piano, if you like."

Schiller said he'd put someone to the task of finding a properly furnished flat.

"Eh, two bedrooms," Thomas stuttered. "I'll be sharing it with Mr. Kent."

Alright, Thomas thought, so we'll have a study.

They were to leave in mid-June. Schiller wanted to teach Thomas the way of nightclubs before the opening. The evening after his telephone call, Thomas and Jimmy gave their notice.

Mr. Carson did not appear particularly shocked, but then he sat down heavily in his chair.

"I am shocked," he said.

"We are giving you plenty of time to find replacements," Thomas said. "We thought it only fair since we're both going to be leaving."

"Of course, we'll find replacements," Mr. Carson said, blustering. "But considering how you've held your place at Downton with the taloned grip of an ornery falcon, Mr. Barrow-"

Jimmy snorted a laugh and covered his mouth. "Sorry, Mr. Carson."

Thomas elbowed him in the ribs.

"Now with Anna expecting, that will be another complication…" Mr. Carson threw his hands in the air. "It is not be born. It is the end of days. Honestly. A jazz club! And in Brighton! You know what they say about Brighton."

"What do they say about Brighton?" Thomas said.

"Nothing good, I should expect." He shuffled papers, set them down, and shuffled them again. "And both of you together? Given past events-"

"We're friends now," Jimmy said quickly.

"I see." Mr. Carson sighed heavily and leveled his gaze at Thomas. "I was only just beginning to think of you as a respectable heir apparent for me, Mr. Barrow."

"For you?" Thomas said.

"I am not immortal. You have always proved yourself competent, if not at times…ethically moribund. But in the last couple of years, even in that I have seen a marked difference." He folded his hands on the desk. "I have come to rely on you. Downton will feel your absence. And not for the better."

Could have knocked Thomas over with a feather.

"What about me?" Jimmy said, sounding a bit offended.

"I'm sure we'll miss you too," Mr. Carson quipped.

This time Thomas laughed and Jimmy elbowed him in the ribs.

May arrived, and with it the exodus of the bohemians. They declared themselves well rested and wholly inspired by the countryside and its provincial charms. Thomas was met with many the wink and promise that he would likely be seen later in Brighton by all of the guests.

"It is not goodbye!" Miss Vyse said, as she got into a roadster. "It is only until next time!"

"I can hardly wait," he said dryly to Jimmy, as they watched the cars disappear down the road.

"Well, they weren't dull," Jimmy said. "Certainly happy to see that bloody monkey go away."

Mr. Carson was happier than anyone that the bohemians were gone, but Thomas saw his relief turn to dread after Alfred and Daisy announced their engagement. It would be yet another staffing issue for poor Mr. Carson. The lot of them ate strawberry cake in the kitchen one afternoon to celebrate.

"I would've done sooner," Alfred said, grinning, his arm around Daisy's waist. "But I had to wait to ask Mr. Mason's blessin'."

Jimmy frowned and said to Daisy, "But Mr. Mason isn't your father."

"He's good as 'un to me," Daisy said proudly.

"Seemed right," Alfred said.

"It's ever so romantic," Ivy cooed.

Mrs. Patmore was serving from a platter next to Alfred. She dropped her cake knife and turned away. "It's nothin. Just a little ginger in me eye."

Thomas and Jimmy smirked at each other.

"We'll be livin' on the farm once we're married," Daisy said, glowing brighter than the electric lights upstairs. "Alfred and Mr. Mason get on like jam and bread."

All at once Mrs. Patmore spun and threw her arms around Daisy. "I'm so happy for ya, my girl! But how shall I get on?"

"You and Jimmy will visit the farm, won't ya, Mr. Barrow?" Daisy said to Thomas later in the pantry.

Thomas said, "I can't speak for Jimmy-"

"Oh, can't ya?" Daisy said. She fixed him with sky-high eyebrows.

"Yes," Thomas finally said. "Yes, we will visit."

"I told ya, didn't I?"

The day after that was Thomas's birthday. He hadn't been thinking of it, but Jimmy knocked on his door early that morning.

"Happy birthday," Jimmy said, smiling and still in his pajamas.

Thomas was bleary eyed. He let Jimmy into his room. "How did you know-"

"I know things," he said mysteriously. He handed it to Thomas. "Here."

"A present?" Thomas couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a birthday present. He sat down, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The present was a pewter pocket watch, of a lovely design. It didn't seem like something Jimmy could reasonably afford. He grinned. "It's very nice. Thank you. Must've cost a pip. When did you get this?"

