Chapter Seventeen
Downton Abbey
April 1919
The atmosphere within the house, both upstairs and downstairs, was almost unbearably tense as they waited for Doctor Clarkson to arrive from the village. Thomas answered the door for the rather exhausted looking medical man, escorting him up to Lady Cora's room.
Mrs Hughes and Miss O'Brien were with her, the latter looking distinctly worried.
"Thank you, Thomas," Mrs Hughes murmured. "Is everything alright downstairs."
"The Dowager Countess has asked for the car to be brought round," Thomas reported dutifully, watching out of the corner of his eye as Doctor Clarkson began his examination with Miss O'Brien's assistance. "Mrs Patmore is keeping the servants dinner warm for the time being although she says it'll spoil if it's not eaten within the hour. If that happens we'll be having bread and cold cuts as that's all she's got available at such short notice. A couple of the younger housemaids are a little frightened so I've asked Anna to look after them."
The smile Mrs Hughes offered him could only be described as one of pride,
"Thank you, Mr Barrow; excellent work."
"All hands to the pump," he found himself murmuring, unusually modest in response to her earnest praise. Clarkson hummed thoughtfully to himself in response to an answer that Lady Cora had given, his hands busy checking her pulse before retrieving his stethoscope from his bag so that he could listen to her breathing. "Is there anything you need, Miss O'Brien?"
His former collaborator blinked rapidly, visibly unsure,
"I don't…"
"Cold water and towels," Clarkson spoke up from where he was bent over her Ladyship, a frown marring his normally emotionless face as he listened to her lungs. "And ice, if you have any; we need to bring her temperature down. A few more pillows wouldn't go amiss."
"I'll have them sent up," Thomas announced, earning another smile of approval from Mrs Hughes. "Shall I have the same things sent up to Mr Clarkson's room and to Miss Swire?"
"If their symptoms were similar to Lady Cora's, yes," Clarkson agreed, packing away his stethoscope before turning to face the three servants. "There's nothing more I can do for now. Keep her cool and hydrated; plenty of fluids in to replace those she's going to lose."
Miss O'Brien nodded, hurrying back to her Mistress' side.
"I'll take you to Mr Carson now."
As they stepped out of the room they found the Earl of Grantham rounding the corner, his face twisted with concern for his wife. Instinctively Thomas cut his pace so as to allow the Doctor and Housekeeper to reach him first, the former mustering up a reassuring smile.
"Dr Clarkson, you're kind to come," Robert murmured. "How is she?"
"Not too bad," Clarkson responded vaguely. "But she'll need some nursing for a day or two."
Robert's palpable relief was blatantly obvious.
"Oh, don't worry about that; all our daughters are professionals," he offered up with a slightly stiff chuckle, referring to their war work. Personally Thomas wouldn't deem Lady Mary or Lady Edith professionals but he did agree from what he'd heard about the houses time as a convalescent hospital that they would at least know how to mop a fevered brow and hold a frightened persons hand comfortingly. Lady Sybil, along with Mrs Crawley, were the ones who would be doing the more unpleasant jobs. "Let's leave her to get some rest."
As though summoned by his thoughts Lady Mary approached with Mrs Crawley, reporting,
"Miss Swire may be another victim, but she's sleeping now, so I don't want to disturb her."
"When she wakes, give her some aspirin and cinnamon in milk and keep her here," Clarkson ordered, glancing towards the servants for confirmation. Mrs Hughes nodded, confirming that they would do as he instructed. "Until then let her sleep. I'll look at her in the morning."
"Thank you."
"Now, I'd better go to Carson."
"I'll come, too."
Thomas barely restrained a smirk as he watched the doctors expression go completely blank in response to Mrs Crawleys statement, the older man clearly biting his tongue so as not to say what had come to mind. Their clashes regarding medical matters had been legendary before the war but from what Thomas had heard they'd only gotten more impressive during the time he was away at sea. Lady Mary, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide hers.
Excusing himself politely Thomas headed down to the servants hall, passing on the request for basins of cold water and towels to be taken up to Lady Cora, Miss Swire and Mr Carson.
"We could do with some ice, too," he announced, his eyes searching out the hall boys who seemed less than thrilled to be within his sights. "Fetch some from the ice house, please."
"Yes, Mr Barrow."
The ice house was a wondrous piece of Victorian design that still worked as well now as it had when it was built, keeping the ice cultivated during the winter months solid throughout the year for Mrs Patmore to use as and when it was needed. It was also a wonderful place to disappear to on the hottest days of the year for a smoke when he wanted to cool down.
"Mr Moseley," he called out to the older man who looked a bit more like himself now that he'd drunk what looked like a hideously strong cup of tea. "Do you feel up to helping me and Mr Bate clear upstairs? Just until the housemaids return from helping the invalids."
"Of course, Mr Barrow. I feel much better now, thank you."
With Thomas' hands, Mr Bates' leg and Moseley still a little more unsteady on his feet than he cared to admit they'd only made a slight dent in the work when Anna hurried into the room, the younger housemaids following behind her. Their arrival coincided with music filling the air, coming from the gramophone in the hall, and once he'd gotten everyone working together to clear the dining room Thomas excused himself to go and investigate.
"Where is everyone?"
"I'm not sure," Matthew responded to Lady Mary's question just as Thomas arrived, tucking himself into one of the spots where footmen traditionally stood by the front door, ready to open it at all times but hidden from view. "Cousin Violet's gone home, I know that much."
"What about you?"
"I'm waiting for Lavinia and Mother."
"Dr Clarkson wants Lavinia to stay here," she explained, her voice surprisingly gentle given that she had proven herself to be rather jealous of Miss Swire. "He'll see her tomorrow."
"Oh," Matthew murmured, glancing towards the stairs worriedly. "Thank you."
"I don't know this one."
It took Thomas a moment to realise she was referring to the song still playing.
In fairness he didn't recognise it either.
"Actually, I rather like it," Matthew confessed, offering his hand to Mary. She hesitated for a moment before laying her hand on his and stepping into his arms, settling into hold as they began to dance. "I think it was in a show that flopped. Zip Goes a Million, or something."
"Can you manage without your stick?"
"You are my stick."
Mary hummed thoughtfully and for moment they simply danced before she sighed,
"We were a show that flopped."
Her words, soft as they were, clearly caused his employer great distress.
"Oh, God, Mary," he choked out. "I am so, so sorry. Do you know how sorry I am?"
"Don't be. It wasn't anyone's fault," she hastened to reassure him. "If it was, it was mine."
Given what Thomas had heard of her reaction to his proposal before the war, not to mention the way she has behaved when he had first arrived as the new Heir, Thomas agreed with her. She had treated him abominably, it was as simple as that, although it seemed as though she'd learnt her lesson if nothing else. Matthew chuckled suddenly,
"You know, Cousin Violet came to me and told me to marry you."
"When was this?"
"A while ago. When we knew I would walk again."
"Classic Granny," Lady Mary sighed fondly. "What did you say?"
"That I couldn't accept Lavinia's sacrifice of her life, her children, her future, and then give her the brush off when I was well again," Matthew answered. "Well, I couldn't, could I?"
"No, of course not."
Movement on the stairs drew Thomas' attention to the fact that the woman in question was watching them from the balcony above, still dressed in the stylish black dress she'd worn to dinner that evening only with someone's light brown shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
Even from this distance Thomas was alarmed by the way her cheeks were flushed so brightly they seemed to be burning whilst the rest of her skin was dangerously pale.
