CHAPTER 64: LORD SAVIDENT'S VALET

A week later

The Servants' Hall

Bates had dressed Lord Grantham for breakfast and was taking a few minutes to flip through the pages of You Can't Win in the servants' hall. Novello had sent him the American book, an autobiography written by freight-hopping criminal turned librarian, Jack Black. Bates laughed when he found the inscription.

My dear friend,

You and I both know there is
no such person as Jack Black.
The author of this book must be
the one and only John Bates.

All love,
Ivor Novello

Bates felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Thomas standing beside him. Bates could see the anxiety behind Thomas' calm demeanour. Thomas nodded towards his pantry, and Bates grabbed Old Ram and followed him there, closing the door behind them.

"Have a seat, John." Thomas sat next to Bates. "I received a reply from Levinson. This has been my first chance to open it in private." He opened the letter while Bates pulled out his reading glasses, and the two men leaned their heads together to read.


Dear Mr Barrow,

I am in receipt of your letter that was forwarded to me by my niece. While it is true that my mother intends to sell her Newport cottage, I am sorry to say that it would not be a suitable choice for your project. Aside from the property size, which may be insufficient, you would have to appeal the zoning laws, which would be an expensive process and likely to fail.

However, I am intrigued by your concept of a combination luxury hotel/butler school based on the English concept of service. You have a feel for what would attract wealthy Americans, especially the new money types. My niece wrote about the side business you and your partners have launched while you continue your work in service. How American of you! (I mean that as a compliment.)

I will be traveling to Europe before Christmas to visit ski resorts, a concept that I would like to develop in the U.S. I will be stopping at Downton first to see the family and would like to meet with you and your partners to discuss your ideas, if that is amenable. Americans believe one can never have too much wealth, and I am always on the prowl for exciting investment opportunities.

Respectfully yours,

Harold Levinson


Thomas sat back in his chair and grinned. "He's interested! Our first American contact!"

"Congratulations, little brother."

"Congratulations to our partnership, John. Everything we've done, we've done as partners. And the eclipse idea was all yours."

Bates smiled. It was only a week ago that he had shaken Thomas awake and impressed him with his idea. Only then, did Bates feel as though they truly were partners. It was difficult to keep pace with Thomas' fertile mind.

The two men chatted easily about how they might present their ideas to Levinson as Thomas sorted through his other mail. He pulled one envelope from the others and opened it. Bates saw the colour drain from Thomas' face. "What is it, little brother? Bad news?"

"Alfie Reynolds died. He was Lord Savident's valet."

"I'm sorry, Pooh. Was he a friend of yours?"

"He was no friend of mine!" spat Thomas. Bates watched as Thomas' expression transformed from shock to rage. Bates had seen that rage once before, the night he took Thomas drinking. Thomas shoved the letter at Bates and leapt to his feet. He paced furiously, waving a cheque that had been enclosed in the envelope.

Bates bent his head to read the letter. It was a typed letter from a solicitor.


Dear Mr Barrow,

I am sorry to inform you of the death of my client, Alfie Reynolds, on January 19th of this year. I am writing, specifically, because you were mentioned in Mr Reynolds' will. Below is the exact wording that pertains to you.

"If my fortune survives me, then I bequeath the remaining amount, up to £700, to Mr Thomas Barrow, who, at the time of this writing has taken a position as footman at Downton Abbey in Yorkshire. Mr Barrow knows well that at least half this amount should have been his. I intend to keep the £700 for my old age, but my habits make old age doubtful. If you should read this, Mr Barrow, then I ask one last time what you would have done had you been in my place at the tender age of seventeen."

Mr Reynolds was 38 at the time of his death, and his estate exceeded £700 after deducting his outstanding debts and our expenses on his behalf. After reconciling his affairs, we immediately set out to confirm your continued employment at Downton Abbey. Enclosed you will find a cheque for £700. Please note that endorsing the cheque will constitute acceptance on your part as final settlement of Mr Reynolds' estate.

If you wish to read Mr Reynolds' entire will, it is on file in my London office.

Yours sincerely,


So, Alfie Reynolds had held a key to Thomas' life before Downton, and now he was dead. "£700," murmured Bates.

"Do you doubt my right to it?" demanded Thomas.

"No." Bates replied simply. He had no desire to provoke Thomas.

"It should have been mine from the start!" Thomas held the cheque as though he were going to rip it to shreds. Bates held his breath. Thomas paused, tried to calm himself, and slipped the check into his coat pocket. The he yanked the letter from Bates' hand and retrieved his lighter.

"Thomas, wait!"

Thomas froze as he always did when Bates called him by his given name. "What?" he growled through clenched teeth.

"If you're going to keep the cheque, then you'll need the letter."

"Why?"

"An investor may want to know how a man who's been a butler for less than two years came to have so much cash. The letter is proof that you acquired it legitimately."

Thomas stared at the letter. Then he tucked it back in its envelope and locked it in his desk drawer. "Well?" he demanded.

"Well what?"

"When does the interrogation begin?"

I'm not going to ask you anything, Pooh. You'll tell me if there's anything you want me to know."

Thomas sat at his desk. "John, I'm sorry for my behaviour."

Bates could see that Thomas' hands were trembling and knew that his rage had not altogether subsided. "It was nothing, Pooh."

Thomas pulled the cheque from his pocket and stared at it. He smiled wanly. "You know what this means, don't you, John? With Levinson's interest in us and this money, we'll be on our way to the states sooner than we thought, and you and Anna will be able to keep your money safe for your children."

"That's kind of you, Pooh, but Anna and I need to contribute our share to the partnership."

"No, John. I can't accept this cheque unless it's for you and Anna, too." Thomas stood and gripped Bates' shoulder tightly. "Please, John. I can't explain."

Bates struggled not to ask why this windfall was so difficult for Thomas to accept. "All right, little brother. Whatever you say. Why don't we go to the cottage together tonight to show Anna the letter from Levinson."

Thomas perked up. "Yes, let's! She'll be so excited."

"I'll tell Mrs Patmore to pack your dinner, too, and you'll stay the night." Bates stood and hooked his arm around Thomas' neck. "But you have to carry the hamper! Mrs Patmore packs so much food for Anna that I can barely manage it and the mending and Timothy, too."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to muss my hair."

Bates laughed. "Not today. Today is a special day. Today, I'm going to do this." He kissed Thomas on the cheek, which made Thomas laugh. "And now I'm going to do this." He mussed Thomas' hair before picking up Old Ram and heading for the door.

"Don't do that!" Thomas protested, but he was still laughing.