"Um… Well, a few months ago."

"A few months ago?"

"It was before London," Jimmy said. "When I went to Thirsk and got you the Tarzan. Guess I should've realized then, aye?"

"Bleedin' obvious," Thomas agreed. He took Jimmy's hand and kissed the inside of his wrist.

Things were peaceful. Lady Mary often took to the gardens with Mr. Mattie. Sometimes Mr. Branson took Miss Sybbie on walks around the estate and Lady Mary and Mr. Mattie would accompany them.

"It's lovely the children get on so well," Mr. Branson said to Thomas at a tea. "But Lady Mary is always talkin' about things like the clash of arts and commerce and…Pablo bloody Picasso. I feel a bit out of my depth."

The Granthams returned in June. One day Mr. Bates found Thomas alone in the servants' hall. He sat down across from Thomas, who was smoking over the newspaper and folded his hands.

"Thomas," Mr. Bates said gravely. "I believe I owe you a measure of gratitude."

Thomas blinked at him. "What's that then?"

"Anna told me how you looked after her when I was away. I'm most thankful. It's been very strange to be the last one to know this happy news."

Thomas flicked his ashes and muttered, "Only doin' my job."

"Hmm. She says that you and Jimmy fixed a leak in her roof."

"It rained in April," Thomas said, rolling his eyes. "Can't have her catch cold, it would spread through the whole house."

"Ah, yes. And you fenced off our vegetable garden?"

"There's a rabbit problem," Thomas insisted. "And I didn't do that myself, I just noticed that… Do you have a point?"

"Mrs. Hughes told me how you cared for her when she fainted. For all of these things, I am grateful to you. It all means more than any apology." Mr. Bates smiled.

"Right," Thomas said, taking a drag. "Brilliant."

"I wish you well in Brighton."

"I'm sure you do."

Would he ever leave?

Finally, thankfully, Mr. Bates rose to go. But in the hallway, he turned back and said, "Thomas, no one thinks the coffee cakes were Mrs. Patmore's idea. You're not fooling anyone."

When he was gone, Thomas shook his head and muttered, "Still a patronizing bastard."

At one of their last dinners serving the Granthams, his Lordship looked almost troubled as Jimmy went around with a dish of chicken.

"I confess, it will be odd not having old Thomas around," Lord Grantham said.

Lady Grantham nodded in agreement. The Dowager frowned, her fork in the air and said, "Now which one is Thomas again?"

Thomas nodded to himself. Yes. Yes, that's about right. He glanced at Jimmy, who grinned back at him. Alfred was chuckling in the corner.

"Barrow, Grannie," Lady Mary said. "We're losing my dear Barrow."

Lady Grantham did an actual double-take. "Your dear Barrow? What on earth happened while we were in Paris?"

"Oh yes, of course," the Dowager said, gesturing towards Thomas, who stood next to Carson in front of the wine. "The very handsome one."

Lady Rose giggled and batted her eyes. "He is, isn't he?"

Mr. Carson muttered, "Now I've seen everything."

"Thank you, my lady," Thomas said smoothly.

"And James is going as well," Lord Grantham sighed.

The Dowager said, "Oh! We're losing the piano player?" She tossed a look of bemusement at Jimmy. "Who will entertain us now?"

"What, they're both leaving?" Lady Rose threw her fork down. "How perfectly dreadful."

After dinner, Thomas followed Jimmy back down to the kitchen. "Twelve years I've been here and the old bat doesn't know my name," Thomas said. "But you, she knows. I managed the whole house at the end of the war! She does have excellent taste though, I'll give her that."

Jimmy pursed his lips. "And here I thought I was the handsome one?"

"You're the pretty one," Thomas said. "I'm the handsome one."

Lady Mary caught Thomas in the great hall on their last day. He had just been making a telephone call to work out some last minute plans with Schiller. The flat had been selected, following a flurry of letter writing back and forth. They were to settle in for a few days and then meet him for tea and on to the nearly finished club.

Lady Mary asked the usual cursory questions about Brighton and then said, "Thomas, I hope I wasn't too much trouble for you. I really do apologize."

"Not to worry, my lady," Thomas said, and smiled knowingly. "You didn't do any real damage."

"I would understand," she said, "if you would never want to take me into your confidence again. But… I do have to wonder, as you're taking James with you to Brighton, if I wasn't on the right track? I assure you, such knowledge would not amuse me."

