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***Chapter 19***
Sheila O'Hara, Master George's Nanny, was a striking girl with mischievous green eyes and flame-red hair who spoke with an Irish lilt that was almost musical. Often she would regale young George with a lullaby from the Emerald Isle, and it brightened the darkest of moods on the coldest of winter mornings when any servant who rose far too early than any human being should have to rise (so could such mutterings be heard when a fire must be lit or an oven started) happened to catch a snatch of a song, for Miss O'Hara could carry a tune very well indeed.
Sheila was a lively, blunt-spoken chatterbox. And a very modern miss.
"Ah, why would I be needing to make my own clothes now? I can sew on a button, so I can, and the shops sell ready made frocks these days," she laughed when Miss Baxter offered to pass on her dressmaking skills. But apart from being quite coquettish, for which she was frequently reprimanded, she could be pleasant enough when she chose to be and perhaps at some time or other every man at Downtown, from Lord Grantham himself down to the newest errand boy, had been captivated by her charm.
Even Mr Bates, happily married to Anna and looking forward to the birth of their first child, had been known to say something "right saucy, and him old enough to be her father, too!" as Mrs Patmore described it in stirring the gossip pot later - though Mrs Patmore could find offence in the most innocent of comments and Mr Bates delivered his right saucy comment in such a manner that, hatter than take offence at her husband's supposed flirting, it made his wife laugh and slap his arm in amusement. There was, however, one man who remained unimpressed by Miss O'Hara.
Thomas and Sheila abhorred one another.
"Sure, I cannot understand why you are friends with that...that creature, I cannot," she told Miss Baxter in her forthright manner.
"I've known Mr Barrow for a long time. He's not quite as bad as he would have everyone believe," Phyllis replied, smiling her quiet smile and pickng up her sewing work again. It had been easier than she anticipated to make the acquaintance of Miss O'Hara, as Thomas, blackmailing her with the threat of revealing her criminal past, instructed her to. The Irish lass loved company and loved talking, and, unlike previous nannies who tended not to mix with other household staff, would regularly pop down to the servants' quarters to chat when Master George was with his mother, Lady Mary. Although, in truth, the biggest attraction for Sheila was the chance to flirt.
Being warned about her behaviour by both the butler and the housekeeper did nothing to deter the headstrong young Nanny. Neither did Miss Baxter advising her it could lead to her damaging her reputation as well as losing her position.
"If you can't get through to her, who can?" The housekeeper, Elsie Carson nee Hughes, told Phyllis only yesterday. "Please, Miss Baxter, could you try again? Mr Carson and I are reluctant to see Miss O'Hara dismissed, but..." She shook her head sadly at the inevitable. Other than her own husband, and perhaps Mrs Bates, there was no-one else she would have confided in over such matters.
But Miss Baxter was very much trusted by all now, the servants having long since revised their earlier opinion of guilty by association - for they assumed any friend of Thomas Barrow's to be of the same ilk - and she quickly made friends. Not because Thomas stipulated she should in order for the plan to succeed, but because, being kind, empathetic. and helpful, she always made friends easily.
Even Miss O'Hara, who declared she had "no time for old folk and their old-fashioned ways" sought out the older woman's company. Unlike the other young staff, however, who were in awe of the more senior and deferred to their greater experience in life, Miss O'Hara had a firm opinion on everything. Including Thomas Barrow.
"Well, I'll never let that sexual deviant near Master George," she continued. "You cannot trust the likes not to touch children."
Phyllis was beyond horrified by the shocking implication. "Mr Barrow would never harm a child, Miss O'Hara" she said sternly, recovering herself. "He is homosexual, not sexually deviant."
"All the same thing," Sheila declared with a defiant toss of her fiery red curls.
A twinge of understanding at Thomas's fury with the world twisted Miss Baxter's heart. To be treated with contempt because some believed homosexuality to be a sin was bad enough. To be regarded as someone who would do something terrible to a child because he was homosexual would have cut him to the quick.
He was a child himself, twelve or thirteen when first she met him, and already he had a natural affinity with younger children.
She recollected how once, curious about a babble of eager voices, she peeped inside a yard and saw some nine or ten street urchins, dirty and ragged, several barefoot and all malnourished, gathered around the older and taller Thomas, who was busy distributing sweets. Phyllis knew he had no money – he remarked to her that very morning how unfair it was that his father gave his brother Ben a penny or tuppence pocket money while he received nothing but blows – but she also knew he had met Paul Latham, because he earlier confided in her about their tryst, and that Paul, being much wealthier than his friend, regularly bought him cakes or sweets, for Thomas had a very sweet tooth. She watched as the large bag filled with everything he loved, from aniseed balls to wine gums, was quickly emptied and the crowd reluctantly dispersed.
