The Trials and Sadness of Thomas Barrow
Mrs Hughes, Miss Baxter and Andy carried an unconscious Thomas between them. Gently lifting him out of the bathtub the housekeeper and footman had been careful not to let his wrists knock or bump up against anything, and with a coordinated effort they had somehow managed to carry him the short distance from the bathroom to his bedroom. With his bloodied hands crossed across his chest to protect his injured wrists and his neck limp – allowing his head to flop limply from side to side when unsupported – Miss Baxter considered that the only indication that he was still amongst the land of the living was the slight rise and fall of his chest. They managed to negotiate their way along the narrow corridor and set him down gently on his bed, laying him out so that he would be comfortable. Mrs Hughes then instructed Andy to go and clean the bathtub, making sure to remove any traces of blood from the bathroom whilst she and Miss Baxter undressed him. The hallway remained eerily silent, and Mrs Hughes suspected that Mr Carson had found an excuse to keep all of the staff downstairs and out of the way for now.
She went to fetch a fresh towel from the linen cupboard and Miss Baxter stood back and looked down at Thomas sadly. She found it hard to reconcile the memory of the little boy she had known with the man lying in the bed before her. His face was pale from the blood loss, his lips tinged with grey and his skin cold to the touch, and she had to gently wipe away a tear. She didn't feel sorry for him – she knew that he wouldn't appreciate her pity, and that he didn't need it – just desperately sad.
She thought back on the events of several months before, and wondered if she could have done more to prevent him doing this. She knew of the views some of the others harboured towards him, and she knew why, but she was the only one who knew of the lengths Thomas had gone to to try change himself. If the electro therapy hadn't been bad enough the unsterilised saline he'd been injecting himself with following his so called treatment, under the false promise of a miracle cure, had almost killed him. She could still remember the dismay she'd felt when he had shown her the abscess on his hip – how he had succeeded in keeping it from them for so long was something she still sometimes pondered on, but how he had managed to continue injecting himself as the infection worsened had shown just how desperate he had been. Perhaps even more heart-breaking had been the lack of sympathy his condition had met with Mr Carson, upon finding out that Thomas was ill. As soon as she'd left Thomas, telling him to meet her downstairs in five minutes, she'd gone straight to Mr Carson to explain the situation.
The Butler had seemed impatient at having been disturbed – his mind evidently occupied by issues involving the general running of the household – and she still remembered their short conversation, notable for an apparent lack of concern on his part.
"I'm sorry Mr Carson." She'd apologised, "But I'm afraid Mr Barrow has taken poorly, I'm taking him to see Doctor Clarkson."
"Yes, but why you?" He'd frowned. "Surely he doesn't need a chaperone?"
"I'm afraid he's quite weak." She'd explained. "You've seen how he's been the past few days. I don't think he should go on his own."
Mr Carson had fixed her with a hard stare, as though he'd been considering his position – with both his Under-Butler and a Lady's Maid absent it could make extra duties for the rest of the staff, and that would fall to either himself or Mrs Hughes orchestrate, but there had been no pressing need for either of their services, and he'd finally consented with an irritable shake of his head.
"Oh very well, but don't be too long." He'd instructed her as though either of them had any control over the length of a doctor's appointment. "I'll inform his Lordship and Thomas can take the rest of the day off."
"I don't think that necessary." She'd shaken her head.
Mr Carson had regarded her with raised eyebrows. "If Mr Barrow is ill enough to need to see the doctor at such short notice, I don't think he will feel well enough to resume his duties when he returns, do you?" He'd asked her.
"No, probably not." She'd considered. "He is quite unwell."
"Very well then." The Butler had sighed, with a wave of his hand to dismiss her.
Thankfully Doctor Clarkson had been somewhat more sympathetic to Thomas' condition, and sensitive to his feelings, although the realisation that he had spent every penny he had on a fake treatment for something the doctor had concluded he simply needed to learn to live with had devastated Thomas.
"Well, its no wonder you feel so unwell." Doctor Clarkson had concluded once he'd examined the inflamed swelling about his hip. "You have a high fever and this wound has abscessed. I'll need to lance it and drain it to treat the infection, which won't be pleasant I'm afraid, and then I'll apply a dressing. I'll prescribe you a short course of painkillers, and I also want to take a closer look at those pills and what it is you've been injecting yourself with."
"I'm afraid I've been rather silly." Thomas had hung his head, not wating to look the doctor in the eye – no matter how kind the man had been to him. If there was one thing Miss Baxter had come to realise about Thomas throughout her time working at Downton it was that kindness was one thing he didn't know how to take. For as long as she had known him there had not been many people in the young man's life who had shown him much compassion. His father had passed some of his skills as a clockmaker onto him but had never been particularly affectionate. His childhood had often been verging on the side of neglectful and abusive, and she very much suspected that this was why Thomas had learnt to put up a front – to make sure he hurt other people before they hurt him.
"I can't believe any sensible man would see fit to inject himself with an unknown substance unless he thought he had good reason, and you have never struck me as a man lacking in sense Mr Barrow." Doctor Clarkson had smiled. "But I do wonder why it was you felt you could not come to me?"
"The truth is I did not feel I could go to anyone." Thomas had confessed, finally steeling himself to look the doctor in the face, tears glistening in his eyes. His fever was very high, his cheeks flushed and his brow and upper-lip shimmered with perspiration. Coupled with the pain it was making him more vulnerable to the rawness of his emotions, and he had displayed an uncharacteristic vulnerability. "I'm not exactly known for making friends at Downton."
"You do have one it seems." Doctor Clarkson had said, looking to Miss Baxter.
"It seems I do." Thomas had smiled at her sadly.
"Right, Miss Baxter if you will wait outside I will call you back in when we're done." The doctor had said.
The abscess having been successfully drained and dressed, and dosed up on painkillers Thomas had appeared in much better spirits as they'd walked back to the bus stop to take them back to Downton – whilst the village was within walking distance Miss Baxter had thought that he would probably prefer not to walk the whole way there and back. Relieved to no longer be in the unbearable pain which had kept him awake for the previous few evenings the man's smile had appeared genuine and there'd been a slightly renewed spring to his step. Miss Baxter had been dismayed to discover that the attitudes of the household had not changed towards him however when they returned home later that afternoon. They'd stopped by at the chemist to pick up his prescription on their way and when they'd got back Thomas had gone straight up to his room to get some rest – grateful for having been relieved from his duties for the rest of the day.
"How is he?" Mr Carson had been the first to ask her as she'd entered the servant's quarters, having indicated to Thomas to go straight up. She'd watched him negotiate the stairs awkwardly, partly due to the cumbersome dressing and partly due to the pain of the festering wound. She'd grimaced as she'd watched him go.
"Not well," She'd told him, dabbing at her rain pelted cheeks as she'd placed her gloves down on the table. "But Doctor Clarkson has given him something for the pain he's in, and has recommended he take a couple of days off to rest. Can you tell his Lordship?" She'd asked him.
"I will let the family know at tea." He'd nodded. "You both missed luncheon I'm afraid. Will Mr Barrow require a trey in his room?"
"It's nothing contagious." She'd informed him. "I'll try and convince him to come down and eat with us in here when he's had time to rest. I don't think it does him good to always be alone."
