CHAPTER 5: JUST A LITTLE FROG

11:00 that same night

Thomas Barrow's Room

Thomas was having a dream. It was an ordinary dream, not at all like the dream about his mum.

Like most people, Thomas had all sorts of dreams. Most he could not remember, and some he would like to forget. Some were frightening and kept him awake, and some were deliciously sensual and invited him back to sleep.

A month before, Thomas dreamed that he went to the servants' hall for breakfast, and Carson and Andy were sitting at the table, thin and drawn. They both were wearing aprons. Carson jumped up, grabbed Thomas by the arm, and pushed him into the kitchen. "Where have you been? You missed breakfast and luncheon. Now you must bake a cake for tea, and it must be without fault!" Carson gave Thomas a small mixing bowl. Thomas asked for a larger bowl, but Carson snapped, "Don't be ridiculous!"

Thomas could not remember the recipe. He dumped some flour into the bowl ... then some sugar ... some eggs ... an apple. Andy handed him a spoon, but when Thomas went to stir, the bowl was empty. Thomas decided to take the bowl to the village bakery and buy a cake to put in it, but he could not lift the bowl. Andy was crying, "They didn't want an under butler, and now they don't want a cook!"

Thomas ran out of the kitchen. He remembered he was married and ran home to his cottage, but he could not remember which cottage was his or to whom he was married. It was dark when he found his front door. He ran inside, undressed and climbed in bed. His spouse was already asleep. Thomas announced, "I've been sacked!"

His spouse sat straight up. "That's all right, Ducky, I'll take care of you." It was Mrs Patmore, and she was not wearing a nightgown! Thomas woke up and bolted out of bed as though it were filled with snakes. He slept in the chair for the rest of the night and could not look Mrs Patmore in the eye for two days.

But tonight's dream was not like that. In tonight's dream, Thomas and another man were sitting on the edge of his bed. Thomas could see the man's coat draped over the chair. The man had his cheek pressed against Thomas' face, and Thomas enjoyed the feel of his rough, masculine stubble. Thomas could not see the man's face, but he felt the heat of his body and was aroused. The man put his arm around Thomas, and his touch was electric. "Thomas ... Thomas..." Thomas moaned.

"Thomas ... Thomas ... what's wrong?" Thomas opened his eyes and saw Bates' hand on his arm. Thomas popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box. "Thomas, are you in pain?" asked Bates, worry lining his face.

"What? No, I'm fine!"

Bates' face relaxed. "You were groaning. You must have had a bad dream," Bates concluded. "Here, let me take your blanket. It's too hot up here for that."

"NO!" Thomas slammed his arms down on the blanket. He did not want to be exposed at that particular moment.

Bates was mystified. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable with only the sheet?"

"No, John, I'm fine," Thomas insisted.

"Andy will be here soon. Is there anything you need before I leave?"

Thomas glanced around the room. He saw Bates' coat draped over the chair. If he had not realized it before, he certainly knew at that moment ... Bates was the man in his dream.

"Only some water please."

Bates brought Thomas a glass of water. "Dr Clarkson is stopping by tomorrow to speak with you. He thinks you're ready to take care of yourself, but he wants to be certain. Why don't you have a bath in the morning so you can be fresh when he sees you."

"What?"

Bates smiled, "Not a Mrs Crawley sponge bath. I mean take a bath by yourself in the tub ... except, I'm sorry, Thomas, but I'll have to be in the room."

"What?"

Bates laughed, "I don't have to watch! But I do have to be in the room."

"All right." Thomas wanted a bath. The attic was unbearably hot and stuffy in the summer, and he had been confined to his room for two days. He dipped his fingers in the glass of water and ran them across the back of his neck.

"Let me do that." Bates retrieved Thomas' facecloth and moistened it.

Thomas tried to intercept the facecloth, but Bates pushed his hand aside. "I'll do it." Bates cupped Thomas' chin with one hand while he sponged his face. Bates moved his hand to Thomas' shoulder and ran the facecloth around the back of his neck.

"Better?"

Not really, thought Thomas, but he nodded anyway. Every time Bates touched him, he felt an exquisite rush. He was trying to think of something else. He was trying to think of Mrs Patmore.

Bates ran the facecloth down the inside of each of Thomas' arms to his bandages. Then he picked up Thomas' hand. A small, involuntary moan escaped Thomas throat.

Worry returned to Bates face. "Thomas, are you certain you're all right? I don't want to leave if you're not well."

"I'm fine, John. It's just a little frog in my throat."