"That was very generous of you, Thomas." While Kate and others called him Tommy or Tom, Phyllis alone gave him his full title. There was something even then about the proud way he carried himself despite being scorned for showing a tendency towards homosexuality and considered unnatural by his own father, who tried to beat the "disease" out of him
He looked up in surprise, embarrassed to see her there. Then, as now, he hated anyone knowing he hid a softer side. "It was bloody stupid. I hate snotty-nosed brats pestering me. Just did it to get rid of them. I won't do it again."
Thomas was the only person who believed he was fooling anyone. Because they both knew he didn't mean what he said and he would.
And children still knew he would champion them.
Master George would hold out his arms to be carried by the under-butler, but Miss O'Hara would immediately hurry the toddler away. Until the young Nanny revealed the real reason she did so, Miss Baxter imagined it was simply because it was not considered proper for any servants other than their nurses to care for the Downton children.
Miss Marigold, whom some of the domestic staff suspected to mean much more to Lady Edith than her adopted ward, was another child who took a shine to Thomas. The little girl, unused to the splendour of Downton Abbey, with its dozens of servants and beautiful chandeliers and arches decorated with marble columns, was overwhelmed and would smile shyly at Thomas as if hoping he would rescue her. It reminded Phyllis of the way his younger brother would turn to him for help, knowing Thomas would always look out for him, fighting off his bullies, lifting him to safety over a wall and away from an aggressive dog, carrying him home for Kate to tend to after he fell and broke his ankle, despite Ben being a constant thorn in Thomas's side who would betray him to the other boys who regularly beat him up for being a "fairy", despite Thomas's claim to despise him.
Mr Barrow was still very much disliked by adults, however, although not always for his homosexuality. Some, such as Anna Bates, Elsie Carson and Phyllis, had no such prejudice. But he deliberately made himself unlikeable with his acid tongue and malicious scheming. Few, if any, would spare him the time of day.
Mr Molesley, as Miss Baxter had come to know the kindly, clumsy gentleman who was most solicitous her first evening at Downton Abbey, held him in very low esteem. "You did not seem happy in Mr Barrow's company yesterday and it concerned me," he remarked, having espied them whispering together, though Thomas deliberately kept their meetings short to give the impression they were discussing work matters. "It's as if - please forgive me, Miss Baxter, if am overstepping boundaries and offend - he has some kind of hold over you."
It was so close to the mark that Phyllis involuntarily shuddered. If anyone discovered her terrible secret, that she stole jewellery from her previous employer and was jailed for it, Thomas may well carry out his threat of revealing her secret and she would lose her home and her livelihood.
"Thank you for your concern, Mr Molesley. I am not offended but your misgivings are wholly unnecessary," she answered pleasantly. "I knew Mr Barrow when he was a boy and, my being so much older, he has always seemed like a son to me. I'm afraid sometimes he does not take kindly to my mothering him." Oh, if only Thomas would listen when she cautioned none of this would end well! He believed she was looking out for her own interests and so she was – but this was not all. Didn't he care that if she did what he asked, he would destroy the lives of four people?
"Your ability to count is slipping, Miss Baxter. Three people," he answered derisively. "Although it's debatable whether Saint John Bates the Cripple can be classed as a person."
"Don't be childish." Not many dared rebuke Thomas Barrow but she had spoken to him thus since he was twelve years old, and in spite of his cruel blackmail, would not be cowed now. "Four lives will be destroyed, Mr Barrow. You forget the unborn child."
Ah, she had touched a nerve! His eyes flashed with anger. "I have not forgotten the unborn child! I will ensure Anna and her baby will be well looked after."
"How?"
He recovered himself quickly, annoyed at his lapse and that his late sister's friend could still see right through him. Even with the threat of her instant dismissal and with it the loss of a roof over her head if he carried out his threat, Phyllis Baxter could make him feel as small as he did when he was a child and she scolded him and Paul for breaking a window. The baby was the only flaw in his desire for revenge. Anna was collateral damage. It was unfortunate; he had no quarrel with Anna, but it was so. "That is none of your business, Miss Baxter. Simply complete the task I have given you, or you will live to regret it."
The temptation to answer so would Thomas if she did as he said lingered on her tongue, but perhaps it was unwise to push him further. He might well punish Mr Bates for "stealing" his job as Lord Grantham's valet and other imaginary slights, he might well succeed in ridding himself of Miss O'Hara...but he was very fond of children, and Phyllis was well aware his angry response was to cover his guilt. She had to remember, however, she would be left with nothing if she refused. The Thomas she knew as a boy, who would never be deliberately cruel, was now an angry and bitter man. And an enigma. Hard as nails with everybody except the Downton children and perhaps one or two of the very young domestic staff such as Lottie.
Yes, Mr Molesley was perfectly correct when he surmised Thomas Barrow had "some kind of hold over her", but though she longed to confide in him, she could not chance anyone knowing her past. No, she had to deal with this entirely on her own.