Her eyes, glistening in the light from the chandelier, were fixed on the couple dancing.
"And in doing so I came to the realisation that, and I'm sorry to say this, but when I look into my future I see her at my side in all things," Matthew continued on, the words tumbling out. "I see the children were going to have together. I see Sunday afternoons spent reading a book as we listen to a record on the gramophone. I see…I see her smile. I see Lavinia, not…"
Smiling sadly Lady Mary finished his sentence for him after he trailed off,
"Not me."
A weight seemed to lift from Lavinia's shoulders, the smile her fiancé had spoken of appearing on her tired face as she began to slowly make her way down the stairs.
"No, I'm afraid not," Matthew confirmed, regret heavy in his voice. "We shall always be friends, Mary, but my heart no longer beats in time with yours. It beats in time with…"
He turned to gesture towards the stairs only to stop short at the sight of his fiancé.
"Hello."
The tremble in her voice could have been from emotion but Thomas feared it had more to do with the unhealthy flush on her cheeks. Matthew seemed to agree with him, releasing Lady Mary in favour of hurrying over to steady his fiancé with an arm about her waist.
"What are you doing up?"
"Shouldn't we be getting back?"
"It's decided; you're staying here," Lady Mary announced, her confident smile clearly an act as she smoothed her hands down over her hips in an unusual display of nerves from the aristocrat. "Doctor Clarkson is coming back in the morning to see Mama and Carson so it makes sense for you to stay as well, that way he only has one house to visit instead of two."
Matthew smiled encouragingly until Lavinia nodded her head in agreement.
"Excellent. You can borrow some things until Matthew brings you what you need," Lady Mary stated, moving past the couple and heading up the stairs. "I'll go and see to a room."
Once they were alone, or so they thought, Matthew enquired softly,
"How do you feel?"
"Like a nuisance."
"You could never be that. Now, let's get you up to that bed Mary's organising."
Deciding that it was a good moment to reveal himself Thomas cleared his throat just loudly enough to be heard and calmly approached his employer, smiling politely as he offered,
"Can I be of any assistance, Sir?"
"Barrow, perfect timing as ever," Matthew addressed him warmly whilst at his side Lavinia continued to smile tiredly. "Miss Swire is going to be staying until Doctor Clarkson declares her well enough to leave so Lady Mary has gone up to organise one of the guest bedrooms for her. Now, I'd love nothing more to help her there myself but I daren't risk putting my back out this close to the wedding so would you mind doing the honours?"
"Not at all, Sir."
As soon as the young woman slipped her arm through the one he offered he could feel the heat radiating off of her, not to mention the way she trembled ever so slightly. They took the stairs slowly, slower than they had when Matthew had been mastering them again, and by the time they reached the top landing a sheen of sweat had appeared on her forehead.
"I'll go ahead and find out which room it is."
"I'm sorry to cause such a fuss," Lavinia murmured, watching as Matthew hurried along the corridor towards the collection of guest bedrooms. "I feel like such a fool behaving like this."
"You can't help it if you're unwell, Miss," Thomas countered reassuringly. "Here we are."
Matthew was all too eager to take over supporting his fiancé whilst Mary now went in search of Anna to instruct the housemaid to find a nightdress for their unexpected guest.
"Is there anything else you need, Sir?"
"Not right now, Barrow," Matthew responded, helping his fiancé to sit on the bed before taking the chair himself, reaching out to hold her hand. "But I'll ring if I require anything."
Heading back down to the basement he arrived just in time to hear O'Brien announce,
"I'll sleep on a chair in her room."
Doctor Clarkson shook his head, smiling reassuringly down at the Ladies Maid,
"Oh, no, there's no need for that."
"I don't mind. I'd like to be on hand."
Sensing a loosing battle the doctor nodded his head in agreement with her.
Mrs Hughes sighed sadly,
"So, we're quite the hospital again."
"You'll probably gain some more patients over the next few days…"
Well, Thomas thought to himself, wasn't that a cheerful thought?
After seeing the Doctor out Mrs Hughes decided it would be best if they had the servants dinner then before anything else came up, sending word for everyone to gather. By some miracle Mrs Patmore was able to serve the meal she had intended, still hot and unspoiled.
Normally there was a general chatter throughout the evening meal as people shared stories about their day but that evening everyone ate in a subdued silence, a silence that was only broken when Lily knocked over her glass of water sending liquid everywhere as she gasped,
"I'm sorry, Mrs Hughes, but I…I don't feel very well..."
If anything the silence became even heavier for a moment before the poor housemaids sister let out a frightened whimper as she clutched at Lily's arm as the young woman in question suddenly slumped forwards in her seat; seemingly admitting out loud that she didn't feel well was the final straw and her symptoms now rose up to overwhelm her.
A flood of murmurs and whispering came from the junior members of staff, further breaking the silence as they began to panic, and prompted Mrs Hughes to call for them to calm down.
"Anna, would you help Madge take Lily upstairs and get her settled?"
"Yes, Mrs Hughes."
"Oh!"
The gasp came from one of the hall boys, Ernie, just as the three young women began the slow climb up the narrow staircase and drew all eyes to him as they expected the worst.
Instead he was gazing a crumpled envelope that he'd just extracted from his pocket.
"I'm so sorry, Mr Barrow," he gasped out, surprising everyone but especially Thomas. Pushing himself up out of his chair the boy hurried to press the envelope, which turned out to be a telegram, into Thomas' hand. "I forgot to give this to you when it arrived earlier."
"Ernie," Mrs Hughes scolded the teenager. "That could be urgent news."
"I'm sorry…"
In the past Thomas would have taken great delight in scolding the boy, making him feel small and pathetic for his honest mistake, but now he merely accepted the envelope.
"It's alright," he reassured the boy softly, feeling all eyes on him. "No harm done."
Of course in order to prove this he was forced to open the telegram then and there, unfolding the flimsy sheet of yellow paper with the strips of printed words stuck to it.
Chuckling he smiled up at the hall boy,
"It's fine. Listen; Barrow. Sorry, can't write at present. Broke both wrists during bad storm. Wanted to say thanks for the letter and the gifts. Never read the book. Watch much better than my old one. Yours, Horace Greenaway. HMS Warspite," he read aloud for everyone to hear, shaking his head all the while. "I'll bet my buttons he tripped over a knee-knocker."
"…what's a knee-knocker?"
"On board ship all doors have to be watertight hatches just in case the worst happens and you begin taking on water," he explained. "They're set into the bulkhead, sorry, the wall, and there's a strip of wall that you have to step over to pass through it. That's a knee-knocker although some of them only come up to your ankles whilst others reach your hip."
"…why are they different heights?"
"The higher the knee-knocker, the lower down in the ship you are," Thomas answered. "And that's because the lower down you are the more water there would be in an emergency."
"Oh," Ernie mumbled. "That makes sense, I suppose."
"What book did you send him?"
"The Iliad," Thomas answered Mr Moseley without hesitation. "He likes classical literature and I remembered him telling me one that he'd never gotten around to reading it. The book and the nautical pocket watch were a thank you for the rum he sent me a little while ago."
If anyone recognised the book as one of the first recorded instances of a "profound love between two men" being recorded for posterity then none of them opted to say anything.
"That was kind of you."
"Well, as I said before he's a little bit hopeless…"
"I remember," Mrs Hughes chuckled softly. "Breaking both wrists at once. Honestly."
