Chapter 79: SIR THOMAS

Later that morning

The Bench Near The Bates Cottage

Thomas was standing behind the bench and staring at the cottage. "What if Anna needs us?"

Bates chuckled. "Sit down, Pooh. This is one time Anna has no use for us." Thomas sat and watched as Bates rhythmically tapped the rim of his shoe with Old Ram.

"John ...?"

"Yes?"

"I can never be a father."

This was the first time Thomas had ever mentioned his infertility, and it caught Bates off guard. "I know, Pooh. I'm sorry." Bates gave Thomas' hand a squeeze. Perhaps the birth of his child was intensifying Thomas' sense of loss.

"Do you think it's a punishment?" asked Thomas.

"What?"

"Am I being punished for the kind of man I was?"

Bates was shocked. "Certainly not! Do you think my walking with a cane is a punishment?"

"That's different," Thomas answered softly. "That was war."

"None of us is a saint, little brother. Should we all be punished?"

Thomas stared at his shoes and shrugged.

"How old were you when we met, little brother ... nineteen?"

"Yes."

"A boy of nineteen. And what did I do?"

"I don't know."

"I bullied you."

"No, John ... I was the bully."

"We were a couple of bullies, then, but I was in my thirties and knew better. I shouldn't have let you bait me. I should have tried to be a friend to you."

"I wouldn't have let you."

"We'll never know, will we. I didn't even try." Bates began to tap his shoe again.

"John ...?"

"Yes?"

"Am I as mad as a March hare?"

Bates searched Thomas' face for a hint that he was teasing but was disappointed. "I won't lie to you, Pooh. I thought I had lost you, and it was frightening. Yet here you sit, speaking to me as sanely as any man." Bates kept his thoughts to himself. This solemn, tentative man is not my Thomas. Where's my mischievous little brother?

"Then you believe I'm sane?"

"Yes," Bates answered truthfully. "Not fully recovered but as sane as I am."

"John, your family means a great deal to me."

Bates met Thomas' gaze. "It means a great deal to hear you say it, little brother."

"I have money now, John. I have that inheritance."

Bates laughed. "I know, Pooh. All you need is a title. Sir Thomas."

"John, your children are to be my heirs."

Bates was not prepared for this turn of conversation. "I don't know what to say, Pooh ... but ... you don't need to decide that now. You're a young man."

"Anything can happen, John. Think of my mother ... my sister ... Lady Sybil ..." Bates watched as Thomas suddenly leapt to his feet and ran to the cottage.


Thomas threw open the cottage door in time to hear Anna's groan from the bedroom. He knew that sound ... the sound of a contraction. He bit his lip and waited. When he thought sufficient time had passed, he called through the bedroom door, "Are you coming along?"

Thomas pressed his ear to the door and heard Anna's reply, "Yes, Thomas." Thomas knew she was addressing him more formally because Lady Merton and Dr Clarkson were there.

"Strawberries, Anna," he called, hoping she would understand.

"Strawberries, Thomas."


A while later

Thomas and Bates were seated at the table, attending to Anna's mending while they waited. Bates was reattaching the lining of a dinner jacket, and Thomas was repairing an open seam in a shirt. Thomas was not as adept as Anna or Bates, whose jobs required them to sew most days, but he endeavoured to produce uniform stitches. He wanted Anna to be pleased.

The bedroom door opened without ceremony, and Dr Clarkson stepped into the parlour. "Mr Bates, I believe your daughter would like to meet you."

"A daughter! Did you hear that, Pooh? You were right!" Bates clapped Thomas on the back and hurried into the bedroom.

"Dr Clarkson, is Anna all right?" Thomas asked anxiously.

"She's fine, Mr Barrow." The doctor smiled. "The baby's almost as big as her mother, but Mrs Bates is a determined woman."

Lady Merton poked her head out the door. "Anna is asking for you, Barrow."

Thomas allowed Lady Merton to pass and stepped inside the bedroom. He paused at the door. Bates had kicked off his shoes and was sitting against the headboard with his arm around Anna. The baby was on Anna's lap. Suddenly Thomas knew himself to be an interloper. "Shall I bring you anything, Anna?" he asked, looking for an excuse to leave the couple alone to enjoy their little girl.

"Yes. Bring yourself over here to meet your niece, sweetheart."

Thomas hesitated. Perhaps Anna was only being polite.

"Pooh, don't keep my little darling waiting," chided Bates.

Thomas tiptoed to the bed and peeked at the baby. She was much larger than Timothy had been. "She's a hardy thing, isn't she?"

"That she is," boasted Bates.

Thomas studied the baby more closely. She had Bates' dark hair and thoughtful hazel eyes. When he met the baby's gaze, he was mesmerized. She exuded an intelligence he had never seen in a baby. "What's her name?"

"Emilia Quinn Bates," answered Anna. "Emilia was my grandmother's name."

"And Quinn was my mother's name," added Bates. "You would have liked my mother, Pooh. She was a kind woman and clever too. She taught me to waltz."

"She must have been clever," remarked Thomas. Bates laughed heartily, but Thomas didn't know why.


Patient Record: Thomas Barrow

Wednesday, June 8:

10.00 am phone conversation - patient's brother.

Patient speaks normally. Initiates limited casual conversation. Excited by birth of niece yesterday. Carried infant. Recited nursery rhymes. Sang songs. Spoke to infant about future plans. Asked brother to bring home his notebook - patient contemplating a return to work?

Extreme anxieties persist. Slept all night on floor next to cradle - possible reaction to anxiety over sister-in-law's well-being during childbirth? Still refuses to light a fire or use razor.


That afternoon

The Dower House

Timothy watched as Sybbie gave George a boost so he could strike the doorknocker. The Dower House was not as large as the Abbey. It was more of a tiny castle. Perhaps a tiny king would come to the door.