"If he is alone, then he only has himself to blame." Mr Carson had said.
"Please be nice to him." She'd implored him.
"He hasn't exactly given anyone much cause to be nice to him, including you." He'd added with raised eyebrows – curious as to why she was being so supportive of Thomas when all he had ever been to her since she had arrived at the house was cruel.
"Maybe not," she'd conceded, "but can many people down here profess to give him much cause to be nice to them?" She'd wondered. "If you will beg my pardon for saying so Mr Carson kindness works both ways and you can't fight hate with hate and expect it to result in harmony."
"Well I can hardly argue with your logic Ms Baxter, and I will ask the staff to be civil towards him, but I can't expect them to suddenly start liking the man just because he's ill."
"You have quite the soft spot for Mr Barrow don't you?" Mr Mosely had asked her later, after most of the servants had gone to bed.
"I believe in being kind, even when there's not much cause." She'd told him. "I am not perfect. I have done things to bring shame upon myself which I am not proud of, but I have had kindness and forgiveness bestowed upon me the likes of which Thomas has not known."
In the months since things had seemed improved for Thomas. Having a little kindness shown to him seemed to have driven his own efforts to ingratiate himself with the rest of the staff, even taking the time to help Andy with his reading – but even his efforts in this regard had been shunned when a better offer from the village school master had come along, and since being informed about the loss of his job he'd become increasingly more despondent and withdrawn. Nobody could have known the depths of his unhappiness however – although she felt as though she should have seen it sooner.
Miss Baxter started to carefully undress him, alarmed by how cold he was as she stripped his wet clothes away from his skin. She gently stroked the wet strands of hair away from his pale face, cupping his cheek in the palm of her hand. She tenderly wrapped his blankets around him to try and keep him walm – he seemed to have so little natural body heat of his own – and planted a kiss on his forehead. She took his hand within her own, observing the blood, and wished that Anna would hurry up with the doctor. She'd bound his writs as tightly as she'd been able, tearing strips from her petticoat, but the wounds were still seeping blood and it was starting to soak through the makeshift dressings.
Mrs Hughes quickly returned with a towel and extra blankets and between them they gently dried him. They'd just managed to get him changed into a pair of blue and white stripped pyjamas when there was a gentle knock at the door and Mr Carson entered.
"Anna has just arrived with the doctor." He informed them. "I met Andy on the stairs and asked him to show them up."
He looked down at the figure of Thomas lying in the bed in front of him – at his white face – and paled a little himself. The man looked to be dead, and whatever he'd been expecting to find when he entered Thomas' room he hadn't expected the Under-Butler to have taken things this far. He'd been ready to give him a reprimand – to berate him for bringing yet another shame down upon the Granthom household and rendering himself unfit for duty, which was a dismissible offence – but seeing the lengths the man had gone to all the anger seemed to evaporate from him, to be replaced by barely concealed concern. Seeing the look of dismay on Carson's face made Miss Baxter realise all the more just how close they had come to losing him. If Mr Carson was suitably shocked to appear worried then she knew that things must appear bad and she recalled Andy's words when they had found him, "at least he hasn't gone too far."
Her mind began to wander. What if she hadn't put two and two together in time, or Mr Moseley hadn't told her what Thomas had said to him at all? She still didn't know what it was that had compelled her turn back – just an instinct, she suspected. But she wondered why. Perhaps she had recognised something in Thomas herself before they had left.
"I'm going to inform his Lordship of what's happened," He told them, "and take the tea into the drawing room. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Mrs Hughes nodded, and as he beckoned to her and ushered her aside he asked her, "how is he?"
The housekeeper shook her head gravely, indicating that he wasn't good and Mr Carson straightened and nodded, his mouth set in a grim line as he withdrew from the room.
Mrs Hughes watched him go, she knew that many of the staff thought the Butler cold and unsympathetic, but she knew that deep down he cared very deeply for every member of staff under his authority. He was a man of great principles – the product of a now dying order of society – but he was not without a heart.
Miss Baxter pulled the blankets up to Thomas' chest and sat herself down on the edge of his bed. She smoothed his hair down and tenderly brushed it behind his ears, before clasping a hand over the top of his.
"He's still bleeding." She observed, and felt Mrs Hughes' hand on her shoulder.
"Your quick thinking probably saved his life."
"I just hope it was enough." She said.
"You're very fond of him aren't you?" Mrs Hughes asked her, although it was more of an observation than a genuine question.
"I would be if he would let me."
"I don't think whether or not he lets you has any bearing on the matter." Mrs Hughes tutted kindly. "Our feelings are not within our control, to be turned on and off like a tap."
"He's really not a bad man." Miss Baxter explained, feeling a need to stick up for Thomas and everything he had done over the years which had made the staff at Downton dislike him so. "I know he doesn't always make it easy to like him, but I think deep down he's just scared of being hurt. He's his own worst enemy."
"You're right." The Housekeep conceded. "He doesn't always make it easy to like him, but we should love him more."
There was another knock on the door and Anna showed Doctor Clarkson in, closely followed by Andy. The footman looked as shaken as Mrs Hughes thought she had ever seen any man, and as soon as Anna saw Thomas she couldn't hide her obvious shock. The doctor made his way over – handing his bag to Mrs Hughes, who took it from him and placed it down on the bedside table – and pressed two fingers to the side of Thomas' neck.
"How long had he been like this before you found him?" He asked, lifting one of Thomas' hands to inspect the bandages, before taking his stethoscope from his bag and hooking it around his neck. He rolled down the blankets covering his patient and unbuttoned a couple of buttons on his shirt before popping the ear tips in his ears and placing the drum to Thomas' chest.
Andy's mouth opened and closed soundlessly as he looked at Thomas. Everyone in the room seemed to be looking to him for information only he could give.
"Um… he was in the bathroom about twenty minutes before we found him." He said, finally finding his voice.
"Well, he's been lucky. He hasn't gone too far." The doctor said, taking a thermometer from his bag and slipping it beneath Thomas' nightshirt.
"I don't think he will see it like that." Andy remarked sadly, and Mrs Hughes shot him a warning look.
Andy nodded, shrinking back as he realised that his words had come out much harsher than he'd intended. Miss Baxter, who had got to her feet when the doctor entered knelt down at his bedside, gently smoothing the unconscious man's arm – the pull to remain close by his side, protectively, was strong, but she didn't want to get in the way.
Doctor Clarkson removed the thermometer, looking at the reading before shaking it and putting it back in his bag.
"He's very cold." He remarked. "He's going to find it very hard to maintain his own body temperature for a while, so you're going to need to keep him walm. We need extra blankets, and a hot water bottle would be useful too if you can find one."
"There's one in Mrs Hughes' sitting room." Anna remarked. "I remember putting it away at the end of last winter." She looked to the Housekeeper, who nodded her conformation that it was still there. "I'll go and fetch it." She said.
"Thank you." Doctor Clarkson smiled.
It was at that moment that Mr Carson reappeared and Anna nearly ran into him on her way out.
The doctor turned his attentions back to Thomas.
"I'll stitch him up first before I check his blood pressure." He remarked. "I don't want to risk making the bleeding worse until I know what I'm dealing with."