"Could've been worse; one of the stokers once broken both his ankles and one wrist when he fell down a ladder. Admittedly he was returning from shore leave and was more than a little bit merry so it was his own fault but still," Thomas chuckled at the memory. "Big bloke he was, wailed like a baby until they finally got him to the base hospital. I'll never forget it."
A titter of giggles and sniggers spread around the younger members of staff, lasting only for the briefest of moments before the sombre mood descended upon the group once more.
"I must say, Mr Moseley, we're very grateful to you for stepping into the breech when we needed you," Mrs Hughes murmured, offering the man in question a smile. It was a miracle that enough time had passed that the effects of sampling the wine had worn off leaving behind only a flush on his neck which was easily explained away. "You've been a great help."
"Oh, um, thank you," Moseley stuttered, unable to hide how thrilled he was to be praised by the formidable Housekeeper. "If you ever need another pair of hands in the future I'd be more than happy to come again. It made a nice change, serving in such a large dining room."
"We might just take you up on that offer, Mr Moseley."
Thomas was one of the last to go to bed that night, Matthew having refused to retire for the night until exhaustion forced his hand, and even then his sleep was disturbed by dreams. As such it was a struggle for him to rise the following morning, made even worse by his bruised hip stiffening up even more so that as he descended the stairs his limps matched Mr Bates'.
"Are you alright, Mr Barrow?"
"It's just where I bruised my hip the other day, Mrs Hughes," he reassured her, his discomfort eased by her genuine concern for him. "It'll loosen up soon enough."
It was quickly evident that no one had slept well as tempers were short and words sharp, both upstairs and down; even Matthew snapped at him as Thomas helped him to dress.
"I'm sorry, Barrow," his employer sighed almost immediately in response to the way Thomas had frozen in place, hands still offering him his shirt. "You don't deserve that."
"You're worried, Sir, I understand."
"Still, no excuse to snap at you for simply doing your job. Please accept my apology."
A new warm feeling blossomed in Thomas' chest as he inclined his head in acceptance, his employers concern over his behaviour towards Valet something he'd never experienced.
All four of their patients were suffering more after a nights sleep, all of them requiring more ice to be brought in an attempt to bring their temperatures down. Even then it was painfully clear that Lady Cora was far worse off than the others who were more lethargic and dazed than anything whilst she seemed to be having difficulty breathing. Miss O'Brien was beside herself with worry, refusing to leave her Mistress' side even for a moment and so all of her meals had to be taken up to her by whichever servants was available to do so at the time.
"Sir Richard has telephoned to say he's coming to help," Mrs Hughes announced as she returned from her morning rounds of the house. Thomas frowned; surely even Sir Richard could see that his arrival would be more of a hindrance than a help? Plus he would be exposing himself to the illness. It didn't seem very wise at all so he wondered what the true reason behind the odious mans visit was. "Mr Barrow, could you prepare a room on the bachelors wing for him? And Ernie, air out Williams old room in the attic for his Valet."
It was an addition to his already extended workload that he could do without but he agreed to it nonetheless as who else could she call on? Bates couldn't make up a room by himself, they were down to only three Housemaids who were already going to be busy sorting out all of the families rooms whilst helping to care for the invalids and the Hall Boys certainly couldn't be trusted to prepare a guests bedroom; a visiting servant, yes, but not a guest.
"Of course, Mrs Hughes," he agreed, sipping at his fresh cup of tea. "The Armada Room?"
Thomas hated the Armada Room; he'd never been able to shake the memory of coming in to find Kemal Pamuk, the Turkish dignitary, dead in his bed. He wasn't alone in his thoughts about the room as he knew Daisy wouldn't go near it, nor would the younger housemaids.
His plan to get the added work over and done with after finishing his lunch were thwarted by an unlikely suspect, however; Madge, the housemaid. He'd been following the young woman up the stairs, his arms loaded down with fresh bed linen, when he step had faltered.
"Madge?"
"Mr Barrow?" she mumbled sluggishly, looking back at him. "I...I don't…"
Her pale blue eyes rolled back into her head before she could even finish speaking.
Almost as though the world was moving in slow motion Thomas discarded the bed linens over his shoulder, not caring where they landed, and reached out to catch her as her body went completely limp. Arms locking around her he stumbled, her dead weight sending him stumbling into the bannister with an almighty thud and an uncontrollable exclamation of pain because of course it had to be his bruised hip that collided with the wooden bannister.
There were definitely a few words that shouldn't have been used in the company of ladies…
He ended up all but wedged in place against the bannister, unable to move for fear of falling down the stairs, but thankfully the commotion and his use of foul language had brought everyone hurrying to see what had happened. Mrs Hughes, who had initially been about to lay into him for swearing choked on her words at the sight of the unconscious housemaid.
"She fainted mid-sentence," Thomas reported through gritted teeth. "She's burning up."
"Not another one," Mrs Hughes muttered worryingly. "Anna. Jane. Can you manage her?"
The two older housemaids, the later of whom had barely spoken to Thomas since he'd returned to the Abbey, reassured her that they could and hurried down the stairs to take the unconscious woman from his arms. Even after they'd taken her weight he remained perfectly still, inhaling through his nose and out through his mouth as he cradled his hip.
"Mr Barrow?"
"I'm sorry, I might just need a moment to…" he broke off with a whimper, the pain in his hip flaring to a new unbearable level when his body weight shifted. "I'll…I'll be find in just a…"
To his horror he heard his voice tremble and felt tears welling in his eyes.
Cursing he brought a hand up to wipe at his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he apologised again. "Just…"
"Come on, Mr Barrow," Ernie called out, his voice surprisingly gentle as he and his fellow Hall Boy, Jack climbed the stairs in order to help steady him. He was grateful that neither commented on the pained whimper he let out as they began to move. "Gently doe it…"
"I'll see to Sir Richards room," Bates offered from where he had been picking up the ruined bed linens from where they'd landed on the floor, stepping out of the way so that Thomas could be supported to his favourite chair by the fire. "Jack, you can come and help me."
"Thank you, Mr Bates."
Thomas gasped out his own thanks to the older man who merely offered him a smile before disappearing with his eager young assistant. Ernie paused, hesitating by Thomas' chair before scurrying away to get on with his work after a verbal nudge from Mrs Hughes.
"Do I need to get Doctor Clarkson to have a look at your hip?"
It was instinctive to refuse, to point out that the others needed him more, but the pain was rapidly reaching a level far greater than he could stand without assurance that he hadn't done something more than badly bruise himself twice over and so instead he nodded,
"I think that might be for the best but only once he's seen to everyone else; I can wait."
She was clearly relieved that he hadn't insisted that he'd be fine, stating that she'd bring him down once he'd seen to everyone else and ordering him not to move from the chair.
"But I can't just sit here whilst we're so short handed…"
"And yet that is precisely what you shall do until the Doctor says you're fit to work."
It was a good hour-and-a-half before Mrs Hughes returned with Doctor Clarkson, time spent drinking tea brought to him by an increasingly distraught Daisy and trying to ignore the pain continuing to emanate from his hip. He must have looked worse than he thought as he was treated to a deep frown from the Doctor, one that only grew more pronounced when Mrs Hughes offered them the use of her sitting room so that the Doctor could examine his hip and he was unable to hold back a sharp whimper of pain as they helped him to his feet.
"I understand you injured yourself catching one of the housemaids when she fainted?"
"No, I injured it yesterday," Thomas explained, gasping sharply as they helped him walk the short distance to the cosy little room Mrs Hughes had at her disposal. "I re-injured it today."