XXXXX
Mr Molesley sighed as he watched Phyllis walk away. Not that anybody would have known it, especially not Miss Baxter herself, he hid it so well, but he was sweet on the ladies maid. He only wished he could summon up courage enough to ask her to walk out with him.
Footman Joseph Molesley was a square peg in a round hole. Most of the domestic staff liked to spend their free time in the village pub or at the pictures or the musical hall. Joseph preferred culture. Given any holiday – and, unlike other grand households, the Granthams were unusually generous in the leave they allowed their servants - he would catch a train to the next city to attend a theatre that encouraged a more sedate audience with its high-brow shows, or, time permitting, travel to other towns and cities to browse in their museums and art galleries, libraries and churches. He felt Miss Baxter was quite sophisticated and would thoroughly enjoy visiting them too. Except, nervous and uncertain with women, he had no idea how to ask her to accompany him to any of them.
His only previous relationship, if it could even be called a relationship, was a friendship with Martha Dewhurst, who was born two days after Joseph, went to the same village school, starting and leaving on the same day, and who lived a handful of doors down from the Molesley cottage every day of their lives. Until she married and moved away.
He was fine discussing work and everyday matters with the opposite sex, but whenever he'd attempted to even ask a woman to dance – and, Joseph being rather clumsy, those moments were rare - he became a tongue-tied. While he yearned to pose the question of walking out together to Miss Baxter, he was far too shy to ask.
But at least he could keep an eye on her, he thought. And he most certainly intended to. He didn't trust Thomas Barrow an inch.
XXXXX
Damn Phyllis Baxter! Thomas finished his cigarette, lit another with its stub and ground its predecessor into the broken saucer long used as a makeshif ash-tray. It was November and the evening bitterly cold with a hoar frost, probably the reason he was the solitary smoker sitting outside - or, what was more likely, he surmised, nobody liked his company. He took a long drag on his cigarette, feeling his usual heady satisfaction as smoke filled his lungs. Christ, he needed his fags to calm him down tonight.
Normally methodical in his operations, being able to coerce Phyllis Baxter into doing what he wanted through blackmail was too good an opportunity to miss, and his desire for revenge on John Bates over-rode all else. He hadn't thought it through. He knew it. Phyllis Baxter knew it.
Thomas hadn't forgotten the unborn child. He'd always intended to help Anna and the baby out financially. Thrifty since a lad and not having anyone to spend his money on - how the hell was he supposed to meet a special someone when homosexuality was regarded on a par as being in league with the devil? - he had a healthy amount in savings. And he would make sure Anna was all right, fix anything around the cottage that needed fixing. He was adept at fixing things. From conversations he'd overheard during the servants' meal-times, John Bayes's efforts were sometimes deplorably ham-fisted though he and his wife seemed to find his idiocy amusing. Thomas didn't. He would have made bloody damned sure doors that stuck on uneven floors fitted properly after they were sawn and re-hung, that there no streaks or smudges on newly painted walls, requiring extra coats. Tending to the clocks in the clockmakers' shop from a very early age had given him an eye for detail and a desire for perfection.
Which is why he was so annoyed with himself and his own stupidity The whole idea for revenge on Mr Bates was flimsy. It rested on everyone believing Miss Baxter when she claimed to have witnessed John Bates and Sheila O'Hara sharing a kiss.
Well, there was no doubt Phyllis Baxter would be believed. She had a reliable, quiet air about her, always had done. If she emphasised the kiss as being "passionate, full on the lips", as he'd told her to, there was little chance of anyone suggesting she might be mistaken, that perhaps Mr Bates merely gave Miss O'Hara a fatherly peck on the cheek.
But there were as many holes in the success or otherwise of his scheme as the colander that hung in Mrs Patmore's kitchen Suppose Anna decided to give her husband a second chance? It could happen. Too bloody keen to see the good in everyone, was our Anna. And even if Miss Baxter did exactly what he wanted her to do under threat of her dark secret being revealed, it could well ensure the swift dismissal of Miss O'Hara – Mr Carson did not approve of "shenanigans" - but John Bates had the luck of the devil and the friendship of the Earl of Grantham. He might not be dismissed.
No, he had to rely on Mrs Bates being furious enough to declare she no longer wished to continue their marriage and to ask Mr Bates to leave the cottage. And if he did agree to leave. It was frowned upon for a wife, especially if she were pregnant, to separate from her husband, but Anna was a strong woman who knew her own mind. Mrs Patmore had already sewn seeds of doubt about the relationship with her gossip and there were, too, whispers about Bates being "much too old for her". Unlike the rumours about Miss Marigold being the illegitimate daughter of Lady Edith, Thomas did not put a stop to these rumours. And neither, this time, did Mr Bates. As he was the main subject of them, he didn't get to hear them.