Meanwhile Anna hurried down the servant's stairs, doing her best not to trip in her haste. She'd known from the look on Andy's face when he'd burst into Mrs Hughes' sitting room that things had been serious, but part of her had still hoped that they weren't as bad as they'd perhaps initially seemed. All of these hopes had evaporated however as soon as she'd seen Thomas lying in bed.
She reached the servant's hall, which she noticed seemed unusually full of people as Mr Carson had given them all extra work to do to keep them all below stairs, and bumped into Mr Bates in the corridor on her way to Mrs Hughes' sitting room.
"What's going on?" He asked his wife, noticing her flustered appearance. "Mr Carson said something about Thomas taking ill with the flu, but he seemed unusually distracted, and Mrs Hughes and Andy are nowhere to be found. Is something going on?"
"Yes, I'm afraid there is." She told her husband, who detected the urgent tone to her voice. "I'm sorry but I need to get back upstairs. Mrs Hughes sent me downstairs for her water bottle." She said.
"It's Thomas isn't it? Tell me, its more serious than Mr Caron said?" He pressed her.
Anna looked at her husband with tears in her eyes and nodded.
"Yes, yes its more serious." She revealed to him.
"Tell me."
"Come with me into Mrs Hughes' sitting room, but I need to hurry." She said as she took him by the hand and led him up the corridor. Mr Bates closed the door behind them.
"What's going on?" He asked her.
"Not here." She told him. "I will tell you, I promise, but there's too many people down here."
"Surely things can't be as dire as all that? How bad is it, really?" He asked her.
"Doctor Clarkson is with him now," She told him "but, I don't know. I fear he may be dying."
"Oh my God!"
"We'll know more when the doctor has taken a look at him. All we can do right now is prey that things are not as bad as they look, but he does look desperately ill. Can you fill this for me?" She asked, finally laying hand to the water bottle. "Whilst I get some more blankets. I think Mrs Hughes may have taken some up but we could do with some more. He needs to be kept warm."
"Yes of course."
Mr Bates returned quickly with the bottle, and as he handed it to her their hands touched, and he smiled sadly.
"I don't know what's happened," he told her, "and I know we haven't always got along, but I hope he'll be alright."
"I know you do," she smiled, "and I promise I will tell you, but I really do need to get back upstairs to them." She told him, and he nodded as he watched her hurry off, struggling to negotiate the stairs under the pile of blankets in her arms.
When Anna returned Mrs Hughes took the hot water bottle from her and she placed the blankets down on the pile the Housekeeper had already fetched. Doctor Clarkson was in the process of summing up his initial assessment of Thomas' condition to the small group gathered around his bedside.
"These bandages are good, they've slowed the bleeding which has possibly saved his life, but I'm going to have to remove them and when I do the bleeding will probably start up again. It may be quite heavy depending on how deep the wounds are. I need somebody to be ready to apply pressure to his wrists should we need to."
"I can do that." Ms Baxter offered.
"Thank you Ms Baxter."
"He looks so pale." Andy observed, his own complexion a few shades whiter than its usual tone.
"He's lost a lot of blood." Doctor Clarkson explained. "It's a good job you found him when you did, another few minutes and it would probably have been too late."
"So it wasn't too late then? You're confident he will recover?" The Footman asked, pressing the doctor for reassurances all of the older members of staff knew he couldn't in all honesty give – but to their collective relief his prognosis was promising.
"He'll need close monitoring for infection, and a few days in bed, but I doubt he'll feel well enough for much for a while, he'll probably sleep for the next few hours. Given time though he should recover physically."
"Will he need to go to hospital?" Mr Carson asked him.
"No, I don't think so, not if we can avoid it and you can take care of him here. I don't think it would be in Thomas' best interests."
"Well, that's a relief." The Butler sighed, and Mrs Hughes, who was standing nearest to him, was about to give him a sharp nudge as she thought his words came out somewhat unsympathetic. He made no secret of his dislike of the Under-Butler, but when she looked over at him and observed the look on his face she realised that he didn't feel quite so harshly towards Thomas as his words had made it seem.
"He is going to need careful watching though." Doctor Clarkson told them all.
"In case he does this again you mean?" Andy asked.
"Well, there is that, but he's likely to be very weak for a while – he'll need a lot of help physically, and it might be quite hard for him when he wakes up."
"What do you mean?"
"We can't lose sight of the fact that something brought him to this in the first place."
"He must have been so incredibly unhappy." Anna remarked sadly.
"Yes." Miss Baxter agreed.
"Tell me, has anything happened recently which might have brought him to this?" Doctor Clarkson asked them. "In my experience people very rarely attempt something like this unless it is as an absolute last resort, when they feel they can't go on any longer."
"He was given notice to find a new job a few weeks ago." Mr Carson explained.
"I see." The doctor sighed, everything becoming clearer.
Thomas had already been shouldering a bitter inner struggle with himself, and he'd been desperate enough to resort to dangerous medical practices and drugs which could have killed him. Society had labelled him an outcast but at Downton he had at least found a home and a place where he could at least feel a vague sense of belonging. A house like Downton was as much a community as it was a home and a place of work. To find out that he was to lose his position, must have left him feeling a level of desperation and hopelessness the other staff couldn't possibly understand.
"I don't think he's efforts have been wholly successful."
"I also don't think any of us have behaved too kindly towards him lately." Andy added. "From what I have heard I know he's had his issues in the past but he has been making more of an effort with everyone lately, and I know that I for one haven't shown him much kindness."
"It might help him to know that there are people who care for him when he does come round," Doctor Clarkson advised them, "and Carson," he added, "would it be possible to ask Lord Granthom to keep Thomas on for now, to grant him some kind of a reprieve? It's going to take him quite some time to recover and he's not going to be up to looking for a new position for a while. It might help ease some of the pressure he's been under."
"Indeed Doctor Clarkson, I have been thinking about it myself and I think it the only decent course of action given the circumstances." Mr Carson agreed.
"His heartrate is quite rapid," the doctor continued returning to the topic of Thomas' physical condition now that he had addressed the matter which had likely driven him to such desperate measures in the first place, "which gives me slight cause for concern, but its strong so I don't think we need to be unduly worried at the moment. He'll need plenty of fluids to combat the shock though when he wakes up. Right Miss Baxter can you take these dressings and be ready to apply pressure when I take these bandages off?"
"Right, everyone else back downstairs now please." Mr Carson instructed the small group, except the Lady's Maid, who took the clean dressings Doctor Clarkson handed her and prepared to apply pressure to Thomas' wounds should this be needed to stem the bleeding. "I don't think Mr Barrow would appreciate an audience. I'll stay with him until the doctor leaves, then inform his Lordship. Mrs Hughes would you ask Mrs Patmore to lay on some tea? I think we've all been quite shaken up by events." He said.
Thomas didn't awake for several hours – even as Doctor Clarkson had stitched up the deep cuts in his wrists he'd remained unnervingly still, whilst Miss Baxter had knelt down beside him and stroked the hair away from his forehead and placed a comforting hand against his cheek. She'd hoped that removing him from the bathtub and changing him into some dry clothes would help to warm him up, but she'd been surprised by how cold he still was and as she'd looked down into his pale face she'd hoped to see some small sign of reaction as Doctor Clarkson's needle had pierced his lacerated skin. His wrists had looked so sore – red and inflamed where the razor blade had made its marks – but Thomas hadn't even stirred.