"I see," Clarkson hummed, thanking Mrs Hughes as the housekeeper left the room, closing the door to give them the privacy they needed. "Alright, how did the original injury occur?"
Thomas ducked his head to hide his embarrassment as he answered,
"I fell off of my chair. I was thinking about the war and someone startled me."
"…when you say thinking about the war…?"
"I was cleaning Mr Crawleys uniform for the wedding and the smell reminded me…it…I couldn't stop…" Thomas huffed, frustrated and embarrassed that he couldn't find the right words to explain what had happened. "It…it brought back a lot of unpleasant memories."
"I see," the doctor murmured, his voice filled with sympathy. "And you landed on your hip?"
Thomas nodded.
"And my shoulder," he explained. "They've both bruised quite spectacularly and whilst I ached I was perfectly capable of carrying on my duties. But then Madge fainted and…"
"…you caught her."
"It was either that or let her tumble down a flight of stairs; better my hip than her neck."
"Quite. Well, let's take a look shall we?"
In the past when Thomas had stripped in front of another man it was usually because they were about to perform "indecent acts" on one another. Other times it had been necessary to have a full body wash and on board ship that either meant stripping in front of his fellow Stewards or waiting until they received the order "all hands to bathe" at which point the entire ships company would strip and jump overboard, washing in the sea water. Now he carefully removed his shoes, pulled off his trousers and then, under the doctors watchful gaze, pulled down his white cotton boxer shorts and turned to show off his bruised hip.
He considered the fact that Clarkson let out a sharp hiss at the sight of it a bad sign.
"Mr Barrow, that's…"
Thomas glanced down at the bruise and grimaced.
It had grown darker since he'd seen it that morning, a purple so dark it seemed black in places, and around the edges small patches of blue and green bruising had blossomed.
Most importantly, however, were the clear lines created by the bars in the bannister which for now we're an angry red colour but Thomas could tell were also going to bruise. There were two complete lines and a partial one, all of them passing through the original bruise.
"I'm afraid this will hurt quite a bit but I want to check to make sure it's just bruising and not something more severe," Clarkson warned him before touching his hip, gently to begin with but rapidly applying more and more pressure. Thomas couldn't hold back his hiss of pain, nor the strained whimper that followed soon after. "Just bruised," he finally concluded, his hands finally leaving Thomas' bruised flesh. "I'd advice a couple of days off your feet with a cold compress but I know that's probably not possible under the current circumstances."
"Doctor, I can't be off my feet for two days," Thomas stated clearly, pulling his boxers back into place with a grimace of pain. "I'll rest as much as I can but with Mr Carson on bed rest and no footmen there's simply too much for Mr Bates to manage alone and neither of the Hall Boys have enough experience to be trusted with anything but the simplest of tasks."
Clarkson nodded his head in understanding, the explanation what he'd expected to hear.
"I'll be visiting the house regularly for the foreseeable future so I want you to let me know if the pain gets any worse than what you're currently feeling," Clarkson ordered, turning his head away respectfully as Thomas redressed as quickly as he could manage. "Do you want me to look at your shoulder whilst we're here? And your hands, how've they been faring?"
"My hands are much better, thank you," Thomas answered, quickly pulling off his gloves so that the medical man could see for himself. Clarkson hummed in approval, giving Thomas' hands a very quick check-up. "I've been using the cream you gave me every night and it's definitely softened the worst of the scars so I've regained some of the mobility I'd lost. I used a bit on my leg as well to soften the scar there so that's feeling much better too."
"And your shoulder?"
The idea of stripping out of his jacket, waistcoat and shirt was so unappealing that Thomas mustered up as reassuring a smile as he could manage before reassuring the medical man,
"It's fine, just bruised. I think it clipped the edge of the table as I fell yesterday rather than making contact with the floor like my hip. It aches, yes, but nowhere near as bad. I swear."
"Alright, I believe you. But if it gets worse let me know."
"I will do. Thank you."
Mrs Hughes was relieved to learn that Thomas was fine, just badly bruised when they emerged from her sitting room. She agreed, sadly, that Thomas couldn't be spared but promised Doctor Clarkson that he would be on light duties until he was feeling better.
"Do you feel up to taking some ice up for Miss Swire?" Mrs Hughes enquired after saying goodbye to the doctor at the foot of the stairs, the medical man heading back up into the main house to collect his hat and coat from Mr Bates who was currently manning the door. "Her things arrived whilst you were in with the doctor and Miss Featherstone has already taken them up or else I would have asked her to take the ice up for her poor mistress."
"Of course I can, Mrs Hughes," he agreed, following the Housekeeper into the kitchen where a bucket of ice was being divided between five porcelain bowls. "It's not heavy."
No, it wasn't heavy but within a couple of minutes of carrying in his fingers began to go numb from the cold and so he increased his pace until he was moving as quickly as he dared. Upon reaching Miss Swire's guest bedroom he shifted the bowl so that he was cradling it in one arm, knocked, waited and then entered when he was permitted to.
"I've brought the ice," he reported, handing it over to Miss Featherstone when the Ladies Maid in training reached out for it. She made quick work in wrapping some of it in some white linen which was then carefully laid across Miss Swire's forehead. A sigh of relief escaped the young woman as soon as it made contact with her skin which prompted a similar one to escape her fiancé who was perched on the edge of the bed, holding one of her small hand in both of his. "Is there anything else I can bring you, Sir? A cup of tea?"
Before Matthew could answer the door opened to admit Mrs Crawley,
"How are you feeling, my dear?"
"Better," Lavinia sighed, notably breathless. "I'm sorry…to have caused such a…fuss…"
"You can't help being ill," Matthew pointed out softly, "so please, stop apologising."
"The awful truth is, the wedding simply cannot go ahead."
Matthew turned to face his mother sharply, begging her softly,
"Oh, don't say that."
"I must," Mrs Crawley murmured apologetically, moving to sit beside her son. "Dr Clarkson says you'll be groggy for at least a week, maybe even longer. We have to face the facts."
"What about my father?"
"Matthew can telephone him."
"He can't come here while everyone's ill," Lavinia gasped out, trying to sit up as her panic overwhelmed her. Matthew and his mother hurried to press her back down into her pillows, Miss Featherstone rescuing the ice pack. "He has a weak chest and mustn't take the risk."
"All right," Matthew sighed. "Well, I suppose we've made a decision then; to delay."
Lavinia squeezed his hand weakly,
"I don't think we've got any choice."
"No, I'm afraid we don't," Mrs Crawley confirmed. "Now, Matthew, we really should let your charming bride-to-be sleep whilst you get to work making all of the necessary phone calls."
Matthew hesitated, clearly torn about leaving Lavinia.
"Go, dearest," she urged him, albeit weakly. "June will stay and...keep watch over me..."
The young woman in question nodded quickly, murmuring that she would fetch Matthew at once if anything changed regarding Miss Swire's health, before moving to plump Lavinia's pillows so that she could rest more comfortably. Clearly still reluctant to leave his fiancé Matthew let out a deep sigh as he nodded, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to Lavinia's temple before rising from the edge of the bed and following his mother out of the room.
"Have you got everything you need?"
"Yes, thank you, Mr Barrow," Miss Featherstone responded. "I'll ring if we need anything."
"Very good."
The atmosphere within the house remained tense throw out the day, particularly as word spread that Lady Cora seemed to be getting worse whilst the others remained unchanged.
