CHAPTER 95: HOW DO I BEGIN?
Early that evening
Thomas Barrow's Bedroom
Maison de Bennett
Sensations dragged Thomas to awareness ... the fiery pain across his upper arm ... the pounding over his left eye ... his sweaty skin sticking to the sheets ... an ice cold cloth over his eyes. Bates' insistent voice beckoned to him as the cloth was removed, and Thomas opened his eyes. He found Bates sitting on the edge of the bed with Brouette standing at his elbow. Bates draped the cloth over the edge of a bowl sitting on the nightstand. "Put it back. Put it over my eyes," pleaded Thomas.
"We have business, Pooh."
"But it's so hot."
Bates gazed at Thomas for a moment and then responded with that enigmatic half smile of his. He dipped his hand in the bowl and withdrew it clutching a large ice chip. He ran the chip across Thomas' forehead and down his neck, then up the inside of one arm, over his chest, and down the inside of his other arm.
An unfamiliar hum drew Thomas' attention. He turned his head and saw that a fan had been set up near the window. The room was stifling in spite of the fan, but Bates' ice made him shiver. When the chip was reduced to water, Thomas touched Bates' cold fingertips. A smile tried to find its way around Thomas' swollen lip. "Mama Bear."
"Do you hear that, Brouette? I'm a mama bear. Last week I was an old goat."
"My little brother used to call me mon petit chef indien," responded Brouette. "It means my little indian chief."
"At least indian chief carries some dignity," observed Bates.
Brouette nodded to Thomas. "And that's from the man who calls you Pooh."
Bates and Brouette laughed, and Thomas laughed, too, pressing his hand to his ribs to keep them still.
How bad is the pain now, Pooh?"
Thomas shrugged.
"The laudanum has worn off, but Dr Sauvé said you'll feel much better by this time tomorrow." Bates smoothed back Thomas' hair. "Let's take care of business, Pooh. Tell me whose house this is."
The infernal concussion questions. "Lady Bennett's."
"Good. Do you know what time it is?"
Thomas thought for a moment. "You said it was 6.00 when the doctor was here again, so it must be 8.00 now." Thomas glanced at the window. "8.00 at night."
"That's fine, Pooh. Do you want anything? Brouette has a summer pudding, if you'd like."
Thomas glanced at Brouette and gestured to Bates to move closer. Bates leaned in, and Thomas whispered, "Would you do the ice again?"
"Whatever you want, Pooh." Bates dipped his hand in the bowl and found a suitable chip that he ran over Thomas' exposed skin. "Better?" asked Bates.
"Better," replied Thomas as he closed his eyes and drifted away from awareness.
Early the next morning
It was almost 4.00, and Brouette was carrying a fresh bowl of ice to the bedroom along with scrambled eggs under a cloche. Every two hours the routine had been the same. Thomas resisted being roused, and Bates gently eased him into the here and now, pressing him to answer concussion questions. Thomas did his best, bouncing between coherence and confusion. Then he ate a few bites of whatever Brouette offered or took a few sips of lemonade or relieved himself or asked if his ladies were safe from Giroux or if Lord Bennett's cuff links had been returned. Sometimes Bates changed a bandage or applied more salve. But the last thing was always the same. Thomas asked Bates to, "Do the ice."
While Thomas slept, Bates and Brouette sat and talked quietly or played cards or had a bite to eat or rested their eyes. Twice, Thomas was awakened by a dream that the kidnappers still had him tied up. Both times, he opened his eyes, saw Bates, and returned easily to sleep.
This was going to be the last time Bates would have to wake Thomas. Brouette opened the bedroom door to find Bates preparing the prescribed dose of laudanum.
Bates took the bowl from Brouette and pushed a clean facecloth into the ice. "I'm not looking forward to this."
Brouette understood. After two days with no sleep, Thomas was becoming more and more agitated at being awakened. "At least this will be the last time."
"Thank god for that," agreed Bates. "I don't like being the villain."
Brouette watched as the established routine unfolded. Bates wrung out the facecloth and draped it over Thomas' eyes. As Thomas stirred, Bates called his name and urged him to open his eyes. Thomas flailed his arms, but Bates was ready and easily dodged the wild swings. When Thomas finally opened his eyes, Bates leaned closer. Brouette knew that Bates was checking Thomas' pupils, as the hospital doctor had instructed. The pupils must be the same size.
Thomas looked up at Bates, but instead of shouting or pushing Bates away or rolling away as he had before, he began to cry. Brouette could see that Bates had not been prepared for that possibility and was shaken. Bates leaned close to Thomas' ear. "Please don't, Pooh. I can't bear it. You only have to answer the questions once more, and then you may have the laudanum and sleep as long as you like. I won't let anyone wake you."
