CHAPTER 72: THE MARCH HARE

A short time later

Bates left Minnie in the storage room without gathering the clothes he had selected for repair. He would have to return later. He did not relish bringing his mending chores to Anna, but she would not be happy unless she contributed a full day's wage to the family kitty, and a full day's wage required a full day's work.

Bates took his time descending the stairs to Thomas' pantry. He knew what to expect. Thomas would be burying his disappointment in work. Bates would spend the next week, or two or three, cajoling him to eat and sleep. Eventually, Thomas would get caught up in the excitement of the eclipse dance and planning their meeting with Levinson and his sense of loss would fade.

Bates knocked and opened the pantry door expecting to find Thomas poring over his notebook, inventing tasks for himself. Instead, Thomas was standing in front of his desk and staring at the wall. He seemed oblivious to Bates' presence. Minnie had said that Thomas was standing that way when he broke the engagement. Surely he had not been standing there all this time. No matter. Bates knew how to get his attention. "Your hair's a sight, little brother. Have you been walking around the village like that?"

"Mmm?" Thomas mumbled.

Bates stepped in front of Thomas. "Thomas!"

Thomas seemed confused, as though Bates had awakened him. "I didn't hear you open the door."

"That's all right, Pooh. You're preoccupied."

"I'm going to bed," Thomas declared abruptly.

Bates was surprised. He had never known Thomas to abandon his work for a nap whatever the circumstance. Still, Bates believed in the restorative power of sleep. "Take as long as you like, Pooh. I'll tell Mrs Hughes that you're ..." Thomas was out the door and down the corridor before Bates could finish.


Later that night

Bates slowly maneuvered the stairs to the attic while balancing Thomas' dinner tray. As he approached Thomas' room, he could hear Thomas speaking. He was arguing with someone. Who would have come to his room? No one else lived on the men's side now except Billy, who had been permitted to stay while he was apprenticed at the garage. Billy was not likely to visit his superior. Could it be Andy? Certainly Minnie would not dare to visit the men's side. Bates listened but heard only Thomas' voice. He tapped the door lightly with Old Ram while he clutched the tray with his other hand. "Mr Barrow?" No response. He tapped the door again. "I'm carrying a tray. Won't one of you open the door?"

Bates heard Thomas deliver a strained, "Be quiet!" to his visitor.

"Mr Barrow, I'm going to open the door." Bates opened the door and glanced about the room. Thomas was alone. Bates set down the tray and closed the door. "You're a bit young to be talking to yourself, aren't you, little brother?" he teased lightly. Bates understood that idiosyncrasy. He himself had been discovered by Anna on two separate occasions arguing passionately in their bedroom with an invisible combatant.

Thomas was lying on top of his bed covers staring at the Churchill painting that hung on the wall over his small writing desk. He was wearing the suit he had worn into the village that morning. Thomas was not the type to be careless with his clothing. Perhaps he truly was ill. Bates sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on Thomas' forehead. "You don't have a fever. Have you slept?"

"I'm a man," Thomas asserted.

"I didn't think you were the March Hare."

"You think I'm mad as a March hare!"

"That's not what I said, Pooh. I said ..." Bates shook his head. It was useless to argue with Thomas while he was in a mood. He removed Thomas' shoes and stood. "You'll sleep better if you undress and lie under the covers."

Thomas was silent.

"Stand up, Pooh." Thomas stood without argument, which surprised Bates. He was neither cooperative nor hostile. He simply allowed Bates to take care of him. Bates changed Thomas into his pyjamas and pulled back the bed covers. "Eat your dinner and get a good night's sleep. Sleep as late as you like in the morning. Andy's agreed to work a full day tomorrow."

Thomas remained silent and stared at the dinner tray.

"Right. Enjoy your dinner, little brother." Bates carried Thomas' suit downstairs for pressing. He'll be more himself in the morning.


The next morning

Thomas Barrow's Room

Thomas did not appear at breakfast. Bates dressed Lord Grantham, as usual, and waited in the kitchen until Mrs Patmore was able to prepare a breakfast tray for Thomas.

Bates laboured up the stairs with the tray and Old Ram. He did not knock on the chance that Thomas was sleeping. "Mr Barrow," he called softly. There was no answer, so Bates opened the door. It took a moment for him to comprehend what he was seeing. The contents of Thomas' wardrobe had been thrown on the floor. Bates set down the tray and closed the door. He opened the wardrobe and inside found the Churchill painting and last night's dinner tray. The food appeared to be untouched.

Thomas was sitting on the floor in his pyjamas, huddled between the wall and the bed. He was staring at Bates and holding his hands over his ears. Bates struggled to remain calm. He pulled one of Thomas' hands away from his ear. "Come sit with me, Pooh." Bates sat on the edge of the bed and held out his hand. Thomas took his hand and pulled himself to his feet. He sat next to Bates, and Bates draped his arm around Thomas' shoulders. Bates did not know how to begin. "I don't know what to do, Pooh. Won't you tell me what's wrong?" Thomas did not respond. Bates knew all of Thomas' moods, but this was not a mood. This was something else.

"Why is the painting in the wardrobe?"

"He wouldn't stop talking.

"Who wouldn't?"

"The boy in the boat."

Bates felt his body go numb. "The boy in the painting spoke to you?"