And then, as though things weren't difficult enough already, Ethel turned up with her illegitimate child for another meeting with the boys paternal grandparents, the Bryant's.
"I don't like them at all," Jane confessed out of the blue. "He seems so…cold…"
None of them could disagree with her.
"Thomas, telephone Doctor Clarkson," Mrs Hughes ordered sharply as she and Anna descended the stairs at a rapid pace, a furious looking Ethel carrying her wiggling child behind them. "Please inform him that Her Ladyship has taken a turn for the worse."
"Yes, Mrs Hughes."
An unpleasant feeling of dread settled into the pit of his stomach as he made his way into the Butlers Pantry where the servants telephone had been installed just before the war.
He'd never had reason to dislike Lady Cora, the American always having treated him with more kindness than he had sometimes deserved, and it seemed bitterly unfair that out of everyone she was the one suffering the most. What was even worse, however, was the distinct possibility that this was merely a sign of what was come for the other patients.
A nurse answered the telephone at the cottage hospital, relaying his urgent message to the doctor and then dutifully relaying Clarkson's response to Thomas; he would come at once.
Then it was Thomas' turn to relay the information to Mrs Hughes.
"I'll go and inform His Lordship," the housekeeper announced. Frowning worriedly at his injured hip she asked, "Will you be alright to escort the doctor upstairs once he arrives?"
"I'll manage," he promised. "I'll go and relieve Mr Bates at the front door."
"Thank you, Mr Barrow."
It wasn't the doctor that he admitted to the house not five minutes later, however,
"Where's Lady Mary?" Sir Richard demanded as he all but forced his hat into Thomas' hand, dropping his expensive leather gloves into the hat before shrugging off his coat. "Well?"
"I believe she is in the drawing room dealing with some correspondence."
She had been half-an-hour ago, at least, or so Anna had reported.
"Right."
The unpleasant newspaper tycoon had only just turned away when the bell rung once more.
This time, thankfully, it was Doctor Clarkson.
"May I take your hat and coat, Doctor?"
"Yes, thank you," the Scotsman murmured, handing the items over with even less care than Sir Richard had handled his. Thomas stored them quickly and gestured for Clarkson to follow him upstairs; even though the doctor knew perfectly well where he was going propriety demanded that he be escorted by one of the servants as a member of the family wasn't available. His hip ached but he gritted his teeth and pressed on, barely allowing himself to limp in the hopes that doctor wouldn't notice. "This isn't what I meant by taking it easy…"
"I've been careful all day," Thomas announced truthfully. "This is an exception."
And he planned to spend most of the evening by the fire if he could get away with it.
Arriving at Lady Cora's bedroom he knocked,
"Doctor Clarkson, Milord."
"Thank you for coming," the Earl of Grantham sighed earnestly as he pulled open the door to admit the doctor, his face haggard with worry. "Barrow, could you send up Lady Mary?"
"Of course, Milord, I shall do so at once."
Making his way back down the carpeted staircase as quickly as his aching hip would allow, him limp now significantly more pronounced now that he was alone, he became aware of slightly raised voices as he approached the drawing room; Lady Mary and Sir Richard.
"Is that why you've come? Because I said Lavinia had been taken ill?"
"I was coming up anyway in a day or two for the wedding."
"Well, she won't be getting married on Saturday, which I suppose is what you'd like best."
Thomas frowned.
What on Earth did she mean by that?
"But she's not seriously ill?"
"I see what was worrying you," Lady Mary laughed bitterly. "If Lavinia had been carried off, you wanted to be here to stop Matthew from falling into my arms on a tidal wave of grief."
Sir Richard said nothing for a long moment before claiming simply that,
"It's a tricky disease."
Thomas shocked his head, deciding that he'd heard enough and entered the room,
"His Lordship's asking for you, milady."
"Thank you, Barrow."
She gathered her letters and hurried gracefully out of the room.
Thomas turned to follow her out only to be stopped by Sir Richard calling out his name.
"Sir?"
"How are the patients doing? Lady Mary hadn't gotten around to telling me."
Given what Thomas had just overheard there was only one patient that the odious man seemed to be truly interested in and his reasons for that interest were unclear. So, feeling oddly protective of his employer's fiancé, Thomas allowed his devious side to come out...
"Mr Carson is tougher than he looks and will be back on his feet in no time, I'm sure," he announced, making sure to pitch his voice so it sounded perfectly reasonable for him to begin with the Butler. "Poor Lily isn't handling it well at all, or so I've heard. She's been suffering with headaches on top of everything else, or so Anna said, and Madge isn't much better. She's fainted every time she's gotten out of bed to, um, powder her nose." His faux concern over how to speak of a woman using the toilet was icing on the cake if he did say so himself, Sir Richards face displaying his frustration. "And Her Ladyship has just taken a turn for the worse, as I'm sure you're already aware. We thought her fever had started to come down but Miss O'Brien, her Ladies Maid, said earlier that it seemed to be rising again..."
He trailed off, biting his lip in a display of worry, and waited.
"…and Miss Swire?"
"Mr Crawley is with her," Thomas answered. "Other than that I'm afraid I don't know."
A familiar feeling of triumph burned within him as the older man visibly struggled to contain his annoyance, the fact that Thomas had given him too much information about the patients he didn't care about but little to nothing about the one he was interested in getting to him.
"I can go and inquire how she is doing if you'd like me to–"
"No," Sir Richard cut off his insincere offer quickly. It didn't surprise Thomas at all that he wanted to keep his interest in Lavinia a secret, in fact he'd been banking on it when he decided to make the offer. "No, that won't be necessary. I'll speak to Mr Crawley later."
Thomas nodded, biting back a smirk of triumph.
"Is there anything else, Sir Richard, or can I get on with my duties?"
"I'm tired after my journey," the older man responded pompously. "Bring me a pot of tea."
Silently cursing the man Thomas agreed to do so and slipped out of the drawing room, making his way down to the kitchen at a slower than was probably appropriate pace.
It wouldn't do the unpleasant man any harm to have to wait a little bit longer.
Entering the kitchen he came upon Mrs Hughes speaking with Mrs Patmore.
"I think we should aim at a sort of buffet dinner," she sighed deeply, her own exhaustion showing. "Then they can run in and out as it suits them. I'm sorry to make extra work."
"Never mind that," Mrs Patmore muttered. "At times like these, we must all pull together."
Thomas slipped into the room just as Mrs Hughes produced a letter from her pocket,
"Oh, this arrived in the afternoon post, Daisy."
"Can we help you, Mr Barrow?"
"Yes, Mrs Patmore," he murmured. "A pot of tea for Sir Richard in the drawing room."
Both Housekeeper and Cook huffed, shaking their heads as Mrs Hughes grumbled,
"Well, I'm glad to know he's here to help…"
Quite unexpectedly Thomas found himself offering,
"Perhaps I could take a cup up to Mr Carson at the same time?"
"That's very kind of you, Thomas," the Housekeeper sighed. "I'm sure he'd appreciate it."
"Is that from your Mr Mason?" Mrs Patmore enquired of Daisy as she set about filling the kettle with water and putting it on the range to boil. "Thomas, can you sort the tray out?"
"Of course, Patmore," Thomas agreed even as Daisy protested, "He's not mine."
"What does he say?"
"He just says again we should talk about William. He wants me to go to his farm."
"Oh, poor man, will you not visit him?"
Daisy scoffed,
"I'm not going to any farm..."
Everyone paused what they were doing to frown at her, Thomas included.