"I've given him something for the pain he'll be in," Doctor Clarkson had said, "but it might wear off before he wakes up. If that's the case give him two aspirin and try to make him take some water."
She'd wanted to stay with him, and Doctor Clarkson had agreed that he shouldn't be left alone, but Carson had insisted that she join the rest of the servants in the dinner hall, if only to maintain the illusion that all was well, before informing the rest of the staff that she and Anna would take care of Thomas. He didn't want to arouse anybody's suspicions downstairs.
Carson had stayed with him until his presence at the dinner table had been required and then Mrs Hughes had taken over watch of him.
Before heading downstairs however, after showing the doctor out, Carson had gone to give the family an update on Thomas' condition.
"How is he?" Lord Granthom had asked.
"He's resting now your Lordship." Carson told them all – he could tell that they had all genuinely been very worried about Thomas since he had told them the news of what had happened. "Doctor Clarkson said that he was found in time, another few minutes though and it would have been too late."
"It doesn't bare thinking about." Edith sighed.
"I quite agree, it's a terribly sad business." Rosamund added.
"He's going to be out of action for quite a while I'm afraid, and Doctor Clarkson has advised that he spend at least the next few days in bed." Carson explained.
"Well, shouldn't he be in hospital?" Mary asked him – she sounded terribly alarmed and shaken by the whole situation, and Carson suspected that it was because she harboured something of an unspoken fondness for Thomas, which he didn't always approve of or understand – but it was not really his place to have an opinion on the matter.
"He doesn't think that necessary, so long as we can care for him here, which I think we can, and it wouldn't be in Thomas' best interests if you get my meaning my Lady."
"Yes, I quite understand Carson," Lady Granthom said, "well, I don't want any of you to worry below stairs, whatever he needs to help him get better we'll make sure he's provided for."
"After all I don't know everything that happened to make Thomas think that he had no other option, but I can't help feeling that we are at least partly responsible." Lord Granthom added, agreeing with his wife. Whilst he had been angry with his eldest daughter for bringing the subject up he couldn't deny that there had been a grain of truth to what she had said – it had been his decision and his decision to scrap the position of Under-Butler at Downton, thereby stripping Thomas of his position and the only home he had ever known.
"That's very generous my Lady, and a sentiment I think we all share below stairs my Lord." Carson bowed respectfully to both of them in turn.
"I think we've all got some soul searching to do, and not just with regards to Mr Barrow." Lady Granthom sighed, looking at Mary as she said this.
Carson cleared his throat.
"On that note Doctor Clarkson said that he's going to need plenty of fluids and has also suggested that red mead be added to his diet my Lady. It's not something we generally serve at dinner table below stairs."
"Of course, you must tell Mrs Patmore to prepare him whatever he needs and put in another order with the butcher in the morning."
"Thank you my lady, I will inform her of your decision."
"One more thing Carson, does everybody know below stairs?" Lord Granthom asked him.
"No My Lord, I have told the staff that Mr Barrow has taken ill with influenza. It may be that they all find out in time but for now I didn't think it would be fair to have them all gossiping about him when he is so poorly – only Miss Baxter and Andy who found him, Mrs Hughes, Anna and myself. Anna is going to inform Mr Bates, but it shall go no further."
Miss Baxter had sat at the table, picking at her plate, but consuming little, listening to Mr Moseley's account of his afternoon spent teaching, with half an ear. As soon as she could she'd dismissed herself – Lady Granthom had excused her for the evening and Anna had volunteered to see to Her Ladyship once she'd finished with Lady Mary – and she'd made her way back up to Thomas' room.
She entered quietly, the door creaking and alerting Mrs Hughes to her presence. Miss Baxter exchanged a look with the Housekeeper, silently enquiring if Thomas had woken up yet, but the older woman shook her head sadly.
As Mrs Hughes got to her feet slowly and as she took up her vacated seat she wondered at how fond of Thomas she had become. She hated to think of how unhappy he must have been, and after hesitating briefly – her warm hand hovering over his cold one – she gently took it in hers, lifting it to her lips and kissing it gently. She sniffed, trying to stave back the tears, but she was unsuccessful and as she felt them trickle down her cheeks she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and looked up at Mr Hughes.
"He's made quite a mess of himself hasn't he?" She remarked kindly, casting a sad eye over Thomas' sleeping figure. "But we will see him well again."
"I do hope so Mrs Hughes."
She knew that Thomas had friends at Downton – he had her for a start. She just wished that he knew it too.
Anna brought her a cup of tea a couple of hours later. Whilst Mr Carson had originally appointed both Miss Baxter and Anna to oversee Thomas' care, Miss Baxter had refused to leave his side, and so it had become more a case of her seeing to his needs whilst Anna saw to hers.
She'd sat so still, leaning over him, stroking his face and holding his hand in the hope of letting him know that he wasn't alone, that her back had set in an uncomfortable position. She hadn't wanted to move in case she disturbed him, but on the other hand had just wanted him to wake up.
There was also a plate of warm buttered crumpets and a couple of biscuits to go with her tea.
"I noticed that you didn't eat a lot at dinner." Anna told her. "I thought you might appreciate this."
She smiled gratefully.
A few hours later however the food remained untouched and the tea had gone cold.
It was about eleven o clock when Thomas first started to stir and show signs of finally beginning to wake up. He had barely moved in the hours since they'd found him except to squirm involuntarily, but when he rolled over onto his side and moaned Miss Baxter sensed a change. He grimaced and winced, and when he groaned again she knew that it was because he was in pain.
"Thomas?" She said gently, and the young man's eyelids fluttered as they parted open and he looked about him – seemingly slightly disorientated at first. Finally his eyes came to settle on her and she smiled down at him, tears in her own eyes as she stroked his forehead reassuringly. "It's alright." She soothed him. "Everything's alright."
"Miss Baxter?" He frowned, and she watched as dawning realisation appeared on his face. She observed as he went through all of the stages of remembering what had happened to him – the pain as he remembered what it was which had brought him to do what he had done, confusion as to how he could still be alive, shame as he realised how he must have been discovered before the intended outcome of his act, and finally sadness.
Thomas started to cry – uncontrollable sobs which wracked his body.
"Oh, no, Thomas, my dear dear boy," She said, taking a dry handkerchief and dabbing at his tears, "don't cry, please don't cry."
The words seemed ridiculous to her as soon as they left her lips, to refer to him as a boy when he was in fact a man, and under normal circumstances they would have been bordering on patronising. But in that moment that's exactly how he appeared to her. He looked so adrift, his eyes empty of purpose – just like a lost little boy.
"Please don't be nice to me." He said. "I don't deserve your kindness."
"Oh, my dear, that's where you're wrong." She said, leaning over him as she continued to wipe away his tears – her heart broke for him as she observed the depths of his depression in his hollow expression. "You're so loved. Everyone has been so worried about you."
"Who knows?" Thomas asked her weakly, the panic rising in his voice as he thought of himself the subject of ridicule and gossip in the servant's hall – the whole staff privy to his private shame.
"Mr Carson has told everyone that you have taken ill with influenza." She reassured him. "Andy and I found you, Anna went for the doctor, and Mrs Hughes helped us get you out of the bath. Anna had to tell Mr Bates to explain why Mr Carson had her helping to take care of you, but it won't go any further Thomas, I promise."
