A/N: Thank you, Reader, for your kind review of Chapter 35, glad you thought the scene with Mary and Edith realistic. Don't worry, Thomas will be fine...eventually! ;D

***chapter 36***

"It was an accident M'Lord," John Bates insisted. "I stumbled as I entered the wine cellar." He smiled. He could tell His Lordship was finding it difficult to believe him. But he would never know the truth. Nobody but Anna ever would. And though he tried hard to dislike Thomas Barrow, and with good reason, he never really could.

Because he could see David in his self-appointed arch enemy, in that thick, dark, almost black hair, in the grey eyes that spoke a thousand words when he thought he'd given nothing away; in that single-minded determination to win. He could see how David might have looked as a man in his early thirties, tall and slim and sporty. If his son had lived, he would have been seventeen now.

Once in Royal David's City seemed to be the carol of choice the year he was born, when ragged children with winter-pinched faces tunelessly belted out its first two or three lines before hammering impatiently on the door for their reward. They knocked on their neighbours' doors once or not at all; they knocked on theirs over and over again because he always found a copper or two to give. Demanding money with menaces, he called it, but he was laughing, though Vera said he was a bloody fool.

Fatherhood suited him. Motherhood made Vera bad-tempered. Ironic to think she lied about being pregnant, knowing he'd do the honourable thing. Their relationship turned stormy fast, but they'd half expected it to and they thrived on the drama. In the middle of one of their frequent arguments, she told him the truth: she tricked him into marriage. But Fate likes to play tricks too. A year or so later, she saw the doctor. And this time, to her dismay, she was.

David was a happy baby. A happy child. Full of mischief and fun and so alive. And very competitive. Whatever game he played, from Happy Families to marbles, from cricket to football, he wanted to be the best. He was eight years old when he fell under the wheels of a carriage. Only eight years old when he died.

They both drank heavily after his death and hated each other more than ever. The fury-fuelled, acrimonious parting was inevitable. He carried on drinking long after their marriage ended and Vera no longer a part of his life. More so, after the damage to his leg from an injury sustained in the Boer War worsened and left him with a permanent limp. It was only Anna and her love that kept him from sinking into alcoholism again. Anna who held him together.

"What is it about Thomas Barrow that makes everyone want to defend him?" Robert asked, with a defeated sigh.

His grandchildren loved Barrow so even Robert had made too many allowances. For all his resolve the man should leave Downton Abbey, the odds were stacked high against the Earl of Grantham. Naturally, his mother had something to say about it. She always did.

"I have found," she observed, when he complained everyone but he (and perhaps Cora, who was torn between her anger at the way Barrow had treated Miss Baxter, her love for her husband, and that curious mystique about Thomas Barrow that invariably elicited sympathy from all; "if the crowd is suffocating one, one should open the door and take a deep breath of air before rejoining the human race." Then she smiled in that cryptic way of hers.

"Your analogies, Mama, are often highly unusual. I could fill a book with your original quotes."

"Oh, so my life is to be turned into a common book that the servants can leaf through when they are suffering from ennui and seeking inspiration? Well, I suppose it's rather reassuring to know my fate." And a twinkle in her eyes was added to that enigmatic smile. Of course she didn't know the full story. She believed Bates's accident to have been just that and only he and Cora knew about Barrow's blackmailing Baxter, though even Cora was now expressing doubts. Nobody seemed to support Robert in his belief that Thomas Barrow intended to kill John Bates. Not even the would-be victim.

"Perhaps you could tell me again what happened. One last time," he added, almost apologetically, in answer to Bates's raised eyebrows. Sometimes he felt the roles were reversed and he didn't employ servants; they employed him. That they, not he, held all the cards. His valet smiled patiently.

"Mr Barrow informed me that Lady Mary had requested champagne to be served in honour of a celebratory lunch for Mr Branson. He said as he he had been promoted to butler in Mr Carson's absence he was promoting me to under-butler and asked me to fetch three bottles of Veuve Cliqcout from the wine cellar."

"But as butler surely it was his own duty to collect anything from the wine cellar and he is well aware you would have difficulty carrying so many bottles. You queried this?" He already knew he did. This was the third re-telling of the story. But there was still the mystery of why Barrow asked Bates in the first place. He could easily manage one bottle, but unless he made three separate journeys, carrying three bottles would be difficult for a man who was reliant on a walking stick.