"You're all he's got, Daisy."
"Well, then he's got nobody," Daisy grumbled in response to Mrs Hughes gentle reminder, huffing loudly as she folded her letter and put it in her pocket. "'cause he hasn't got me."
That said she made her way over to the sink where a large pot had been soaking and began to scrub at it with enough force that the water and soap suds splashed onto her dirty apron.
Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore shared a look filled with surprise and disappointment.
Going through the motions Thomas had the tray prepared in no time and excused himself.
It took him twice as long to carry the tray up to the drawing room as he had to stop twice to allow for the pain in his hip to ease. He paused outside the room to place Mr Carson's cup and saucer on a side table, feeling it in his bones that Sir Richard would kick off if he knew a servants cup of tea had been carried on the same tray as his, before carrying the tray inside.
With a member of the family he would have offered to pour their tea for them but this time he excused himself as quickly as possible, striding purposefully out of the room. He pushed himself to climb the servants stairs a little faster than his hip wanted him to in the hopes of arriving at the Butlers room before his cup of tea had cooled too much, gritting his teeth.
"Mr Carson?" he called out, knocking on the door and pushing it open after he heard the Butlers muffled response. "We thought you might like a cup of tea. Hopefully it's still hot."
"Oh, thank you, Mr Barrow," Carson murmured, genuinely surprised by the considerate action. He was propped up on a small mountain of pillows and offered Thomas a noticeably exhausted smile as he reached out to accept the cup and saucer, taking a sip. "It's perfect."
"Is there anything else I can get you?"
After a pause Carson nodded and said authoritatively,
"You can tell me how things are downstairs."
"Ah."
Thomas' grimace was impossible to hold back as he thought of what had happened since Mr Carson had been sent to bed by Mrs Hughes.
"Thomas? What is it?"
"Her Ladyship is worse," Thomas sighed, lowering himself into the chair beside the patients bed as he launched into an explanation of how Lady Cora was faring. A purposefully blank expression settled onto the older man's face as he listened to every word in silence. "Miss Swire is also bedridden in one of the guest rooms," he explained once he'd reached the end of his report on Lady Cora, going through the details of the younger woman's condition. The fact that she seemed to faring better than Her Ladyship did little to comfort the Butler. "And two of the maids are down with it, too; Madge and Lily."
Carson was understandably shocked and dismayed by the news.
"Sir Richard arrived today, ostensibly to help although that remains to be seen," Thomas continued, pausing as Carson let out a disapproving huff at the mention of the odious man. "And Doctor Clarkson has been back and forth to the Abbey more times than I can count."
"Is that everything? You didn't mention how everyone is coping downstairs…"
"We're running a slightly less organised ship than usual but not so much that the family would notice," Thomas confessed, knowing better than to try and claim that everything was fine. "Mr Bates and I are sharing the duties of Butler, Footmen and Valets in your absence although Mr Moseley did help us out with dinner yesterday. He's offered to come again if we have need of him."
"That's good…"
"Oh, and Miss Featherstone arrived with Miss Swire's things and has stayed on to help care for her so that's one less thing for Anna and Jane to have to deal with at the moment."
"Good," Carson murmured approvingly. "Now, Mr Barrow, tell me why you're limping."
"I bruised my hip the other day whilst cleaning Mr Crawleys uniform for the wedding," Thomas answered, giving just enough information to satisfy his superiors curiosity. "I'm not sure if I mentioned it earlier but Madge fainted, that's how we knew she was unwell."
"No, I don't think you mentioned it…"
"Well, we were on the stairs and I could hardly let her fall; she might have broken her neck," he explained quickly. "Unfortunately catching her dead weight led to my injured hip hitting the bannister so it's now two layers of bruising. It'll be fine, Doctor Clarkson had a quick look at it earlier, and whilst I'm having to take things a little easier than I'd like I can still work."
For a moment Carson said nothing, merely stared across at Thomas.
When he did finally speak his words surprised the younger man,
"You're actions do you credit, Mr Barrow."
A compliment, a genuine compliment without even the slightest hint of reluctance wasn't something he'd ever expected to receive from Mr Carson.
"I must confess that I had some serious doubts about your return to the Abbey, Mr Barrow," Mr Carson continued, his words not surprising Thomas at all. "However I'm pleased to add that those doubts have proven to be unfounded."
"You can thank the Royal Navy for smoothing out my rough edges, Mr Carson," Thomas offered up honestly. "The life suited me, I think, so I wanted to improve myself."
Carson hummed softly in understanding.
"Although I wouldn't have done half as well without the lessons I'd learned here as a footman so it's only right that I have ended up back here," Thomas added dryly, meaning every word; had he not had been trained up to be such an exemplary Footman there's no telling where he would have ended up. Probably in France with the a Royal Naval Division. He certainly wouldn't have become an Officers Steward without the lessons he had learned from Mr Carson over the years. "Even if it's only for a brief spell whilst Mr Crawley heals."
"It was never your work as a Footman that I had a problem with, Mr Barrow," Carson pointed out. "More your selfishness and your vindictive tendencies. If your time with the Royal Navy has done nothing other than help you overcome these then it was still worth it."
Thomas agreed with him wholeheartedly,
"War has a funny way of putting things into perspective…"
"That it does, Mr Barrow. That it does."
"Can I get you anything else?"
"No, thank you," Carson murmured, finishing off his tea so that Thomas could take the empty cup and saucer. "Although if you could open my window I'd be most grateful."
He noticed absentmindedly that the Butlers window didn't stick anywhere near as much as his own always had, opening fully rather than just the couple of inches his own permitted.
Making his way back downstairs he arrived to the news that Lady Cora had worsened again.
"…it's not good, is it?"
No.
No it wasn't.
The day passed by slowly for everyone, even for the servants who were rushed off their feet even more than usual, and Doctor Clarkson spent more time at the Abbey than he did the hospital as both Lavinia and Lily took a turn for the worst midway through the afternoon.
Still the severity of the situation didn't really hit home for most of them until the evening.
"Her Ladyship's condition is worsening again," Mrs Hughes confided in Thomas, Mr Bates and Anna following the servants dinner, a simpler and significantly more rushed affair than usual. "Doctor Clarkson says that if she lasts through the night, she'll live."
Anna gasped, pressing a hand over her mouth.
"I don't want to upset the younger servants with this news until we have no other choice."
"Of course, Mrs Hughes."
Returning to the servants hall they discovered that Miss Featherstone, exhausted from a difficult day caring for her Mistress, had dozed off in the armchair down in the servants hall and it was decided to let her rest for a little while. They'd wake her if she was needed.
Somehow Miss O'Brien was still going, pushing through her own exhaustion.
"I'm going to go up and check on Mr Crawley."
"Very good, Mr Barrow."
Thomas knew that his employer hadn't eaten anything more than biscuits brought to him with his cups of tea all day, refusing to leave his fiancés side except to visit the bathroom.
"Barrow?" Matthew frowned as he slipped into the room. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes, Sir," he answered truthfully, standing at the foot of the bed and fixing his employer with a deep frown. "You haven't had more than a few biscuits to eat all day."
Lavinia grunted weakly in distress,
"Matthew? What…what does he mean you haven't…haven't had…"
"I'm not hungry," Matthew argued, his stomach contradicting him by choosing that moment to rumble so loudly that all three of them dropped their gazes to stare at his middle. "Ah…"
"A buffet style dinner has been laid on for the family," Thomas explained, meeting his employer's tired eyes with his own. He cut in before Matthew could even try to form an argument against joining the others. "I will remain with Miss Swire until you return."