"I can't," Thomas choked.
"It's too much for him, Monsieur Bates. Must he answer the questions?"
"We must do as the doctor ordered."
Thomas pulled the sheet over his head. "Let me be."
Brouette watched Bates coo and cajole until Thomas was calm. Bates dabbed Thomas' eyes with the facecloth and asked Brouette to help Thomas sit up.
"I can't be polite," warned Thomas.
"Indeed," replied Brouette, not knowing what else to say. He looked at Bates, who gave him a wink.
"No one's asking you for manners, Pooh. Answer my questions, and I'll give you the laudanum. Think how much better you'll feel the next time you wake up."
"I don't want to wake up. I want to sleep!" Thomas complained.
"The questions first, Pooh. Do you remember what you were doing before Giroux drugged you?"
Thomas was silent, and Brouette thought it cruel to insist on an answer. But Thomas found his second wind, as he always did. "I was waiting for Ella at that American bar. We were going to meet Josephine Baker. John! Josephine Baker! She's still waiting! Put on your coat and find her! Tell her I'm not coming!"
"Calm yourself, Pooh. She's known since that first night. Ella told her."
"She's not coming here, is she? I'm not dressed. John! Someone took my pyjamas!"
"No, Monsieur Barrow. You chose to sleep without pyjamas because of the rash. I brought you Pears soap. Remember?"
Thomas stared at Brouette.
"Do you remember that, Pooh?"
"I remember ... but ... John ... do I speak French?"
"What?" Bates looked from Thomas to Brouette. "No, Pooh. Brouette speaks English."
"Oh."
"But you're going to learn French, Monsieur Barrow. You told me so."
"Did you, Pooh? Do you remember?"
"Yes, but ... I can't learn it today!"
"No one expects that, Pooh. I have one last question for you. What are the names of the children?" Bates always said the children to Thomas, never my children.
Thomas thought for a moment. "Timothy and Emilia. And you're Bonnie John."
"That's fine, Pooh."
"And Emilia's going to be a doctor."
"Not that again!"
"Did you see that one of the doctors at the hospital was a woman?"
"I saw, and I was shocked." Bates picked up the laudanum. "I would never undress for a lady doctor."
"But you expect Anna to undress for a male doctor."
Bates didn't answer.
"Don't you?"
"I've never thought of it that way, Pooh. I should have, I suppose, but I haven't." Bates handed the laudanum preparation to Thomas. "But that doesn't mean my little darling wants to be a doctor. Do you think you know her better than I do?"
"Yes. I've changed her nappies." With that summation, Thomas drank the laudanum.
Bates laughed. "Perhaps we can settle this when she's a bit older. Is there anything you want? Brouette's brought some scrambled eggs."
"No, I want to sleep."
Brouette helped Thomas lie down and adjusted his pillow.
"Brouette's promised to keep out the housemaids today so you can sleep in peace. I'm sending Brouette off to bed in a bit. Listen to me, Pooh. I have to sleep, too, but I'm afraid I won't hear you from the dressing room if you need me. I'm going to sleep in here with you."
"Mmhmm."
"Do you understand me, Pooh? You don't mind, do you? This is a large bed. You won't even know I'm here."
"I understand. Mama Bear wants to guard her cub."
Bates chuckled. "That's right, Pooh."
"But you'll wake me when Josephine Baker comes? I'll want to dress."
"Yes, Pooh. We'll wake you."
"Do the ice, John."
Brouette watched as Bates obliged. "Bonnie John? Interesting."
Bates waggled a warning finger at Brouette. "Not another word."
Late that morning
Bates was sleeping soundly when a noise startled him. He opened his eyes to find Thomas sitting up and wild-eyed. "Pooh, what's wrong?"
"I need my clothes!"
"They're in the chest of drawers. I'll get them."
"No! I don't need your help!" Thomas stood and wobbled for a moment.
"Please, Pooh. You may be lightheaded still."
"Leave me alone!" Thomas steadied himself and walked to the chest of drawers. He pulled the top drawer from the chest with his right hand and dumped its contents on the bed. He found a pyjama bottom and stepped into one leg, but he miscalculated with the other and fell onto the bed. He lay on the bed for a moment clutching his ribs.
"Let me help you."
"No!" Thomas stood and pulled on his other pyjama leg. He tried to tie the waist, but he was clumsy without the use of his left hand.
"I'll do it."