"I did. He explained Mr Carson did not wish him to enter the wine cellar."

"A strange state of affairs," Robert observed. "Did Carson give any reason for this peculiar edict?" John Bates wasn't biting, however. Whatever the reason, Bates was not going to tell.

"Not to me, M'lord," he answered truthfully. Mr Carson never had told him why Barrow was banished from the wine cellar, although he knew exactly why he was. Ever since Thomas tried to plant a bottle of wine on John Bates to make it look as though he'd stolen it, Charles Carson preferred him not to take charge of any alcohol. "Mr Barrow was in a very pleasant mood," he continued, deliberately steering him away from the topic. "He asked how my wife was. "

"And you didn't find that suspicious?"

He realised the stupidity of his question even as he uttered it. Cora, who saw the good in everyone, would have accused him of being akin to the hanging judge of the Bloody Assizes. He had Barrow hung, drawn and quartered for simply enquiring after someone's welfare.

"No, of course you didn't," he added quickly, in answer to the mild rebuke in Bates's expression. "Why would you?"

"Because he is not usually so agreeable towards me, M'lord?" John Bates affably supplied the answer.

"Indeed."

"I often think how sad it is that Mr Barrow will never know fatherhood. He understands children and children respond to him. Mrs Bates being pregnant, it was not so strange he should ask after my wife."

"No. It wasn't," Robert conceded, feeling as though he were somehow being railroaded in a quiet and unobtrusive way into changing his mind about dismissing Barrow. "And, yes, it is a great pity Barrow's,..ah...homosexuality prevents him from leading a more conventional life."

"I think he is looking forward to the birth almost as much as myself!" John Bates smiled again. He was well enough already to be sitting in a comfortable chair in his own room at the hospital, awaiting news of the imminent arrival of their child, his mind occupied with wishing he could be with Anna if only to mop her brow, and not excluded from the delivery room as all fathers were. But he was still in some pain after the attack despite the medication. And it had been an attack and not an accident.

The walking stick had been snatched out of his hand, he'd felt the heaviness of the push, sensed the anger. But he remembered, too, albeit in vague and disorientated images, that Thomas had been pleading for him to wake. He had obviously meant to do him an injury. But his behaviour afterwards suggested there was no intention to kill him. And he was wary of planting the seed of doubt in anyone's mind. The slightest whisper would condemn him and prison kill his spirit. John had barely survived incarceration himself and he had Anna waiting for him. There would be nobody waiting for Thomas. No, he couldn't do that to Barrow in spite of all Barrow had done to him in the past. Not just because he reminded him of David. It was Anna who made him realise the other reason.

"He's lonely," Anna said. "Haven't you noticed it in his eyes?"

"I'm not in the habit of looking into other men's eyes!" he'd laughed. But he was. Thomas Barrow's eyes anyway. David often had that same wounded look, when his parents argued, when his mother or father was drunk. He must have felt so alone in those moments, he thought guiltily. The same way Thomas was hurt when someone made a cutting remark – which John Bates happened to be particularly skilled at - or deliberately excluded him. Thomas Barrow was his own worst enemy, however, desperately needing people and yet keeping people at arm's length. "Does he have any family, do you think?"

"He had an older sister and younger brother," Anna replied. "Miss Baxter was close friends with his sister. She said they both died of diphtheria when they were very young. His mother died when he was a child. She doesn't know what became of his father." Then she told him about the photograph. The one of Thomas and his sister as children, given their tender ages probably before the brother was born, that he carried everywhere with him, that he snatched out of Anna's hands when she held the picture out to him after he accidentally dropped it. It was hard to think of Thomas Barrow as being sentimental. But it made him more human. More in need of love. Especially as he and Anna were cuddled together, happy and content, expecting their much wanted child.

"And after he asked about Mrs Bates?" Robert's voice brought him John back to the present.

"I asked if he would be kind enough to assist me with carrying the bottles due to my infirmity, and he readily agreed to do so," he repeated the answer he'd already given twice before. "Unfortunately, I stumbled as I entered the wine cellar. Mr Barrow came to my aid immediately and I am grateful to him."