Thomas smiled tightly. "My lady…"

"Oh, you're right. Don't tell me." She patted him on the arm. "But do you know, I am the one who told Carson he ought to hire James? I said we should take him on to cheer up the maids."

Thomas couldn't help it. He smiled like a boy. "Oh."

"Perhaps he cheered somebody else up who needed it more," Lady Mary said slyly. "If so… I'm glad. Good luck in Brighton. I'll see you there sometime. The bohemians won't let me stay away long."

"Thank you, my lady."

She turned to go and Thomas stopped her. "Um… Thank you, also…for…making very wise choices. In terms of footmen."

She smiled genuinely and nodded. "Glad to be of service."

Thomas's things were packed. They were to catch the train in an hour. He stood in his room next to the trunk that held all his possessions in the world. It wasn't that his memories of life at Downton were so terribly fond. But there were small things even before Jimmy, like a begrudging agreement after the servants' ball one year that Thomas was the best dancer, or some shared look of bemusement with his lordship at something Mrs. Crawley had said. There had been pretty good jokes over cigarettes with O'Brien before things had gone sour. If nothing else, what had kept him going for so long was the feeling of accomplishment at knowing that, all things considered, he was very good at his job. Even if he had scraped and fought like a caged beast to keep it. It was the only life he had thought he would ever know. Now it fit into a single trunk.

Jimmy appeared in the door, wearing his grey tweed suit, and said, "Mrs. Patmore's made us somethin' for the train. We should be off soon."

Thomas nodded absentmindedly, "Hmm."

"Do you have jitters?" Jimmy said.

"No," Thomas said quickly. "Maybe a little."

"It's going to be different," Jimmy said, nodding. "But it's goin' to be grand."

They said their goodbyes with typical British restraint to the family and then everyone in the servants' hall. O'Brien stood behind everyone else. Thomas had known her for over twelve years and even now couldn't tell if she was indifferent or melancholy. He said nothing to her, but she caught his eye and held his gaze. Her expression softened for the briefest moment and then she looked away and quietly left the room.

"Good luck to you, Mr. Barrow," Mrs. Hughes said. "I hope you find great success."

The others were distracted by something Jimmy was saying about the ocean. Thomas swallowed and looked down. "I do want to thank you, Mrs. Hughes, for… bein' kind to me once. When I was very low."

He had never forgotten the time Mrs. Hughes had brought him in from the rain when he had thought his life was ruined forever. She had given him tea, sat him down by a fire, and listened without judgement and only openheartedness. He had a special place in his heart for Mrs. Hughes.

Mrs. Hughes answered his gratitude with a smile and a pat on his arm. She glanced around and leaned in closer. "Thomas, between us. Are you sure about James? I've never thought much of him, if I'm to be honest."

Thomas wasn't sure where to begin with that. He felt like he was defending a suitor to his mother. Thomas said, "He's a good man. Once you get to know him. I'm as sure as I could be."

Anna actually wept when she said her goodbyes, but put it down to the mad feelings she was always getting now that she was expecting.

"Mind you be good, Thomas," she said to him. "We know it's possible."

Then Thomas and Jimmy were in a car and Downton was disappearing behind him. Jimmy squeezed his hand and Thomas turned his head forward before it became just a speck in the distance.

On the train they felt like schoolboys left to their own devices on holiday. For most of the ride they had a compartment to themselves, but for a while a portly man with a bushy mustache sat across from them, introducing himself as Mr. Herbert. He was in insurance. Jimmy turned out to be a fidgety traveling companion.

"I'm bored," he muttered to Thomas under his breath.

""Good Lord, it's not that long a trip," Thomas said wryly.

Jimmy nodded and tapped his fingers on his knee. He kept shooting Mr. Herbert accusatory looks, as if the man was responsible for his boredom. Then he said softly, "Actually, there is a sensitive matter of business I should tell you."

"Is there?" Thomas rose an eyebrow.

Mr. Herbert stared. Thomas wished he would read a newspaper or something. Jimmy said to Mr. Herbert, "I apologize for my rudeness about this, sir." Then he leaned over and, holding a hand over his mouth, whispered in Thomas's ear, "I wish your prick was in my mouth right now."

Thomas showed no reaction at all and simply said, "We'll definitely be handling that matter. Soon enough, I assure you." Mr. Herbert caught his eye and Thomas tossed him a friendly smile.

Eventually Mr. Herbert left them to go to the dining car, after which Jimmy burst out laughing.

Thomas said, "Is that what I should expect from now on? You're going to whisper filthy things in my ear in front of people?"