Thomas sat heavily on the bed and allowed Bates to secure the ties. "I'm sorry, John. I don't know what came over me."
Bates could see that Thomas' hands were trembling. He picked up the empty drawer and returned it to the chest. "What was it? Another dream? Did you dream that the kidnappers had you?"
"No. I dreamed of someone who had me confined a long time ago."
"Who was that?"
"My employer before Downton."
Bates was appalled. "Do you mean your employer tied you up?"
"What? No, John. He had no need to resort to that."
Bates picked up the clock. "It's almost 11.00. I can give you another half dose of laudanum if you feel you need it."
"No, I don't want to risk it. I'll switch to aspirin."
"Good." Bates poured some water from the pitcher and gave it to Thomas with the aspirin. "You're looking much better. The swelling's less noticeable, especially around your lip."
Thomas gave Bates' sleeve a small yank. "I'm sorry I woke you, John."
"No one can help their dreams, Pooh. Do you want your pyjama top?"
"No, it's too hot ... unless you prefer that I wear it."
"It doesn't matter to me."
Thomas returned to his side of the bed as Bates folded the clothes and returned them to the drawer. "John, can't we turn the fan directly towards us?"
"Better not. Brouette says that's a good way to catch cold."
"Too bad."
Bates settled on his side of the bed.
"John ...?"
"Mmm?"
Thomas rolled onto his uninjured side to face Bates. "If we truly had been brothers, would you have saved me?"
"Saved you?"
"From my employer."
"Did you need saving?"
"Yes."
Bates rolled to face Thomas. When Thomas' hair was mussed, it was easy to imagine him as a boy ... a boy with a toothy grin too large for his face ... a mischievous boy, but a sweet boy. Save the boy or the man won't survive.
"That's all right, John. It was a stupid question."
"It wasn't stupid, Pooh. I want to answer you as honestly as I can. You've forgotten that I was a drunkard then and couldn't help myself, let alone someone else. But I want to believe that if you had been my little brother, I would have been inspired to be more of a man ... to set a proper example for you."
Thomas smiled and rolled onto his back.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you."
"I know."
Bates studied Thomas as he stared at the ceiling. Thomas' bare chest was exposed, and his chest hair was dark, straight, and orderly. Just like the man, thought Bates. Bates touched his own chest hair peeping out from his pyjama top. His chest hair was lighter in colour, curly, and a bit wild. Just like the man. He chuckled at his own joke.
"What's funny?"
"Nothing. I was only thinking what a cute cub you are."
"Damn right!"
"Pooh, what did you mean when you said that your employer confined you?"
Thomas rolled again to face Bates. "John, you know I won't talk about that."
"I know."
"Then why are you asking?"
"Because you need to tell someone, Pooh."
"I have. I've told Dr Clarkson."
"I can imagine how that went."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm guessing you were the same with Dr Clarkson as you were when you gave your statement to Inspector Martel."
"And how's that?"
"Cold. Impersonal."
"So?"
Bates reached over and smoothed back Thomas' hair. "I'm working this out in my own head, mind you, so it may be jumbled."
"Go on."
"You have to let young Thomas tell his side of the story."
"I don't understand, John. There's no difference between my side as a boy and my side now."
"When you talked to Dr Clarkson, it was you, the man, speaking the way a man does, especially a British man. But young Thomas went straight from the employer who misused him to Downton, and you never allowed him to say what he had suffered. You never gave him a chance to be angry or to cry." Bates placed his hand on Thomas' chest. "You've kept young Thomas trapped in here, and he's affected every aspect of your life. I saw it when we first met, but I didn't understand it then."
"You want me to cry?"
"I want you to let young Thomas tell his story without detaching yourself."
"I thought you didn't believe in psychology."
"The older I am, the less certain I am of my beliefs."
Thomas rolled onto his back with Bates' hand still pressed against his chest. He placed his own hand over Bates'. "I know you're trying to help me, John, but I don't see it the same way."
"Listen, Pooh. Two days ago, you were in the hands of kidnappers and came close to losing your life. Yet when you dreamed about it and woke up, you were perfectly calm. But when you dreamed about young Thomas' life and woke, you became hysterical."
"I wasn't hysterical."
"Fine. Then let's say you were significantly more disturbed than you were by the other dreams."
Bates retrieved his hand, and the two men were quiet for a time. Thomas broke the silence. "Do you truly believe what you said?"
"Yes."
"You won't laugh if I try?"
"Certainly not."
"And you won't tell Anna?"
"This is strictly between us, Pooh."
"How do I begin?"
