CHAPTER 3: THE JOHN BATES TREATMENT
The next morning
Thomas Barrow's Room
Andy Parker had agreed to take a turn sitting with Thomas during the night so Bates could get some sleep. How could he not? Thomas had given up his time to teach Andy to read, and Andy appreciated it even though his efforts were for naught. For the entire night, Andy sat alert in the hard chair terrified that Thomas would succumb to his self-inflicted injuries.
When Thomas awoke, he explained to Andy what assistance he required, and Andy did his best. Now Thomas was sitting at the edge of the bed waiting for breakfast. Andy had helped Thomas, albeit clumsily, with his robe and slippers.
When Bates rapped on the door, Thomas was gratified that the courtesy of knocking had been restored to him. Andy was relieved to see Bates, knocking or otherwise. Bates instructed Andy to return after his breakfast with a basin of hot water.
Mrs Hughes came in with Bates, carrying a breakfast tray for the two men to share. "Well now, Mr Barrow, you have some colour this morning," she observed.
"Yes, Mrs Hughes. I expect I'll be back to work in a day or so."
Mrs Hughes glanced at Bates and replied, "No need to hurry, Mr Barrow. I'm sure you'll be up and about in no time."
As soon as the door closed behind Mrs Hughes, Thomas asked Bates why he needed a basin of hot water.
"Don't you remember? I promised you a shave today. Would you like to sit in the chair for breakfast?"
Thomas nodded. Even with Bates's assistance, his legs wobbled. Bates carefully moved the tray to the chest of drawers. It was difficult for him to carry with both hands without stumbling. He pulled the bedside table to the chair and prepared a plate.
At length, Thomas broke his silence. "I'd like to shave myself."
"But I promised you the full John Bates treatment."
"You don't shave Lord Grantham. He shaves himself."
Bates prepared a cup of tea. "I have a rough beard, Thomas. I know all the particulars of a comfortable shave. You'll enjoy it."
"I want to shave myself," Thomas insisted.
"Let's discuss it after breakfast."
Thomas's voice tightened, "I want to shave myself!"
"Tomorrow perhaps."
"You're afraid I'll use the blade to cut my wrists!" accused Thomas.
"What?"
"Do you think I'd do that right in front of you?" Thomas shrilled.
Bates brought Thomas's tea to the table. "Take this tea," he commanded.
"Set it on the table."
"TAKE THIS TEA!"
Thomas was taken aback. He held out his hands and accepted the cup, but his hands shook. The hot tea sloshed onto the table. Bates rescued the cup and set it down. He had been angry; now he was embarrassed. Thomas could have scalded himself. "I'm sorry, Thomas, I shouldn't have done that. I only wanted you to see that you aren't steady." Bates took a towel from Mrs Crawley's tidy arrangement of sickroom supplies and wiped the table dry. Thomas stared down at his hands; they were trembling in his lap.
Bates sat on the edge of the bed. Thomas looked at Bates with the chagrin of a footman who had just spilled a decanter of Bordeaux on Lord Grantham's favourite carpet. "Thomas, your hands'll stop shaking. Give yourself a little time. Good god, man. It was only yesterday that I looked at you and thought I was looking at a corpse. It was a terrible thing to see, Thomas. Did you expect to carry on today as though nothing had happened?"
"I thought I'd never have to carry on again," Thomas murmured.
Even though Bates knew it was true, hearing Thomas say it aloud unnerved him. He didn't know what to do; he didn't know what to say. He had already blundered once this morning. He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. "I want to help you, son. Tell me what you need."
"Ask for help. You must ask Bates and Anna for help." The words danced in Thomas's head. "Make amends." How could Thomas ask Bates for help? How could he disclose the monstrous acts for which he must make amends? Bates would despise him. Bates would abandon him.
Thomas felt a swell of despair rising in his chest. He averted his eyes from Bates's intense gaze. "I need you to leave, Mr Bates. Please." He didn't want Bates to witness what was about to happen.
"Thomas, that's the one thing I can't do."
"I'm begging you, John," Thomas choked.
Bates reached across the table and grasped Thomas's hand. "I can't."
Thomas jerked his hand away as though he had touched a hot pan. He pressed his lips together tightly, but it was no use. A small whimper broke free.
Bates saw Thomas's eyes welling with tears. "Let it go, son. I won't listen."
Thomas could not contain his anguish. "Oh god!" He covered his face with his hands to hide his shame.
Bates wanted to give Thomas a sense of privacy, but his sobs made something inside Bates ache. Until that moment, Bates had not fully understood the depth of Thomas's pain. He stood, pushed the table aside, and placed his hands on Thomas's shoulders. Thomas drew a sharp breath. Then he dropped his hands and pressed his face against Bates. Bates eased his arms around Thomas, who wept until he was spent.
As Thomas calmed, he lifted his head but did not look at Bates. "I didn't want you to see me blubbering like a fool. I didn't want you to think that I was a..."
"What ... a man with feelings?" Bates put his hand under Thomas's chin and lifted Thomas's face to his own. "Do you think I've never shed a tear?"
Thomas sat back in the chair and regarded Bates. No, he couldn't imagine this stoic bear of a man bawling.
Bates moistened Thomas's facecloth with cool water from the pitcher. He gave it to Thomas, allowing him the dignity of wiping his own tears.
"You must be hungry." Bates lifted the cloche and prepared Thomas a fresh plate, taking the cold plate for himself. He smiled to himself as he observed Thomas's renewed appetite.
No sooner had they finished, than Andy knocked at the door. Bates told Andy they no longer needed hot water, but Thomas interrupted. "Have him bring it here. You promised me the full John Bates treatment, and I expect you to deliver."