The tears overflowed from his darkened eyelids and rolled down his pale cheeks. He sniffed to try and compose himself but it did nothing to stop the upheavals as fresh sobs escaped him – his chest rising and falling erratically, and all Miss Baxter could do was hold him – one hand upon his chest, the other on his shoulder protectively.
"My wrists hurt." He said quietly, once he had stopped crying. It was said so feebly – spoken by a broken man.
"Doctor Clarkson gave you an injection of morphine," she told him kindly, "but he said you could take a couple of aspirin too if you needed them when you woke up."
Thomas nodded.
"Here." She said, taking a couple of pills from the bottle on his bedside table, and helping him to sit up. She handed them to him and held a glass of water to his lips for him to drink. He managed half the glass before taking a breath and pulling away.
"Thank you." He said, grimacing as he tried to lie back down, and she helped him, covering him back over with the blanket. He closed his eyes and within a few minutes she realised that he had fallen asleep again.
She smiled sadly – but her heart was filled with hope. She wasn't sure how much he would remember when he next woke up but it had been a positive sign that he would eventually make a full recovery.
A few minutes later Miss Baxter heard the door creak behind her and turned to look at who it was who had entered.
"I came to see how he was doing." Mr Carson said.
"A little better I think, Mr Carson." She smiled. "He regained consciousness briefly, but he was very upset."
"Well, at least that's a positive sign." The Butler nodded. "He's woken up once, so he will wake up again – our job now is to make sure that he has everything he needs to get better."
"I think all he has ever really needed is a friend." Mis Baxter remarked, turning back to look at Thomas' sleeping form. "He must have felt so lonely. He has been trying so hard with everyone these past few weeks, but nobody has bothered to give him the time of day." She had watched as time and time again Thomas had been rejected by the other members of staff downstairs – his attempts to extend the hand of friendship meeting with cold indifference at best. It made her angry, to think he should have been driven to this for want of feeling like someone cared – that someone would actually miss him if he wasn't around anymore.
Mr Carson pulled up a chair and sat down.
"I regret that I haven't been fair to him." He said. "I have allowed my own prejudices to cloud my opinion of the man and this blinded me to the effect it was having on him. I did not think how losing his position would effect him. I thought he would simply find another and move on. I know I have at times made remarks which may have been insensitive, even unkind, but despite the fact that I do not understand nor condone his way of life I am not unsympathetic. I have not wanted him here but that does not mean I do not want him to be happy somewhere else."
"Sometimes we just need to feel like we belong where we already are." Mis Baxter said.
"I've never credited him with much of a heart, and I fear I have wronged him in this regard. I have spoken to His Lordship, and he is in agreement that there will be a home and a position for him here for as long as he needs it."
"I'm sure that will be a great comfort to him."
"Well, I will leave it to you to inform him of the situation when he wakes up. Mrs Hughes wanted me to ask if you needed anything before we leave for the night?"
"I think Thomas' hot water bottle might need refilling." She told him.
Mr Carson reached over and felt the bottle at Thomas' side.
"Yes, it's not very warm." He observed. "I'll take it down and get it refilled for him."
"Thank you."
He got up stiffly with a moan – his knees creaking – and he gently took the hot water bottle from where it had been tucked beneath Thomas' arm. As he did so his gaze lingered on the bandages swathed around his wrists – Doctor Clarkson had stitched him up well but there was still a small amount of blood visible. Miss Baxter smiled sadly – observing that the look on his face was not one of either appal or revulsion but rather he looked worried. She could understand that it didn't come easy to a man in Carson's position, but it was good to see that he was at least making an effort to be kind.
On his way out she observed him eyeing her untouched trey with what she assumed to be a disapproving raise of his eyebrows, but he didn't remark on it.
About half an hour later there was another knock on the door and Mrs Hughes entered carrying a fresh trey of tea, upon which Miss Baxter also noticed there was a plate of sandwiches. She put it down on the chest of drawers before leaving. She quickly returned however with the hot water bottle and carrying a blanket and pillows, which she placed down on the empty bed.
"Poor wee lamb." She said, looking down at Thomas kindly as she gently lifted the blankets and tucked the water bottle in beside him, before covering him over again. "Mr Carson said that he's been awake. Well that's a positive sign." She smiled.
"Yes, but he was very upset." Miss Baxter explained. "I don't know how much he will remember when he wakes up."
Thomas was still as pale as when they'd found him but when Mrs Hughes cupped his cheek affectionately in the palm of her hand she was relieved to feel that he was at least a little warmer. She gently lifted both of his arms and carefully placed them beneath the blankets, before laying a protective hand on his chest, and resting it there for a moment, feeling it's steady rise and fall and the man's gentle heartbeat.
"We will find a way to get him through this." She said, looking at him. "He doesn't make it easy to love him, but that doesn't mean that he isn't loved. We just need to find a way to show him how much. Those are for you by the way." She added, indicating the blanket and pillows she had brought in with her. "You might not plan on leaving his side tonight, and I think you should stay with him, but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't be comfortable."
"Thank you." Miss Baxter smiled, her gratitude visible on her soft face.
"Mr Carson also mentioned that you hadn't touched your trey from earlier, so I brought you up some fresh tea and sandwiches. They'll keep better than toast or crumpets so you don't have to eat them right now."
"That's so kind." She thanked her.
"There's also a flask of beef broth for Thomas, should he feel like eating something when he wakes up." The housekeeper explained.
Mrs Hughes kissed her hand and gently pressed it to Thomas' forehead before she left. Without the facilities for a fire the room was very cold and Miss Baxter took the blanket to cover herself with, as she settled in for a long night. She didn't want to make herself too comfortable however, in case she slept too deeply and didn't hear Thomas when he next woke up.
Anna had kept her promise to Mr Bates – partly to explain why it was that she had been commandeered to help take care of Thomas and partly because he would not allow his pregnant wife to potentially expose herself to influenza, but mainly because he was a good man at heart and despite the fact that he and Thomas had hardly been on friendly terms over the many years they'd known each other that didn't mean he didn't care about the young man.
Whilst Anna didn't know the exact circumstances she knew that he had helped Thomas out with Miss O'Brian. She did not know what had happened to bring about the change in the normally pally relationship between the two of them, but she suspected that it probably had something to do with the arrival of Alfred to the household. Regardless of the circumstances whatever Mr Bates had said to her had worked, and Miss O'Brian had finally ended her vendetta against the unfortunate Footman. Things had even worked in Thomas' favour when he had been appointed to the role of Under-Butler – a step up in the world, if only down on paper.
Shortly after Mrs Hughes left there came another knock at Thomas' bedroom door, and Mr Bates entered.
"Can I come in?" He asked and Miss Baxter smiled and nodded. She indicated towards an empty chair in the corner of the room.
"Why not sit down for a while," she suggested kindly, "and take the weight off your leg?"
"No thank you Miss Baxter all the same, but I won't stay long." Mr Bates said. "I don't think my presence would be appreciated. Anna's just left for the cottage, and I just wanted to check on how he was doing for myself before I turned in as well."
Miss Baxter smiled sadly and turned back to look at Thomas. She still clasped one of his hands within her own, and Mr Bates took that as an invitation to come in. He advanced further into the room and moved around to the foot of Thomas' bed.