"Absolutely."

"Fair enough," Thomas said.

Jimmy sighed and sat back in his seat. "Well, I can't kiss you in public. I ought not hold your hand and I can't tell anyone. But I can bloody well whisper filthy things in your ear if I want to, and no one's the wiser."

"I won't argue with that logic. Have you got anymore dirty things to say?"

"I have got one," Jimmy said mischievously. "But it's quite scandalous. Frowned upon by society. You might be takin' your life in your hands."

"You'd better tell me," Thomas said.

Jimmy leaned over and whispered, "I love you."

The flat was modest but nicely furnished. It was half of a narrow blue building in the middle of a line of similar buildings in town. The landlady was Miss Collins, a businesslike spinster who reminded Thomas of Isobel Crawley. She showed them around their new home and didn't seem to think there was anything particularly strange about two men sharing a flat. Thomas wondered if this wasn't far more common than he imagined. Maybe the country had limited his worldview. When she left, Thomas locked the door behind her. He found Jimmy upstairs standing at the window in the bigger bedroom.

"If I squint, I think I can almost see the ocean," Jimmy said.

Thomas came up behind him and kissed his neck, wrapping his arms around his waist. "That's nice," he murmured. "Even better, we have a door that locks now."

Jimmy shut the curtains and turned around to kiss him. "I think I would've agreed to a garden shed if it had a lock on the door.

They fell onto the bed in a tangle and kissed like there was all in the time in the world for it. Jimmy took off Thomas's jacket and threw it at the wall. Jimmy was nibbling on his ear when Thomas started laughing.

"Excuse me," Jimmy said, pretending offense. "I don't see anything funny about this situation."

"No, it's just… It feels like were on a honeymoon," Thomas said.

Jimmy shrugged and yanked off Thomas's tie. "I'd marry you if I could."

"Is that a proposal?"

"Well, why not?" He crouched over Thomas and smirked. "Good excuse to buy a morning coat."

"One societal transgression at a time, James."

The club opened just two weeks later and ahead of schedule. It was called The Moon Cat and even after Schiller's many meetings with him, having gone over every bit of minutiae that Thomas would need to know to manage a nightclub, it was still grander than he would've imagined. But there was not much standing by the bar and looking important, it was a proper job. He bustled around, eyes constantly on the staff to see that the many patrons were catered to. He was more nervous than he would have expected.

"Napkin over the wrist, Roger," he said to a young wide-eyed waiter in the hall behind one of two bars. "Don't forget to look for empty glasses. Ask everyone if they want champagne."

He straightened his dinner jacket.

Schiller hadn't forgotten what Thomas had said back in London about uniforms. All the waiters wore waistcoats, similar to a footman's. Jimmy was helping tend bar, having had a crash course in cocktails. Thomas followed Roger back to the floor. Blue lanterns and crystal chandeliers made everything blue and glimmery. The Eugene King Orchestra was a jazz band and they were heating things up on the stage. Thomas didn't know the song, but it was loud and it was making people dance like escaped hyenas.

And then…then there were the bohemians.

Of course, they had come. They were close friends of Schiller's. And, perhaps, of Thomas's. He didn't think he'd be able to escape them anyway. The lot of them sat at a round table on the second level with Schiller, who observed it all with seemingly not a care in the world. Thomas already knew better on that score. Schiller didn't miss anything. His sister, Lara, was dancing up a storm on the floor, a giant white feather boa flung around her neck. Thomas was about to check in with Schiller when he heard the sound of glass breaking in a corner.

"Blast it," he muttered.

A pretty ginger girl in a slip of a dress was wobbly on her feet and standing over two broken wine goblets. "Oh dear! So sorry, I'm so…so!"

Thomas took her arm gently, stepping around the glass and waving people away from the hazard. "Not a problem, my- miss. Sit down, and I'll have this taken care of."

He looked around for a waiter and spotting the thin, pale one who's name he could never remember, he snapped his fingers in the boy's direction. "Broom! Get a broom, would you?"

When that fire was put out, he was crossing the floor to a table of forlorn looking couples, when Professor Bloom found him. "Mr. Barrow!" He clapped Thomas on the back. "It's going swimmingly, is it not!"

"Seems to be, yes," Thomas agreed. They had to shout to be heard above the music.

"Well, Schiller seems happy anyhow," Bloom said.

"Good," Thomas said, feeling a measure of relief. "Excellent."

