April 30, 1917

Thomas Barrow inhaled his cigarette deeply. He stood out in the courtyard by the servants' entrance at Downton Abbey. He'd not been here in two and a half years. It felt like a lifetime. And yet everything was just the same. As though he'd never left.

"Welcome back."

The sound of an old familiar voice caught his attention. It was not a voice he'd ever heard at Downton. Thomas turned to see Phyllis Baxter standing at the door.

"I heard one of the maids mention that you were here. I didn't get the sense she liked you much. That anyone likes you much. What were you up to when you were here, Thomas?"

This certainly wasn't news to Thomas Barrow. No one liked him much anywhere he went. Even Miss O'Brien, who he might have considered a friend on occasion, hadn't actually liked him. He hadn't actually liked her either. But being allies is often more important than being friends.

And now he had a new ally here. A better one. Thomas smirked and stubbed out his cigarette.

"Never you mind, Miss Baxter. Things will be different now. I don't work here. I work for Major Clarkson at the hospital. And I don't know how you managed that."

Miss Baxter gave a gentle smile. She was a gentle sort. "I told Lady Grantham that you wanted to come home and wanted to continue to serve after you recovered from your injury. After everything with Her Ladyship and the baby and how important Doctor Clarkson was with all of it, they've got a good relationship."

"And he went around the army's back because of that?"

She cast her gaze downward and blushed slightly. "Well, I understand the doctor didn't want to, but Lady Grantham then mentioned it to Lord Grantham."

"And Lord Grantham does anything Lady Grantham asks?"

Miss Baxter faltered. "He likes to make her happy," she answered cautiously. "And she doesn't really ever ask for much."

Thomas hummed in understanding. That much hadn't changed about the Crawleys from Thomas's recollection. Lady Grantham was always kind and mostly uninterested in issues downstairs. Lord Grantham was also kind and rewarded loyalty and good service. Thomas only ever had loyalty to himself and provided good service when it served him. Lord Grantham had never liked him. Thomas had never minded that much. But now, working at the hospital, Thomas didn't imagine he'd be seeing much of the family.

"How is your injury?" Miss Baxter asked.

He removed his glove to show the mangled bullet hole in his palm. Miss Baxter put her own hand over her mouth in shock. "It's not so bad. And it got me home," he said simply.

She nodded gravely. "Come inside," she beckoned.

Thomas made some remarks about William being gone, getting scolded by Daisy and Mrs. Hughes both. Thomas happily teased and flirted with the new maid, Ethel, and got ignored by Mr. Carson. All in all, a productive visit.

The servants had work to do. Apparently people were coming for dinner, which was a difficulty now that there weren't any footmen about. Thomas was glad to keep his uniform and never go back to livery.

"I ought to go see to Lady Grantham," Miss Baxter said. "But I'd like us to keep in touch, now that you're back in town. I'd like to see you. Know how you're doing."

Thomas couldn't help but grin at that. "Oh yes, Miss Baxter. You'll be seeing plenty of me. Because I might be in need of you at some point. And you'll do as I say."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Do you think I got you this job for nothing? And do you think I shared the truth with anyone in recommending you? I know you certainly didn't. So for now, your secret is safe with me. But as soon as I need anything…you'll do as I say."

And with that hardly veiled threat, Thomas left Downton Abbey, knowing he'd be back.

Tom Branson stood beside the car after bringing Lady Rosamund from the train station. He watched as she greeted her brother, Lord Grantham. Lady Grantham gave a kind welcome but did not embrace Lady Rosamund. Tom had not seen too much of Lady Rosamund over the years, as all he did was drive her back and forth to the train station. He'd not seen much interaction with the family. It struck him as interesting, though, that Lady Grantham and Lady Rosamund did not seem very close. She was Lord Grantham's only sister, and one might assume that a woman would make friends with her brother's wife, particularly as a widow. And Lady Grantham was, more often than not, extremely kind and easy to get along with.

"Branson, when you've finished unloading, run down to the hospital and remind Lady Sybil that we expect her here for dinner. And tell her I mean it," Lady Grantham insisted.