The candle light accentuated the paleness of the man somehow and Bates looked down at him.
"We've never really got along." He said. "He was absolutely hateful towards me when I first came here, tried to get me fired so many times. He even tried to frame me for stealing from His Lordship once. I guess its true what they say about first impressions – they stick. But I don't think I took enough account of Miss O' Brian's influence over him, and she was a wrong one."
"He used to be such a kind little boy – but he had so much to fight against from such a young age. His father was so unkind to him, all the time, and he was always struggling to fit in."
"How long have you known him?" Mr Bates asked her.
"All his life, pretty much."
"I always thought him to be a man without a heart. This makes me see him in a new light somehow."
"He wouldn't thank you for that." She told him, but there was the barest hint of a chuckle in her voice as she said it.
"No, I suppose not." Mr Bates shook his head. "That's why you mustn't tell him I was here. For the sake of both our pride."
"Your secret's safe with me." She assured him. "Although I think what Thomas needs more than anything right now is a friend. It might help him to know that you were here."
Mr Bates looked awkwardly down at the young man and then back at Miss Baxter. It was true that there had been no love lost between them, but he didn't think that he would see Thomas lower than he had a few years before when he had thought he was going to be thrown out of his position at Downton without a reference. He had helped him then because he had known what it was to feel helpless and out of control of your own destiny. It hadn't meant that he had liked him, but he was at least capable of sympathising with his situation, and for what it was worth he did not share Mr Carson's view of Thomas – at least not for the same reasons. Thomas' secret was in fact no secret at all to those who had worked at Downton long enough, and most of the staff were accepting of him. Mr Bates' dislike of the young man had been purely personal, and not related to prejudice. He also understood the need to strike the first blow when you felt vulnerable – to hurt people first before they hurt you. He had been scared stiff in prison. He'd spent so long being strong for Anna, that even under threat of the hangman's noose he'd been unable to express his own fearful feelings. It had been a wolf eat wolf world – a million miles from his life at Downton – and he'd had to become just as hard as the rest of the pack in order to survive. He didn't know much about Thomas' life before Downton, but he suspected that there was some darkness in his past which had shaped him into the man he had become. He nodded.
"Tell him I was here, if you think it will help him." He told her before turning to leave.
"Goodnight Mr Bates." She smiled sadly.
"Goodnight Ms Baxter." He responded before closing the door behind him.
Thomas woke up twice more throughout the night, and his interactions with Ms Baxter were not dissimilar from when he had first regained consciousness. It became quite apparent that he was still very upset, but she patiently held him and wiped his tears until he started to calm. He was still quite delirious but she managed to get him to sip some of the beef broth, before he seemed to fade into unconsciousness again. It was the early hours of the morning when she detected a change in him. He'd been quit agitated, moaning and groaning restlessly in this sleep, but Doctor Clarkson had advised them that the morphine may cause him to become a little confused. After a few hours he'd seemed to settle however. His chest moved up and down gently, his lips slightly parted as he breathed easily. Eventually her own eyelids had started to close, and she too had fallen asleep.
The next morning Thomas felt weak. Nobody had thought far enough ahead as to how he was going to get to the bathroom to go to the toilet and freshen himself up, but he found himself too tired to worry about such matters anyway. Mrs Hughes appeared to check on him and to try to convince Miss Baxter to go downstairs to eat breakfast with the rest of the servants, feeling that she probably needed a break from the constant vigil she had kept over him throughout the night, but she would not be swayed. He felt a gentle hand cup his cheek and when he cracked his eyes open a little to see who it was he made out the face of Mrs Hughes looking down at him. He still wasn't particularly hungry himself and refused what was left of the beef broth, but the Housekeeper managed to get him to take a little more water before he fell asleep again.
When he next awoke he was still in pain, but feeling much better – physically. He opened his eyes and looked around. There was no sign of Miss Baxter, but to his surprise Andy now occupied the chair next to his bed. Thomas tried with some difficulty to sit up, but his wrists still pained him and with a gasp he gave up the effort and dropped back down onto the bed again, wincing at the sharp pain.
"Mr Barrow?" Andy said. "Here let me help you."
He gently repositioned his pillows and then taking Thomas gently under the arms he was able to slide him backwards and lift him up with some little effort until he was in more of what could be described as a seated position.
Thomas released a shaky breath.
"Thank you Andy." He said. "Where is Miss Baxter?" He asked.
"Gone to change. She'll be back soon. I offered to relieve her when I brought you both some breakfast up."
Thomas nodded, looking over at the trey on the unmade bed. There was a plate of toast and a bowl of porridge as well as a pot of tea with two cups which Thomas noticed had been placed on the chest of drawers. Another plate bore the remnants of partially eaten toast crusts and was smeared with jam – evidence that Miss Baxter had already eaten hers.
"To be honest I'm not very hungry." He confessed.
"At least let me get you some tea." Andy insisted, and seeing the earnest look on the young man's face he reluctantly nodded, watching as the Footman carefully poured the liquid into a cup, before adding milk and making a move for the sugar bowl.
"I don't take sugar." Thomas reminded him quietly.
"I know, but Doctor Clarkson said that it will help stabilize your blood sugar." Andy insisted as he added three spoons of sugar to the drink and stirred it well. Thomas offered no further objection.
"How are you feeling?" He asked him, as he handed him the cup and Thomas took a tentative sip. He hadn't been sure that he would be able to stomach it, but he also hadn't been aware of how thirsty he was until he felt it moisten his dry mouth, and he tasted the sugar on his lips. There was something about Andy's demeanour which seemed awkward to Thomas, but he also didn't get the impression that it was because he was standing in judgement of him in any way. In fact he seemed more unsure of what to say.
"Tired." Thomas confessed as he handed the cup back to Andy who placed it back down on the trey. "Numb. To be honest Andy I'm not really sure how I feel at the moment. I feel a strange sense of gladness at still being alive and yet there is a sadness I'm finding hard to shake."
"I don't think I ever properly thanked you Mr Barrow for helping me with my reading." The young man said, glancing down awkwardly before inclining his head and looking back up at Thomas. "I would never have tried to learn if it wasn't for you and then I would never have had any hope of ever becoming a farmer."
"I was glad to be able to help you Andy." Thomas told him.
"Yes, and I repayed your kindness rather emptily I'm ashamed to say." Andy said, his voice full of regret.
"You did the right thing by yourself, nobody can begrudge you that," Thomas replied, "Lord knows I have done it myself enough times over the years – too many times – its why I have found myself in this position now."
"And what position is that?"
"Alone, lonely."
"You may be lonely Mr Barrow, but you are not alone – at least you don't have to be anymore. I'm sorry I pushed you away, but you have been a good friend to me, you helped me get this job and you gave up your time freely to help me learn to read, when others wouldn't have bothered. It would mean a lot to me if we could be friends."
"I would like that, thank you Andy, although if we are going to be friends you don't always have to call me Mr Barrow." He smiled hollowly, although there was a vague shimmer of a twinkle in his eye as he said it. "At least not when we're off duty."
Andy smiled back and nodded.
"And you have Miss Baxter." He continued. "She's barely left your side since we found you. That's two of us."