The frosty evening was growing colder as it settled into early night. Though Thomas was dressed warmly with hat, coat and scarf, he never wore gloves when he smoked. Not since the enemy bullet pierced his hand in the Great War. His white butler gloves hid the unsightly scar, but there was an art to certain of his duties such as opening a new bottle of wine to pour. Fortunately, those gloves were made of thin cotton. Anything thicker would have made that art difficult and risk causing further damage to the nerve when he needed to use his injured hand for something slightly more delicate, butler duties or otherwise, such as pouring wine. Or holding a cigarette.
His gloveless hands were bloody freezing. He set his cigarette down in the broken saucer to rub them together, then, on an impulse, struck a match and warmed his palms with the yellow flame. And a nostalgic memory flew into his mind. The Little Match Girl. Kate's favourite fairytale. She used to read it to Thomas when he was small, even though he remained steadfastly unimpressed and demanded The Three Little Pigs or Jack and the Beanstalk instead. It was only as he grew older he realised the hopes and dreams the little match girl saw in the stars when she lit a match were Kate's hopes and dreams too: warmth and love, a happy family celebrating a holiday feast, a Christmas tree…
All the things his sister never really had, worn down as she was by taking their mother's place after her death, the burden of taking care of a home and family falling on her far too young shoulders. The story he hated as a boy wrapped itself around his heart as a man and one day he told it to Miss Sybbie.
The day she was lying under a chair in the main dining room, the Dowager's chair, no less, playing Hide and Seek with her Nurse, who would allow at least five minutes before she "found" her, as Sybbie's hiding places were inevitably glaringly obvious, the little girl being convinced nobody could see her if she covered her face or eyes with her hands. Amused, Thomas pretended not to know she was there, then feigned astonishment when she giggled and announced in a stage whisper, "Mr Barrow!" making her giggle all the more when he searched for the source of the voice by shielding his eyes and looking in every direction, including the ornate ceiling, like a sailor scanning sea and sky.
Another giggle. Another loud whisper. "I'm under the chair!"
Few people would have recognised the patiently smiling Thomas Barrow, who was exceptionally busy with a table yet to prepare, and who now good-naturedly peeped under it, as being the same surly Thomas Barrow they were more familiar with. "Well, well, well, so you are, Miss Sybbie!"
"Will you tell me a bedtime story?" she had propped herself up on her elbows to peek at him through her fingers.
Sybbie did not seem to think there was anything odd about requesting a bedtime story while stretched out under a dining room chair and nobody was going to bed. Nor did the under-butler, apparently.
"Once upon a time..." he began, concentrating on measuring with the butler stick to ensure plates, cutlery and glass were set out to precision. Fortunately, Kate had read – or tried to read – The Little Match Girl to him so often he could recite it almost ad verbatim although he chose to change the ending to one in which the heroine didn't die but went happily home, and glad he did when he noticed a tear splash down Sybbie's cheek at the idea of her being so cold she needed to light matches to keep warm. Besides, he hated the mawkishness of the late grandmother supposedly taking the child to Heaven.
They finished the story seconds before Nurse Poole came to collect her charge and Thomas becoming the Thomas everybody knew, or thought they knew, reproved her in such an extremely unpleasant, sarcastic manner, about leaving the child alone that the poor woman was close to tears. But he and Sybbie exchanged glances as she left. As clever and perceptive as her late mother had been, she somehow instinctively knew her friend was adverse to showing any softer emotion and preferred to be seen as arrogant and aloof, though her thoughtful blue eyes often silently asked him why.
Unlike the smoky city in which he was born, where factory fumes and light from gas street lamps combined to hide the stars, in the dark sky over the Yorkshire countryside they were very much visible, but tonight in particular they seemed endless as, thinking of the fairytale, he looked upwards. Sometimes, quiet, reflective, uncharacteristic times, he wondered if all those in his life he had loved and lost, Kate, Am, Ben, Paul Latham, Edward Courtenay, Reggie, Lady Sybil...were still out there somewhere in the vastness of the Universe...
Tiny running footsteps brought his attention abruptly back down to the earth and he gasped when he saw the reason for them. No! It had to be his imagination.
It was impossible for Miss Sybbie, who was in America with her father, to be standing in front of him with the widest smile – and two missing front teeth – holding a large doll in one arm and waving a toy wooden train in his face, and asking him, as if she had never been away, which was best, because Papa laughed and said she was a boy when she played with trains.
But it must have been Sybbie because Tom Branson followed immediately afterwards. And suddenly, looking at the little girl, he thought of Anna's unborn child growing up with only one parent, and realised with a pang he needed to tell Miss Baxter they couldn't go through with the deception. Unaware his plan for revenge was already rapidly unravelling with dire consequences for Thomas Barrow, and Lottie, the timid young maid-of-all-work he worried about, looked out for and protected, was the culprit...