"There, darling," Lavinia sighed, her shaking hand moving to rest on Matthews arm. "I…I insist that you go and get something to eat. Barrow will come and get you if…if I need you."
Outnumbered Matthew could do nothing but reluctantly agree.
Thomas smiled, averting his gaze as the handsome young man leaned down to press a kiss to the young woman's forehead. The action was tender and intimate, his love for her clear, and Thomas couldn't stop the surge of jealousy that seemed to pierce his heart. It wasn't specifically Lavinia that he was jealous of, nor did he desire Matthew's attention.
No, it was the act itself he was jealous of.
He very much doubted that a day would come when someone loved him so innocently, so honourably and even if by some miracle he did find someone they would never be able to display their love so readily for fear of being arrested and sent to prison like Oscar Wilde.
"Go on," Lavinia urged her fiancé. "I shall probably sleep for a while so take your time."
Judging by the stubborn set of his shoulders Thomas doubted that his employer would even allow the food to touch his tongue for more than a second in his haste to return to her side.
Once they were alone Lavinia smiled tiredly up at him and requested softly,
"Could I bother you for some water please, Mr Barrow? My…my throat is so dry…"
"Of course, Miss Swire."
Moving to the bedside table he carefully lifted the beaded lace cover off of the jug and poured some water into the waiting glass. Then, after returning the cover, he helped the poor young woman to sit up far enough so that she could take a drink without choking.
It took her a little while to finish half, finally conceding defeat and thanking him.
A series of small coughs escaped her as he helped her lay back against her pillows.
"Would you…would you tell me about your time on HMS Warrior? With Mr Crawley?"
"We only served together for a short time," Thomas pointed out. "He joined us just before the Battle of Jutland and I'm afraid that I didn't have very much to do with him until…"
"Until you saved his life."
"Yes."
Lavinia nodded resolutely, rolling her shoulders back into the small mountain of pillows behind her until she was as comfortable as she could possibly be, and ordered calmly,
"Then tell me about that."
He hesitated, unsure of whether or not Matthew would want him to share details about that day with his fiancé when he himself had obviously chosen not to, before nodding.
"Alright," he murmured, lowering himself down into the chair beside the bed when she gestured for him to do so. "I suppose the beginning is as good a place to start as any..."
She nodded, her tired eyes alight with interest.
"I'd already been on HMS Warrior for nearly two years before Mr Crawley joined us…"
Thomas carefully recounted their first meeting aboard ship, following it up with an explanation of how he and his fellow stewards had figured out that something big was about to happen and had just finished telling her about the conversation he'd had with Matthew whilst they waited in line to catch the last post before the Fleet set sail when Lavinia let out a sharp gasp, her body going rigid as her wide eyes frantically sought his.
"…Miss Swire?"
A hand shot out, clutching at his arm so tightly he felt the pressure of her nails through the fabric of his jacket and shirt.
Alarmed he shifted close to her, covering her hand with his own.
"Miss Swire? What is it?"
Her breathing was becoming sharper and sharper with every strangled inhalation, her cheeks becoming so red that it looked almost as though she was bleeding below the skin.
Sweat began to quite literally pour from her forehead as he watched.
"What's wrong?"
Lavinia let out a strangled sound, only just managing to gasp out,
"I can't breathe!"
Swearing sharply Thomas all but threw himself up out of the chair, hurrying open to wrench the door so that he could call for help at the top of his voice before rushing back to the bed.
He didn't know what to do.
His own breathing speeding up he reached out to pull to chord that would ring the bell downstairs before pulling the terrified young woman up into a sitting position, his grip strong enough to leave bruises on the pale skin of her arms. It seemed to work, a deeper sounding gasp escaping her, and so without thinking he pulled the pillows off of the bed, throwing them carelessly onto the floor in his haste to take their place behind Lavinia.
Sitting between the terrified young woman and the headboard he pulled her back to rest against his chest, keeping her body upright with his own. Almost immediately he felt her body relax, her head falling back to rest heavily on his shoulder. Every breath she took was laboured, her slim frame shaking from the exertion, and tears began to flood down her face.
"It's alright," he murmured, leaning back against the uncomfortable headboard, holding her as tightly as he dared around her trembling torso to keep her in place. "Help's on the way."
He sincerely hoped that he spoke the truth.
"Just…just keep breathing…"
He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, his own back becoming damp with sweat in response, and wished that there was some way of cooling her but he didn't dare to move.
The door, having fallen shut following his desperate cry for help, was flung open suddenly to admit Sybil who took one look at the state of the poor young woman in his arms and turned on the spot, calling out for Doctor Clarkson with an unusual level of sharpness to her voice.
"She was fine," Thomas found himself explaining as she hurried across the room, climbing onto the bed so that she could use her gentle hands to tilt Lavinia's face towards hers. "I was telling her about HMS Warrior when suddenly she…well, she just couldn't breathe."
Sybil nodded in understanding, her hands moving automatically to check Lavinia's pulse.
"I sat her up and she seemed to breathe a little bit easier so I…"
"What is the meaning of this?" Clarkson demanded, seemingly horrified by the sight before him as he entered the room, his heated gaze fixated on Thomas for a moment. It was only when Lavinia let out a strangled gasp that his gaze dropped to her. "Nurse Crawley?"
"Pulse is fast and weak," Sybil reported, moving to rest her hand on Lavinia's sweat soaked forehead. "Temperature is significantly higher. Thomas was just saying that her breathing improved after he sat her upright so I recommend that we keep her as she is for now."
Her quick explanation of what he'd been trying to tell her mollified the doctor for the time being, his medical training obviously seeing the benefits to someone else holding the young woman upright so that she could focus solely on the difficulty that was breathing. Honestly Thomas could understand the older man's concern as the position he and his employer's fiancé were currently in wasn't exactly appropriate on any level; it was far too intimate.
Report given Sybil set about trying to lower Lavinia's temperature using the lukewarm water left in the bowl after the ice had melted, wringing out the cloth and laying it alternatingly across Lavinia's neck and forehead whilst Clarkson struggled to feed her some medication.
All the while Thomas held himself perfectly still, ignoring the unpleasant heat, the pain in his back and the ache in his arms; not to mention the fact that his leg was going numb from the pressure of the firm mattress on his bruised hip.
A noise at the door had all of them glancing towards the housemaid who'd just entered.
It was Jane, the widowed housemaid who'd gone back into service so that her little boy could have the education and life she thought he deserved and who had barely deigned to speak to Thomas since he'd returned to the Abbey.
"We need some more ice," Sybil informed her quickly. "And fresh towels. Quickly."
"Yes, Milady. I'll fetch them at once."
For a while after the housemaid had hurried back out of the room the only sound that was to be heard was Lavinia's laboured breathing, so much louder than that of the other three occupants of the room, and with every breath her entire body shook from the sheer effort.
"I think it might be best, Nurse Crawley, if you fetch Mr Crawley," the Scotsman announced seriously, moving around the bed to take the damp cloth from the young woman. "Quickly."
A sudden gasp startled all of them,
"Thomas?"
"Yes, I'm here," he murmured in Lavinia's ear, aware that both Sybil and Doctor Clarkson were watching him closely. "You're alright. Lady Sybil is going to go and get Mr Crawley."
"You…you were telling me about…" she gasped painfully, interrupting herself. "…Warrior."
"…I was, yes," Thomas confirmed, "Would you like me to continue?"