Thomas looked down at his hands clasped in his lap, and Andy noted the book he had been reading, on his bedside table.
"We could read together again if you like." He offered.
"I thought Mr Dawes said it was best we stopped that, in case it confused you."
"Yes, but he didn't actually ask me what I wanted, and besides I'm picking things up quite quickly now. I've even been able to make a start on some of Mr Mason's books." He remarked, full of pride.
"I'm pleased for you Andy." Thomas said, although the young man could tell that there was still a heavy sadness to his tone. "I'm glad to see you making something of your life – tell you what," he added, taking the red book and reaching across to hand it to Andy, "why not have a go at this."
Andy took it from him but at that moment there came a gentle knock on the bedroom door and Anna entered.
"Doctor Clarkson is here." She informed them as the doctor stepped past her into the room, and Andy got to his feet, placing the book back down next to Thomas' bed, the title unobserved. He may have been making significant strides in his reading comprehension thanks to the gentle tutoring of Mr Dowes, and he also very much suspected that Thomas' influence had also had something to do with it, but it still took his brain time to process the words in front of him. Whilst he could now read and understand a good deal more than he had been able to just a few weeks ago, he wasn't very fast at it.
Doctor Clarkson walked across the room and put his bag down on the empty bed. Observing the trey of untouched toast and porridge he turned to look at his patient.
"Not hungry this morning Thomas?" He asked him.
Thomas shook his head. Anna smiled at him before turning to close the door on her way out and he suspected that he could probably expect a visit from her too later. A twinge of bitterness pulled on his heart as he thought on how it was that nobody had bothered with him before now, it had taken him almost killing himself for them even notice how unhappy he was. But he quickly doused the toxic ember – it was after all thoughts like that which had caused him to act and speak out in the past in ways which had led to his loneliness, and their kindness now was more than he felt he deserved after everything he had done.
"May I stay?" Andy asked and Doctor Clarkson looked across at the young man and nodded.
"If it's what Mr Barrow wants." He said, "I have no objections."
Thomas too looked at Andy. He seemed surprised that the young man had even wanted to stay with him – that he wasn't planning on running out of the door at the first opportunity – and perhaps, the Footman considered, it was going to take Thomas time to adjust to the idea that he mattered, after a lifetime of rejection.
"Thank you Andy." He smiled gratefully – the gesture still somewhat hollow, but Andy observed that it seemed to be growing in conviction.
"Well its good to see you looking better than you did last night Thomas." The doctor remarked, as he gently reached across to put two fingers to the side of Thomas' neck to check his pulse, before pulling up a chair and sitting down at his bedside. "How do you feel?"
"Weak." Thomas confessed.
"Well you will for a while I'm afraid." Doctor Clarkson told him. "You were very lucky Ms Baxter and Andy here found you when they did. You lost a lot of blood."
Thomas didn't say anything but averted the doctors gaze with the mention of the day before and looked down into his lap. This was evidently not a subject he felt ready to talk about with anyone. The emotions which had driven him to do what he had done were still too raw.
"Tell me, why did you do it Thomas?" The doctor asked him with a frown, and Andy looked at him curiously. So, they were going to do this after all. They were going to have this conversation now it seemed. The Under-Butler took a silent breath to steady himself, and felt his chest hitch. He just hoped he could hold himself together and get through it without crying.
"I don't know really." Thomas mumbled, still not comfortable with the topic of conversation. He was not used to feeling so vulnerable – at least he was not used to allowing people to see him in this light. He had spent so many years constructing a hard exterior, like a shell of his own making, in order to protect himself. He was the cold one, the mean one, the one who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. The one who would steal and lie and cheat. He had learnt a long time ago that the best way to keep people at bay was to be cruel. Thomas had never used his fists in this regard, he had received enough beatings in his time – many of them from his own father – to know that he had no desire to raise his own fists to anyone. He had only fought back once against his father and that occasion had not gone well for him. He had not resisted when Mr Bates had grabbed him and thrown him up against the wall shortly after the Valet had arrived at Downton, and stolen his job. He had only thrown the first punch against the thugs at the fair to give Jimmy a chance to get away – he had known that this had been a fight he couldn't possibly hope to win. Thomas was sly and crafty – he would plot to ruin those who had wronged him, and rather than help direct him down a different path Miss O'Brian had encouraged him in this regard, and plotted with him.
Words were the weapon he had used to drive people away from him. "I have been lonely," He confessed, realising that he really had no right to complain in this regard, for he could hardly have expected a different outcome, as he reflected on his behaviour over the years, "but it wasn't just that. I couldn't see the future. Downton has been my home, my only home, the only place I have ever felt any sense of belonging or put down any roots – we are part of a dying institution doctor, upstairs as well as down. I was being forced out of my home, with nothing and nowhere else to go, and I didn't think anybody would care when I was gone. In fact I thought it would probably be a relief to them. All my life I have pushed people away. I have done and said things… and now I am paying the price." He laughed ruefully at himself, for he felt he only had himself to blame for his current situation, and he was angry with his younger self for it. "But I have been trying to do more of the right thing, to make friends I suppose, but the rejection… it made it harder. I thought I had left it too late."
"And do you still feel this way?" Doctor Clarkson pressed him and Andy was relieved when Thomas shook his head.
"No." He said. "I still feel terribly sad, but I know now what I thought, not to be true – at least not entirely. If it wasn't for Miss Baxter and Andy I would be dead, and then I never would have known the kindness I have been shown. It is more than I feel I deserve and I know that I have a lot of work ahead of me, but I now know that I have friends and that makes all the difference."
"I am glad to hear it." Doctor Clarkson smiled – his eyes boring searchingly into Thomas, and it made the Under-Butler feel totally exposed, his soul laid bare. But the doctor seemed to see sincerity in his sad eyes, and seemed suitably reassured by Thomas' assurances that he had no desire to do it again.
"Right," He said, getting stiffly to his feet, "lets take a look at those wrists of yours shall we."
Thomas tried to appear indifferent whilst the doctor then proceeded to unwrap the dressings he had applied the night before, after stitching him back together again, but it was hard when they hurt so much. Andy grimaced as the bloody bandages were pealed back – having not seen the wounds when they were fresh – but Doctor Clarkson appeared pleased with what he saw.
"Well, both wounds look clean." He said, giving them a sniff before proceeding to rebandage them again. "I am going to leave you with a mild disinfectant solution to clean the area with and you will need some help to change the bandages daily until the stitches are removed. I'll be back to check on you in a few days, and all being well we should be ok to remove them in about a week. You're to stay in bed though until you regain your strength – however long it takes." He emphasized. "You can also continue to take the aspirin if you are in pain."
"Thank you." Thomas nodded. His eyelids were already beginning to close and he was starting to feel very tired again. The effort of their discussion had drained him.
As Doctor Clarkson was leaving Miss Baxter returned, she smiled when she noticed he was awake.
"I'd better go." Andy said as he got up from his seat and stretched – the chair was small and hard and not particularly comfortable. He felt for Miss Baxter having slept in it. "Otherwise I'll have Mr Carson up here looking for me. I'll be back later." He promised, and Thomas nodded, carefully sliding himself back beneath the blankets.