The door was opened not by a tiny king but by an ordinary man. The man scowled and left the three children by the door while he disappeared into the house. Timothy wanted to run back to the Abbey until Sybbie whispered, "The butler's a bit unpleasant, but you'll like Granny."

The butler returned, still scowling. "Follow me." Timothy took giant steps to keep up with the others. The butler opened the door to a room where two women were sitting. Timothy thought that this must be a milady house, a house where the women who lived upstairs were to be addressed as milady. The Abbey was a milady house, and Nanny had drilled Timothy regularly until he could say milady correctly.

Sybbie took care of the greetings. "Good afternoon, Granny, Cousin Isobel." Timothy stared at Granny. He had never seen so many wrinkles.

Timothy stood quietly while Granny gave him the once over. "This is a surprise, Sybbie. Won't you have a seat?" She turned to the butler. "Spratt, kindly bring some milk and biscuits for the children."

George and Sybbie hoisted Timothy onto the sofa and sat on either side of him. "I beg your pardon, Granny," apologized Sybbie. "I forgot the introductions."

"Yes you did, my dear. No matter. You'll improve with practice. You may proceed."

"Granny, Cousin Isobel, may I have the pleasure of introducing Timothy Bates. He's Mr Bates' son."

Granny nodded slightly. "How do you do, Timothy."

Cousin Isobel smiled. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Timothy."

Timothy bobbed his head up and down. "Milady, milady, milady, milady!"

Granny turned to Cousin Isobel. "I approve of a young man with proper manners."

Cousin Isobel smiled. "Indeed."

Granny turned her attention to Sybbie. "That was a promising beginning, my dear. In the future, you may introduce me as Lady Grantham and Cousin Isobel as Lady Merton. Now tell me, is this a social call?"

"Oh no, Granny," replied Sybbie. "We're here on business."

"Business?"

Sybbie pointed to the badge that Timothy was wearing. She and George had cut it from cardboard and pinned it to Timothy's shirt that morning. Timothy held it out proudly so Granny and Cousin Isobel could get a closer look. "Timothy became a big brother, yesterday."

"He's collecting the big brother tax, Granny," added George. He held out the box he had been carrying for Timothy.

Cousin Isobel laughed. "I recall giving George a red pencil last year when Katherine was born. Barrow put him up to this tax business."

Granny nodded. "That sounds like Barrow."

Spratt returned and set a tray on the table. The tray held three glasses of milk and a platter of exquisitely iced biscuits. Timothy was dazzled. "Danku!"

"He means thank you, Spratt," interpreted Sybbie.

Spratt ignored the children and addressed Granny. "Will that be all, milady?" he asked. Timothy noticed that the butler did not scowl in front of Granny.

"Ask Denker to bring me my button box. She knows where it is." Granny nodded towards the tray. "You may help yourself, children."

Sybbie spread a napkin on Timothy's lap and handed him a small plate. She held up the platter and Timothy carefully selected the most lavishly iced biscuit and placed it in the centre of his plate to admire. "Danku."

"Timothy, did your mother give you a brother or a sister?" inquired Granny politely.

"Sis, milady."

"A lovely little thing," commented Cousin Isobel. "I assisted with the delivery."

"Of course you did," replied Granny.

Timothy did not think his sister was especially lovely. The biscuit on his plate was much lovelier.

"What is your sister's name, Timothy?"

"Emmy, milady."

"Emilia Quinn," clarified Sybbie.

Sybbie picked up her biscuit and nodded to Timothy as she took a bite. Timothy thought it was a shame to eat something so beautiful, but it had to be done. He picked up his biscuit and took a bite, holding his plate underneath to catch any crumbs as Nanny had taught him. He held the bite in his mouth until the sweet icing melted and oozed onto his tongue. It was delightful!

Timothy happily enjoyed his biscuit while Sybbie, and occasionally George, kept up the conversation with Granny and Cousin Isobel. When Timothy's plate was empty, Sybbie took it and replaced it with a glass of milk. Timothy gripped the glass tightly with both hands and took small sips as he had been taught.

Soon a woman appeared and handed a small wooden box to Granny. "Thank you, Denker." Granny opened the box and removed two large buttons. "I believe this will satisfy my debt," she declared as she dropped the buttons into the box George held.

"Danku, milady!"

"They look like medals!" exclaimed George.

"They're only buttons from my husband's uniform," explained Granny. "Even a mere button was more splendid in my day."


Friday, early afternoon

The Bates Cottage

Thomas loved this time of day at the cottage. He would sit on the edge of the bed and gaze at Bates for a few peaceful moments before waking him gently for lunch. First he would trace the crinkle lines next to Bates' eyes. How Thomas loved those lines. Then he would trace down Bates' cheek to his mouth. He traced with his fingers but imagined using his lips.

Bates would open his eyes and lay quietly for a bit. Sometimes he would smile, deepening the crinkles and making Thomas' heart sing. Then he would toss back the bed covers and the spell would be broken.

"How was your morning, Pooh?" asked Bates while he pulled on his trousers.

"I change the baby's nappies now."

"Do you?" Bates wanted to be a modern father, but he was as likely to change nappies as he was to breastfeed. He had never changed Timothy and expected to repeat that accomplishment with Emilia. Still, he was glad that Thomas was making life easier for Anna.

"John ...?"

"Mmm ...?"

"Do you think Emilia dislikes me?"

"Why in heaven's name would you think that, Pooh."

"When I pick her up and I talk or sing, she's fine. But when I kiss her cheek, she cries. She doesn't cry when you or Anna kiss her."

Bates laughed and patted Thomas' cheek. "That's because we don't have iskies, Sir Thomas!"