It nearly made Tom laugh that he had just been thinking about how Lady Grantham was so kind and genial, but now she was getting annoyed that her daughter, a wartime nurse, wasn't at her beck and call for these silly family dinners. Getting dressed up and doing whatever nonsense the ruling classes did. Lady Sybil wasn't one for all that. Lady Sybil was smarter than that. Lady Grantham, however kind she might otherwise be, was a victim of the bourgeois brainwashing. Tom expected better from an American. But she was a countess, so this certainly wasn't a surprise.

Lady Grantham continued her tirade. "Really, they're working her like a packhorse in a mine!"

"I think she enjoys it, though," Tom replied.

The look on Lady Grantham's face when she turned back was one that showed a strength and entitlement like all the others of her despicable class. Which was a pity. Her eyes were hard and her mouth was set in a firm frown. "Please tell her to come home in time to change," she said coldly.

Tom nodded and turned to get back in the car. He shouldn't have said anything. Life was harder when he spoke out, especially to Lord and Lady Grantham. But he could not allow anyone to think that Lady Sybil was being taken advantage of, that she would ever allow herself to be taken advantage of. She was the strongest person he'd ever met, and he loved her with all his heart. And though she did not love him, she had kept his secret and still spoke to him on occasion. She had not shunned him or gotten him fired. And that gave him hope.

And so, when he went to the hospital to deliver Lady Grantham's message, Tom found himself delighted by Lady Sybil's reaction.

"I can't possibly come! Really, Mama is incorrigible," Lady Sybil said in frustration.

Mrs. Crawley was nearby and pointed out, "It's not poor Branson's fault."

"But what is the point of Mama's soirées? What are they for?"

Tom said nothing, but his heart soared at Lady Sybil's words. She was absolutely right. The frivolous foolishness of her family was entirely pointless.

Mrs. Crawley, however, disagreed. "Well, I'm going up for dinner tonight, and I'm glad. Is that wrong?"

Of course, Mrs. Crawley was only going up for dinner because Mr. Crawley was back home on some recruitment tour with some general, and he was at Downton Abbey with his wife, Lady Mary, and Mrs. Crawley always came up to the house for dinner when her son was in town. She was always too busy at the hospital to go to dinner otherwise.

A soldier in uniform walked by, taking something from one of the other nurses, and Mrs. Crawley caught his attention. "Thomas, you can cover for Nurse Crawley, can't you?"

Tom didn't realize until that moment that it was indeed Thomas Barrow, former footman from Downton Abbey. Tom followed the man over to one of the beds as he replaced a blanket on it.

"So you're back, then, safe and sound," he greeted, somewhat warily, and perhaps somewhat accusingly. After all, Tom refused to go to war to fight for a country that oppressed his people. Thomas went to war to escape his own misdeeds and attempt to worm his way up in the world. If Thomas had done something dishonest to get himself out of the firing line, quite literally, Tom wouldn't have been surprised at all.

"That's not how I'd put it, with my hand the way it is. But yes, Major Clarkson's found me a place. And I'm grateful."

Before Tom could respond, Lady Sybil interrupted with an instruction for Thomas. Her annoyance was still quite obvious. And Tom smiled.

Matthew Crawley walked into the library before dinner with his mother, having greeted her at the door. Carson announced them both. Mary was already downstairs, as he well knew. He'd spent all afternoon with her, from the moment he'd arrived back home. It was why he'd not been able to see Mother yet.

He was grateful for this new assignment and the opportunity to see the family, but it was strange to be back. It was a different world here than the one he had come to know in France. The war raged ever onward, and Matthew did not like leaving his company

Still, it was a relief to be with Mary. They still had not managed to have a child, what with everything that had gone on in the two years since they wed. But Mary's heartbreak at her miscarriage made Matthew that much more insistent on giving her a child while he could. In case he didn't come home from France the next time.

Robert came to greet him, glad he was back safe and sound. Even though Matthew was no longer the heir, Robert still treated him as such. Whether he was the heir or not, he was now Robert's son-in-law. A member of the family now and always.

"What's General Strutt like?" Robert asked.

"You know, rather important," Matthew said with a small chuckle. "And brave. He got the DSO in South Africa."

Robert didn't respond to that remark, which was perhaps interesting. Instead, Robert asked, "Is there a chance it might be permanent, that we can count you out of danger? It would be such a relief."