"Mrs Hughes made you another one of these." Miss Baxter told him, making her way over to him once Andy had gone. She tucked a hot water bottle in beside him, and it was only then that Thomas remembered someone tucking one in beside him the night before. He shivered as he suddenly became very aware of how cold he was. "She said that she'd be up to see you later." The young woman added kindly as she sat back down.
"You're looking a little better." She observed. "How do you feel?"
Thomas didn't answer her however. He didn't know how. He had managed to get through Doctor Clarkson's visit without crying, but now that Andy had gone and he didn't have to put up a front anymore he could feel the tears beginning to well up again, and his eyes began to sting and burn. There was a pressure in his chest, like something trying to force its way out of him, and he felt it fill his throat as he tried to breathe. His lips pouted reflexively and he clamped down on his jaw so hard he thought it might dislocate, but a sob still managed to escape him and once it started he could not stop the tide of tears which followed. Miss Baxter didn't say anything as he started to cry again, she didn't need to, she just held him onto him tightly, wiping away his tears and stroking his face gently with the palm of her hand, until he cried himself to sleep.
A short while later there was a gentle knock on the bedroom door and Mrs Hughes entered. She saw that Thomas was sleeping again and quietly made her way over to Miss Baxter. When the young woman turned to look up at her the Housekeeper noticed that there were tears too in her eyes and she placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I hate to see him so unhappy." Miss Baxter said. "I don't know how to help him."
"We help him by loving him." Was Mrs Hughes' simple reply. "Love conquers all Miss Baxter – even our Mr Barrow."
Over the next few days there was a steady flow of visitors to Thomas' room. True to his word, Andy spent a lot of time with him reading and talking, and Miss Baxter continued to spend each evening sleeping in the chair beside his bed – not wanting to leave him alone. To everyone's surprise Mr Bates had offered to sit with him one afternoon to enable her to take a walk into the village with Mr Moseley, and Mrs Hughes had been a frequent visitor. Anna had also made a point of checking on him at least three times a day it seemed.
Even Mr Carson had looked in on him a couple of times – if only to ask him if there was anything he wanted borrowing from His Lordship's library – and both Lord and Lady Grantham as well as Lady Mary and Master George had paid him a visit. Lady Mary had in fact been the first out of the family to visit him, and Master George had presented him with an orange to make him feel better – the little boy would never know how much that simple gift had meant to him, Thomas contemplated, as he had turned it over and over in his hands. In fact, none of them could ever know what their kindness would come to mean to him in the weeks and months to come. Without even realising it they were opening up a brand new world to him, a world of friendship. Is was not a world he'd known before, but one he found himself wanting to be a part of.
He wanted to love, and to be loved.
Until then however he slept a lot, and ate a lot in line with Doctor Clarkson's instructions. He was presented with copious amounts of tea with sugar, which he drank reluctantly, and Andy helped him to the bathroom once he was strong enough to get out of bed. His legs shook badly and he struggled to stand at first but he was determined that he didn't want to use another chamber pot, and he wanted to freshen up. He clung to the wall as they made their way precariously down the hall to the bathroom, and Andy held onto him tightly. At one point he stumbled, and Mr Moseley, who had emerged from his own room at that moment, grabbed him by his nightshirt to stop him from falling. Thomas had pulled the sleeves of his pyjama top down over his wrists self-consciously to hide the bandages there, aware that the rest of the staff still believed him to have been taken ill with influenza, and the Footman seemed somewhat surprised by the quiet 'thank you' he received for his efforts. Andy had lingered outside, instructing him not to lock the door. Thomas noticed that the bathroom had been cleared of all sharp objects, including any razor blades which inevitably got left behind by somebody in the morning – usually in the rush to get ready for the day once a que started to form outside the bathroom door – and he suspected that Andy had done a scout around beforehand.
Miss Baxter and Mrs Hughes were both on hand to help him change his dressings each evening and Thomas even learnt to appreciate and enjoy their company. The conversation would always be pleasant and light hearted as they attempted to distract him whilst Mrs Hughes gently removed the dressings and Miss Baxter used the solution Doctor Clarkson had prescribed to gently clean the wounds before fresh ones were reapplied to his wrists.
One evening a few days later Miss Baxter entered his room after the family had withdrawn to bed, and in what had now become part of her nightly routine she prepared to settle down for the night in the chair next to Thomas' bed. Thomas had been quite unwell for most of the day, and Doctor Clarkson had diagnosed an infection following a visit that afternoon. She and Mrs Hughes had noticed it whilst they had been changing his bandages the evening before, and he had spiked a fever, but the doctor had reassured them that it wasn't too bad and the medicine he had prescribed him seemed to be helping. He had slept for most of the day but as she entered she noticed that he was lying with his eyes open, looking at her. He had partially kicked the blankets off of himself and was shivering and she smiled at him as she made her way over, and covered him back over again. She placed a hand to his forehead and felt that he was still very hot.
"How are you feeling?" She asked him.
"A little better." He responded – although she doubted it. As she drew her hand away he reached up to grab it and he grimaced as the stitches on his infected wrist pulled on the inflamed tissue and caused a sharp pain. He hissed.
"I don't think I've ever properly thanked you for everything you've done for me." He said to her, his palm clammy against her skin. "I mean it, I'm grateful. It's more than I deserve after the way I have treated you."
"You don't have to thank me." She smiled at him, taking a small glass bottle from his bedside table and tipping out a single white pill into the palm of her hand, before popping a small stopper of cotton wool back into the neck of the bottle. "Here, take your medicine." She said, as she handed Thomas a glass of water alongside the tablet and watched him swallow it down.
"I know, but I want to." He told her as he handed her back the glass.
"I know you do." She nodded kindly, settling back down into her chair and pulling her blanket up around her shoulders. She watched him as his eyes closed again.
As he had been with almost everybody up to this point in his life – with the exception of Miss O'Brain – Thomas had been reluctant to allow her to get close to him at first. He had brought her into the household for a purpose but had tried every tactic to push her away and make sure that she kept her distance from him. He had bullied her and blackmailed her. He had tried to manipulate her into doing his bidding, but the simple truth was that despite all of this she had refused to let him drive her away. She hadn't liked him, but she also hadn't felt the same hate of him which some of the others had, and she had helped him without question or reluctance when he had needed it. He hadn't even had to ask her for her help, for she had offered it freely to him before he'd even realised that he needed it, and now he'd become accustomed to her friendship he found her presence comforting. There was a softness and a warmth about her, a compassion which made her able to see the best in people, even when there wasn't much good in them to see. It had served her badly once but her kindness was her strength and in turn it made Thomas feel safe. She made him feel loved. It was a feeling he hadn't known much of in his life – but he was quickly growing used to it.
"Goodnight Miss Baxter." He muttered. His speech was slurred and she could tell that he was already closer to sleep than he was to consciousness, but she still leaned over and smoothed his arm affectionately. The hot water bottle had been taken away from him temporarily whilst they tried to bring his fever down, but she pulled the blankets covering him up a little higher as she noticed that he was still shivering slightly.
"Goodnight Thomas." She replied. She sat and watched him for a while, until the gentle rise and fall of his chest told her that he had fallen asleep, at which point her own eyes grew heavy and began to close. Her breathing gradually became more shallow and began to even out until it more closely resembled his, and her head gently rolled to the side, her mouth set in a line and her forehead puckered anxiously, as she joined him.