"…please…"
So, as Sybil slipped out of the room to fetch Matthew and Clarkson took over the job of placing the damp cloth to Lavinia's overheated skin, Thomas took up where he'd left off,
"I swear, I've never seen anything more impressive than the entire Grand Fleet sailing together; thirty odd ships with a full head of steam, all travelling in perfect formation."
"I wish…I could've seen it…"
"I don't think anyone will see the like of it again," Thomas confessed, meeting Clarkson's gaze and finding it no longer tinged with disapproval but instead filled entirely with respect. "Until that morning the most I'd ever seen was five or six ships setting off together, usually for a patrol or escorting a group of Merchant Navy ships. Never the full fleet sailing at once."
"Where did you sail from, Mr Barrow?" Clarkson requested. "If you don't mind my asking."
"Scapa Flow," he answered willingly enough, a hand automatically contorting to help hold Miss Swire's hair out of the way so that the damp cloth could be wrapped carefully around her neck. "The Battlecruiser Fleet who we met up with during the battle sailed from Rosyth."
"Then it'll be the Battlecruiser Fleet," the doctor murmured confusingly before explaining, "My family, I'm not sure you're aware, come from Edinburgh and both of my sisters still live in the city. My youngest sister wrote to me during the war to say that she and the children had watched 'the Fleet' sail along with what she claimed to be about half the city but as I'm not familiar with the workings of the Royal Navy I wasn't sure which Fleet she referred to."
"…did anyone watch…you sail?"
"Yes, although I didn't know any of them personally," Thomas answered Lavinia's question. "And we couldn't really see them properly; they were too far away to be more than a blur."
"That's good," she sighed, sagging even more into his arms. "I'm glad…people were there…"
She inhaled sharply and then coughed, her back thudding against Thomas' chest so violently that it stole his own breath from him for a moment. A series of coughs of equal strength followed, prompting Clarkson to help steady her for a moment as she fought to breathe.
"I know it's difficult but I need you to try and take slow, deep breathes, Miss Swire," the Scotsman rumbled, his hands holding the young woman's shoulders. "In. Out. In. Out."
Instinctively Thomas matched his own breathing to the doctor's voice, giving the frightened young woman something to follow as her coughs eased back into painfully sharp whimpers.
"That's it," Doctor Clarkson praised her softly. "Good."
Moments later the door swung open to admit a gaggle of people, all wearing expressions of concern and worry but no one looked quite as frightened as Thomas' poor employer.
He looked as though he was about to be sick.
"What happened?"
"She started having trouble breathing," Thomas found himself answering Mrs Crawley's question, ignoring the looks he received. "I called for help and then helped her sit up…"
"Mr Barrow did the right thing, getting her upright," Clarkson conceded, moving aside so that Matthew could sit beside his fiancé. "But it's still a bad sign, I'm afraid. Very bad."
Lavinia clutched weakly at Matthews hands, every breath a painful gasp.
"I don't understand," he whimpered. "When I was with her, she was talking, she was fine."
"It's a strange disease with sudden, savage changes," Clarkson explained. "I'm terribly sorry."
It sounded as though he was giving up and Thomas couldn't help but glare at him.
He wasn't the only one.
Matthew physically turned his back on the Scotsman, focusing on his poor fiancé.
"My darling, can you hear me? It's me. It's Matthew."
"Matthew," Lavinia sighed, her eyes fluttering open. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Of course I'm here," he responded shakily. "Darling, where else would I be?"
"I don't know…"
Thomas felt the cough building before it exploded out of her chest, stealing her breath once again and sending a fresh wave of tears flooding down her feverishly red cheeks.
There was nothing they could do but wait for the brutal spell to pass, each of them wincing in sympathy as her body thrashed uncontrollably for what felt like an eternity before stilling.
"Matthew, I feel so strange…"
Her body was growing heavier and heavier in his arms, Thomas realised worriedly, and once again his shoulder was the only thing keeping her head from hanging at an unhealthy angle.
"I know, darling, but you just have to be strong for a little bit longer…"
"I'm…I'm so tired…"
For a moment nothing happened but then quite suddenly she let out a strangled gasp, her body going terrifyingly rigid for the briefest of moments before she slumped so completely, her eyes rolling back into her head, that Matthew wasn't the only one to cry out in alarm.
"Lavinia!"
Someone let out a strangled sob, quite understandably assuming the worst, only…
"Wait!" Thomas cried out before anyone could move. "She's still breathing!"
That same voice gasped, this time filled with hope instead of despair, even as Clarkson rushed across the room to press his fingers against her throat in search of a pulse, visibly relaxing when he found one.
"Her pulse is getting stronger…"
Mrs Crawley followed him, laying her own hand across Lavinia's forehead,
"Could this have been the climax of the fever?"
"Quite possibly."
"What does that mean?" Matthew demanded softly. "Doctor?"
"It means, Mr Crawley, that so long as she doesn't take a turn for the worse in the next twenty-four hours Miss Swire should be able to recover fully from this cruel disease."
"Oh, thank God…"
Matthew, quite understandably, looked seconds away from breaking down in tears.
"Perhaps we should leave her in peace now," Mrs Crawley suggested. "She needs her rest."
"I won't leave her."
"I didn't think you would," Mrs Crawley reassured her son. "I meant the rest of us."
"Quite right, Mrs Crawley."
Slowly people slipped out of the room until only Matthew, Lady Sybil, Doctor Clarkson and Thomas were left, Lady Mary hovering in the doorway for a moment before turning away.
"I don't think we should move her," Sybil murmured, directing the statement towards the doctor who hummed in agreement. "To do so might bring about an unwanted setback…"
"But Barrow can't…"
"Sir, I'll stay here as long as Miss Swire needs me to," Thomas reassured his employer without hesitation. "I know it's hardly proper but if her being sat up like this helps her to breathe easier then who am I to argue?"
Lady Sybil all but beamed at him,
"Well said, Mr Barrow."
"Thank you, Barrow," Matthew sighed, his hands still holding tightly to those of his fiancé. Sybil reached out, helping to adjust Lavinia so that she was resting against Thomas in a slightly more comfortable position. "First you save my life, now that of my future wife…"
It wasn't quite the same thing but rather than argue Thomas merely offered up,
"Right place, right time that's all, Sir."
"Still, I don't know how I'll can ever be able to repay you…"
Thomas couldn't help but smirk as he responded with,
"…a cup of tea wouldn't go amiss?"
"I think I should be able to manage that," Matthew chuckled. "I'll ring for…"
"I'll have a tray sent up," Sybil interrupted them quickly, pulling the covers which had been shoved out of the way and draping them over their legs. He didn't dare request that she remove his shoes, uncomfortable and unhygienic as it was, not with Doctor Clarkson there. "You didn't manage to eat any of your dinner before I called you back up here so I'll ask for some sandwiches to be included; we don't want you getting run down do we, Matthew?"
"Thank you."
A silence fell once the doctor and nurse followed the others out of the room, one that was only broken by Lavinia's unsteady breathing.
A silence that would last through the night as they watched over the stricken young woman.
A/N I've been trying to write this chapter for a while but found it quite challenging in the current circumstances. I finally had a burst of creativeness after I was finally brought back off of furlough and returned to work. Comments & Suggestions are always welcome. M x
A/N 2 I'd just like to say thank you to pinkdreams for alerting me to the handful of mistakes in this chapter (damned autocorrect) so that I could correct them. You are an absolute star!