"I wouldn't want that, I'm afraid," Matthew confessed. "He's promised to get me back to France when he's done with me."

He'd not told Mary that he had insisted on that condition when he accepted the position with General Strutt, and he hoped Robert would not mention it or inquire further. Matthew changed the subject quickly.

"How's your new appointment with the North Ridings working out?" he inquired.

"Oh that." Robert's face was grave, and he looked away. That wasn't something Matthew was very used to. The Robert Crawley that Matthew had come to know was good-natured on the whole.

And since the birth of his son, Matthew had hardly ever seen Robert in low spirits. Perhaps it was due to the estate succession, but perhaps it was just the way Robert was, but Matthew wasn't sure he had ever seen a man more enamored and proud and elated by a child the way Robert was with John. Which reminded Matthew, he would have to ask how John was doing with the puppy.

"It seems I won't be going to the front after all. I made a mistake. They only wanted a mascot." With that, Robert walked away.

Matthew watched him leave and then turned to see where his mother had gotten to. In looking for her, he caught notice of Cora. She, too, was watching Robert. And her expression was one of worry. Worry like Matthew hadn't seen since the difficulties Cora had with her pregnancy.

None of this was what Matthew was used to. Things at home were suddenly not the comfort and reprieve that he had hoped for.

Elsie Hughes ran up the stairs as soon as she knew no one was around to see her do so. Oh that man! She had warned him, but had he listened? Of course not! He just barreled through, doing whatever he pleased in service to those ridiculous standards of his. Things like compromise or leniency or alternate options simply wouldn't do. And if she weren't terrified out of her mind, she would be going up there to shout at him.

When the news reached her that Mr. Carson, having only himself and Mr. Molesley and Mr. Bates to use as dining room staff, tried to do too much and collapsed clutching his heart, Elsie felt all the blood drain from her face. She had to clutch the wall to keep herself upright.

She'd known this would happen. Mr. Bates, crippled as he was, couldn't be much help. And he didn't know proper dining room service anyway. And Mr. Molesley was a valet and former butler. He did know proper dining room service but he had spent the whole day complaining about being made to put on livery and act as a footman. And of course, because Mr. Carson simply had to have everything his own way, he'd sent Mr. Bates away and wrestled a dish from Mr. Molesley, spilling all over Lady Edith and worked himself into a heart attack.

Mrs. Hughes had her own job to do, however. When Lady Grantham scolded Lady Edith for complaining about her dress and sent her to fetch Doctor Clarkson, Lady Sybil and Mr. Crawley escorted Mr. Carson upstairs while Mrs. Crawley went to telephone the hospital to explain and warn that Branson and Lady Edith were on their way to fetch the doctor. And despite the fact that her own heart was racing dangerously, Mrs. Hughes still had a dinner to get through. She instructed Anna and Ethel and Daisy and Mr. Molesley to carry on.

Eventually, the dinner had ended—everything going smoothly from there—and Doctor Clarkson arrived, checked on Mr. Carson, and left. And now, finally, Elsie could go check on Mr. Carson herself.

She entered his room to find him lying in bed. He was dressed in his pajamas and his hair had been mussed out of its usual perfect coif. It even curled, and she found herself noticing that more than she should have.

He sat up when she came in. "It wasn't a heart attack, though I know you knew I'd have one," he said.

"I'm glad of that. But it was something. Did the doctor tell you to take it easy?" she asked.

His eyes didn't meet hers and he grumbled, "Yes."

"Then you'll do it," Elsie insisted. "I mean it, you've got to allow the maids to serve in the dining room and allow Mr. Molesley and Mr. Bates to assist in whatever way they can!"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes, I shall admit defeat," he finally confessed.

She felt all the fight fall out of her. She pulled the chair over to his bedside and sat down in it. Her voice softened as she leaned forward. "I hardly know how I shall manage if you keep on worrying me like this."

He looked up at her with those dark, lovely eyes of his. "Did I worry you?"

Unable to stop herself, Elsie sighed and reached out to push that marvelous curl out of his face. "Of course you did, you old booby," she teased.

Before she could take her hand away, he caught it in his. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. He just held her hand for a moment. And it was very nice.