Robert did not miss the lilt of approval in the final sentence, clearly designed to raise his opinion of Thomas Barrow. He felt increasingly isolated in his battle to have the man sacked. Was he the only person who could see how Barrow might be dangerous? Neither Mary nor Edith were truly convinced although Mary had agreed – reluctantly – not to give in to George's request for Barrow when the child asked for him. And after her initial fury over his blackmailing Baxter, Cora, too, admitted she was uncertain about Barrow's complicity in Bates's accident. It was frustrating how nobody ever seemed willing to denounce him. Baxter, the victim of his blackmail, pleaded his cause. Even Carson, who never hid his dislike of Barrow, often remarked that he was excellent at his job. Perhaps if Carson had been witness to the accident, he might have been more forthcoming than John Bates. But Carson was not a witness, Nobody was. Baxter and Molesley arrived after it happened.

Robert shook his head in bafflement. It was Bates's chance to rid himself of the man who had made his life a misery from a long-held grudge against him for taking over as valet, but he was never going to take his revenge. "I am well aware of Barrow's unpopularity with the staff and yet you are all so very protective of him. Forgive me if I fail to understand."

"Perhaps it's not so surprising, M'lord. We serving staff work in such close proximity and most of us have worked together for so long that we have become a family of sorts here at Downton. Like all families, we argue sometimes, we may even heartily dislike each other at times, but in the end we all pull together because we care about one another."

His answer made the earl smile thoughtfully. "I would like to think that sense of being part of a family extends to my own."

John Bates's answer was immediate. "It does. You may be sure it does. And we are all grateful for the number of times we have been helped." He would have said more, much more, about those times, but just then three polite knocks - was it his imagination or were they excited, happy, good-news knocks? - on the door stole his attention. Despite his pain, he grabbed his walking stick and shot to his feet.

A nurse entered, her face wreathed in smiles too infectious for anyone to resist.

"Beg pardon, M'lord, but Mr Bates's presence is urgently required in the delivery room."

"Where a new member of the family is waiting to meet you, Bates," Robert added. "And all of us." He knew then. He couldn't sack Barrow. The serving staff were family. The controversial under-butler was one of their own.

XXXXX

Was ever a bride-to-be so happy and yet so sad? Barely an hour ago Mr Molesley asked her to marry him. Had it really been an hour? Or much, much longer? Or had it been mere minutes? Phyllis Baxter reflected over the unexpected proposal.

"Mr Molesley, whatever is the matter?" They had long since returned from their walk in the grounds and separated to attend to their duties. Meeting later, when she'd gone to pick up some sewing, she'd almost tripped over him when she turned to suddenly find him half kneeling behind her. Have you lost something?"

"Yes. My balance. And the box." He was blushing like a schoolgirl and desperately patting the floor.

"Here. Let me help you look," she offered, touched by how forlorn he sounded, and joining him there at once.

"No! You can't!" He cried.

Startled by the urgency in Mr Molesley's voice, Phyllis was about to jump up again when she espied it. A small velvet-clad red box half hidden by the chair leg. Joseph Molesley spotted it at exactly the same second. Both reached for the prize, but Molesley was a fraction of a second faster and almost snatched it out of her hand.

Oh, God, oh, God, he had to do this before he lost his nerve. It was fortunate he still lived with his father in the village and that meals were provided free to the Downton Abbey servants, for he'd spent every penny he owned on the ring. He had bought it several weeks ago and been practising what to say ever since, but now he had persuaded Miss Baxter to confess her background to Her Ladyship and the possibility she would be fired meant he couldn't let his fear she would say no defer the moment any longer. While he didn't know whether Phyllis Baxter loved him, Joseph Molesley loved Phyllis Baxter with all his heart and wanted to always protect and care for her. If the Countess of Grantham did decide to dispense of her services, as her husband he would be expected to.

"Miss Baxter, would you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?" He took her stunned silence as the refusal he'd half expected and rushed on. "I apologise sincerely. I understand you would not wish to marry someone as unworthy and stupid and clumsy as I. I should not have presumed..."

"Mr Molesley!" Phyllis interrupted. They were both still kneeling on the floor and struck by the absurdity of the situation, she rose, wiping the dust from her skirt. "Will you please stand up?"