"He won't shut up."

Bates' mind raced. Was this a temporary condition? If Bates asked Dr Clarkson for advice, would the doctor commit Thomas to an asylum? Could Bates prevent it? He had no legal rights where Thomas was concerned.

Thomas leaned his head on Bates' shoulder. "I'm tired."

"Did you sleep last night?" Silence. "You didn't eat. Am I right?" Silence. Bates took hold of Thomas' chin. "You have to eat something. Do you know what will happen if you don't?" Silence. Bates knew what would happen. He had seen it in prison when a convict went on a hunger strike. He watched as the man was restrained and force fed. It was dreadful.

If Bates could not convince Thomas to eat, he would have no choice but to ask Dr Clarkson for help. Bates could not bear the thought of Thomas being force fed. The convict had made a choice and suffered the consequences he knew were inevitable. Thomas could not comprehend the choice he was making. He would be terrified.

Bates walked around the bed and retrieved a glass of milk from the breakfast tray. He held out the glass to Thomas. "Drink this," he commanded. Thomas stared blankly at the wall. Bates held the glass to Thomas' lips, but Thomas did not respond. Bates held Thomas nose, and when he opened his mouth, Bates poured in the milk. Thomas leapt to his feet and spat out the milk. Bates grabbed him by the hair, pulled back his head, and poured in more milk. "There's nothing wrong with your gullet! Swallow, damn it!" Again, Thomas spat out the milk and waved his arms wildly. Bates let go of Thomas' hair and watched him sputter. He slapped Thomas' cheek hard. Thomas was stunned and stood with his mouth open. Bates immediately locked his arm around Thomas' neck and poured in the last of the milk. Thomas choked and coughed and fell to his knees as the milk dribbled down his chin. Bates threw the empty glass at the wall in disgust and it shattered where the painting had been.

Bates sat heavily on the bed. Thomas remained on his knees, and Bates took hold of his shoulder with a viselike grip. "I'll tell you what's going to happen," he began grimly. They'll strap you to a chair or a bed. They'll take a long tube and force it down your nose to your stomach, or maybe they'll put a steel piece in your mouth to hold it open so they can force the tube down your throat. They'll use a funnel to pour some slop down the tube and hold you there until it's absorbed. Then they'll pull out the tube slowly while you gag."

Thomas clutched Bates' legs and dropped his head to Bates' lap. "Don't let them!"

Bates felt a glimmer of hope. He stroked Thomas' hair. "I can't stop them unless you eat. Will you eat, Pooh?"

"It's not safe."

"What do you mean?" Bates pulled himself free from Thomas and walked to the breakfast tray. He lifted the cloche from the plate of scrambled eggs and sausage that Mrs Patmore had sent to improve Thomas' constitution.

Before Bates knew what was happening, Thomas screamed, "Don't!" and knocked the plate to the floor.

"What the hell are you doing!" demanded Bates.

"It's poison! Minnie wants to poison me!"

Bates opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself. How could he argue with a delusion? He saw that Thomas was holding his hand away from his body. "What happened? Did you burn your hand on the plate?"

"I touched the food! My hand's turning green!"

Bates saw the fear in Thomas' eyes. "Let's take a look in the light. Perhaps it's not so bad." He slipped his arm around Thomas' shoulders and pulled him toward the window. He made a show of carefully inspecting Thomas' hand. "It was only a shadow that made your hand green. It's fine, Pooh." Thomas dropped into a chair and gingerly rested his hand in his lap.

"Listen to me, Pooh. Minnie was serving breakfast to the family when Mrs Patmore prepared your tray. She hasn't been near this food." Bates poured a small amount of tea into a cup and stirred to cool it. He took a sip. "See. No poison. Now you take a sip." He held out the cup to Thomas who took a small sip. Bates wanted to cry with relief. He took a piece of toast, dipped a corner in the tea, and took a bite. "Now you." He dipped another corner in the tea and held it out to Thomas who obediently took a bite.

"They won't bring the tube?"

"Not as long as you eat, Pooh." Bates and Thomas shared what was salvageable from the breakfast tray.

It took Bates more than an hour to restore order to the room and to change Thomas out of his milk-drenched pyjamas to a fresh pair. Now Thomas was tucked under the covers with Bates at his side. "I'm sorry about the milk, Pooh. I'm sorry I hit you."

"So they won't bring the tube."

"That's right. I did it so they won't bring the tube." Thomas understood. Perhaps he was not as far gone as Bates had thought.

"I'm tired." Thomas rolled onto his side and took hold of the pocket flap on Bates coat.

"I have to go downstairs, Pooh. We can't both disappear. I'll bring you a lunch tray later straight from Mrs Patmore, and we'll share it, same as before."

"I'm mad as a March hare."

"Don't say that."

"I'm tired."

"Close your eyes then." Thomas closed his eyes but kept his grip on Bates' pocket. Bates fondly smoothed Thomas' hair away from his face. It did not matter that Thomas had pulled him from the river. It did not matter that Thomas had taught him to have bigger dreams for his children. It mattered only that he had learned to love this young man who seemed unable to find his way in spite of reforming himself. Bates closed his hand over the hand that gripped his coat pocket. Help me, Rose. You gave him to me, and I don't know what to do.