It was odd. He felt himself already developing a subtly different personality when dealing with customers at the club and it had only been a few hours. Schiller had told him he would need to. People didn't want a stoic butler serving them in a club, they wanted someone who was hosting a party. Mysterious and smooth perhaps, but also inviting.

"Mr. Barrow…" Bloom looked tragic. "You know, I don't think Peter is true to me."

For God's sake.

"He's not, Professor," Thomas said. "You can do better." Thomas hoped for Bloom's sake, he didn't talk so freely to everyone.

"But his poetry is lovely."

Thomas took him by the arm and escorted him to the big bar where Jimmy was glaring at a green concoction in a tall glass. A cluster of young ladies stood nearby, all batting their eyes at Jimmy.

"I require whiskey," Professor Bloom declared, sitting on a stool.

Thomas nodded. He leaned over the bar and when Jimmy perked up and leaned in to talk, he said into his ear, "Water down his whiskey, he's plastered."

Jimmy nodded, very serious, and said, "When we get home I'm going to make you hard as stone and plow you into the wall."

Thomas clapped him on the shoulder. "Excellent, James. That's a very good idea."

Jimmy grinned, sly as ever. As an after thought, Thomas frowned and told him, "Look, don't make anyone a drink unless you're sure you know how to make it. Otherwise, have Charlie make it. You're learning."

"Yes, sir." Jimmy leaned in again and said, "I'm still puttin' my prick up your bum later though."

At three o'clock in the morning, the crowd was thin but still alive. Officially, they were closed now, but Schiller's people hung around as Jimmy played the grand piano that was fixed near the dance floor. The band had left an hour ago. Thomas stood at the foot of the stairs to the second level, smoking and watching Jimmy as the light glimmered along the nearly empty tables. Miss Vyse was dancing by herself. Peter Faring sat in a chair next to Bloom. He was half-asleep, with his head on Bloom's shoulders. Just one of those ridiculous couples, Thomas supposed. Constance Foster was asleep at the round table next to Doyle, the American playwright. There were others; rich people and socialites Thomas had been introduced to who he'd already forgotten. He'd have to be introduced again. They danced slow, like they just couldn't quite stop, or sat at tables, leaning on their hands and smoking.

Lara Schiller plopped down on the piano bench next to Jimmy and sang along to "By the Light of the Silvery Moon."

"I think we did well for ourselves, old chap, " Schiller said, appearing next to him. "I have some notes. But don't let that worry you. I'll have notes for the next two weeks or more."

"Understood," Thomas said agreeably. "But…I did alright?"

"A hundred times better than any of those old heels in London would've done on the first night," Schiller said. "I should've always hired butlers."

Thomas relaxed a bit. He felt that sense of accomplishment; he was doing a good job and it had been fun, if a little nerve-wracking. He imagined the nerves would lessen as he got used to it.

Jimmy started playing "You Made Me Love You" and Lara sang. Jimmy caught Thomas's eye and smiled.

By the time they got off work, it was nearly morning. The flat was a short walk away at least. They loitered outside for a minute. The club sat near the beach close to the West End Pier. Thomas and Jimmy crossed the road and strolled east along the railing that looked out on the sand and water. Thomas felt sleepy and happy. They leaned on the railing and watched the sky lighten as the ocean turned from grey to a steel-blue.

"You did well," Jimmy said. "You really did."

"So did you," Thomas said. "Was it fun?"

"I love it! It's nothin' like being a footmen. You're not invisible. Everyone wants to talk. It's a lark."

"Because everyone in that room fancied you," Thomas said, laughing. "You didn't even notice."

Jimmy gazed at the sky and rose an eyebrow. "Funny, it doesn't look like a patient etherized upon a table to me."

"Ah, Prufrock," Thomas sighed. "Well, it's morning, not evening. Perhaps we need a more cheerful poem now."

"I'll write you one," Jimmy declared. "In French."

"You speak French?"

"La mer." Jimmy swept his hand in the direction of the sea.

"The sea…"

"That's all the French I know. Who do you think I am? Bloody Rimbaud?"

"You've been talkin' to Peter," Thomas chuckled. "I can't believe…" He couldn't quite find the words.

"What is it?" Jimmy said, nudging him.

"I just never thought anything this good could happen to me," Thomas said. "Not even close. Not ever. All of it. Most especially you."

"Well, it has," Jimmy said. "So you're just gonna have to learn to live with it. Can we go home now? I'm knackered. But not knackered enough that I won't rip that dinner jacket off of you."

Thomas stood up straight, resting a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "Let us go then, you and I."

THE END