It was not only a sensible, but an extremely practical suggestion. Joseph was teetering dangerously on the one knee that rested on the floor in his proposal stance, and finding it almost impossible to keep his balance on only one foot. He stood as requested, nearly falling over as he did so, his footman uniform so covered in dust it looked as though he'd been rolling around the floor.

"I should not have presumed," he repeated, as if he were reciting from a prepared script (which, we shall never know, perhaps he was, Mr Molesley was nothing if not thorough) "that someone so beautiful and as deserving of a better man than myself would..."

"Yes." Phyllis's answer was barely audible as her hand had flown to her mouth and a sheen of tears misted her vision.

Joseph managed to catch the whisper, but he couldn't quite believe it. "What? You would...you would...will you accept this...?" Determined to do things properly, he dropped down again to adopt the same precariously balanced stance as before.

"I would be delighted to accept your box." Phyllis's heart was beating like a drum and she sought to calm them both by joking, for Mr Molesley was so nervous he was offering the small square package still unopened in the flattened palm of his hand. "I'm intrigued to know what's inside. A set of cuff-links, perhaps, or..."

"No, no! It's a ring, look!" Wobbling dangerously, the poor man finally remembered to lift the lid, being so flustered he missed the joke and believed Miss Baxter to be genuinely mistaken.

The ring was beautiful, glistening so very prettily in the light from the lamp that Phyllis could only stare in breathless awe. A lump came to her throat. It was obviously expensive and he was not a wealthy man. Nor was he a confident man - what must it have cost him to make the purchase? The name inside the lid identified it as being from Day & Ashcroft, which jewellers was in a town some fifteen miles outside Downton. She had once been to St George Street where it was situated in order to collect some dress material for Lady Grantham and felt intimidated by the row of specialist shops that populated the famous thoroughfare, and which were, without exception, known to be exceedingly snobbish, frequented as they were by only very wealthy ladies and gentlemen while the poor were actively discouraged from visiting its hallowed establishments. Phyllis had paused outside the jewellers to admire its glittering window display and when she happened to look up saw through the glass the contemptuous expression of one of the owners. She could picture Mr Molesley nervously walking past several times before actually going inside and even then being subject to the disdain of Mr Day or Mr Ashcroft.

Despite her surprise and delight at the proposal, however, a more sombre problem occupied Miss Baxter's mind. "Mr Molesley," she began, her voice wavering with emotion, "I am honoured to be asked, truly I am, but..."

He sighed morosely. "But you were simply being kind."

She shook her head. "No, Mr Molesley, please let me finish. I am indeed honoured to be asked. But I cannot happily display your ring until I know all is as well with Mr Barrow as we now know it to be with Mr Bates. It would not seem right to do so when Mr Barrow is so distressed."

"I understand,"Joseph replied, although his countenance said he didn't. He never could or would understand Miss Baxter's affection for Thomas. Everybody's affection for Thomas, come to that. For himself, he had no axe to grind with the man, but he cared deeply about Miss Baxter and he was angry with Mr Barrow for blackmailing her. Hearing footsteps nearby he quickly stood up - to Miss Baxter's relief, for he had looked in grave danger of toppling over. "I'm afraid I had no idea what size ring to purchase." He added, keeping his voice low. "Mr Day, the jeweller, assured me it can be altered and..."

"I will wear it around my neck until then." Phyllis promised quietly, also wary; the footsteps now accompanied by a cheery whistling, were growing ever closer.

Fortunately, it was only Walter, one of the hall-boys, who entered, carrying polish and brush, determined to start work on some half dozen pairs of shoes left for him on the table, and mystified when Mr Molesley glared at him before abruptly departing. Though he did stop whistling in alarm.

XXXXX

She wore Mr Molesley's ring around her neck now. Deep in thought, Phyllis realised she had wandered much further than she intended. It was only when she looked up and saw in the distance through the misty grey frost tainting the Downton Abbey estate the Downton lake. And was it her imagination or were there people there? Curious, she headed towards it.

But a splash and a sudden yell and a cry for help – Thomas's voice! - made Miss Baxter pick up her skirt for greater speed and change her pace to a frantic run.