Downton Abbey:

Guy(s) Night

by Mirwalker

Chapter Nine: New Directions

Only once they passed out the front door toward the car did the Earl again address the village physician. "Doctor, we do so appreciate your coming up on such short notice, and for letting us know that Lady Edith did not injure herself, but…," he stopped them and stepped in closer. "And I dare not bring this up in front of her Ladyship, but is there nothing you can suggest about this obsession with this person she thinks she's seeing? She could have broken a limb, or her neck today…" His concern and exasperation were clear in an uncommonly obvious agitation for the normally cool county noble.

"My lord," Clarkson began, "I'm always happy to be of help, and am glad I could report nothing more than the bruises which will pass. But I am a doctor of the body, not of the mind…"

Grantham looked stunned, and hissed quietly, "We will not speak of my daughter as a… a lunatic." The last thing the family needed, especially with succession questions afloat, was talk about the sanity of any member.

"I'm sorry, milord," the doctor backpedaled uncomfortably, "I didn't mean to suggest any such thing. My point was that I can confirm she is physically well; but am not qualified to advise on her… fascination with this figure she saw."

The father's face suggested that clarification did little to allay his concerns.

"I wonder, sir, whether you and her mother, knowing her better than anyone, might have an insight on whether such… singular focus might be something in her nature, her personality?"

The Earl's look only darkened, as this seemed to be heading back into the 'character flaw' territory.

The doctor continued to unpack his intended meaning. "And, if she is so passionately... inquisitive, as you've described her being on this subject, perhaps directing that curiosity, rather than trying to block it, might help her work through it in less... extreme ways?"

"You're suggesting I indulge this nonsense?"

"Your Lordship, I am not a father, and obviously not Lady Edith's. However, if I may be so bold, she is an intelligent, but impressionable young woman, who is neither the presumptive Countess, nor the youngest in the family. Given recent… circumstances, her role here and future is even less clear; and with some evidence now to support her first vision, this mystery might allow her to feel useful, important."

"You're suggesting she's playing for attention? She's not a child…"

"Respectfully, sir, she is your child," Clarkson risked. "And while your acknowledging, even encouraging her in this outlet might give her energy to pursue it, that permission could also make it less appealing—no longer forbidden…"

"And make it less disappointing when it inevitably comes to nothing," Robert nodded, beginning to understand his point about sibling dynamics as the girls came of age.

"My lord, unless you actually have an injured angel in your home, and with some supervision of her inquiries, this is all likely to pass like the storm that initiated it."

The Earl seemed to mull over the complicated risks involved in allowing or supporting behaviour that had actually injured his middle daughter today, and could damage the family's larger reputation at such a critical time. There were apparently violent actors afoot in the area; and their inheritance crisis and the possible Mancunian answer had not been resolved. He also could understand how her stronger-willed, and sweeter-faced, sisters left little room for her milder presence, both in the house and in the larger society circles. Was this just Edith's opportunity to assert herself, or find herself, as the expectations and uncertainties circled them all?

Mid-thought, Robert realized the doctor was awkwardly waiting on his next move, and so smiled and offered his hand. "You've given me a great deal to consider, doctor. And I think you may underestimate your insights on issues beyond limbs and lightheadedness…"

Sighing in relief that he hadn't overstepped his place to analyze and advise on the family, Clarkson simply accepted the handshake, nodded and climbed quickly into the waiting car.

Cora was just coming out of Edith's bedroom as Robert topped the stairs to check on them all. Mrs Hughes nodded and disappeared into the service stair, as the Countess waved her husband to wait where he was.

Reaching him, she assured, "She's resting now. Mrs Hughes, O'Brien and I will check on her through the afternoon. I'd sent the girls down to luncheon already; they'll be plates held for us."

"That's good to hear, as it all could have been much worse," he agreed and reassured, taking her hands.

"What are we going to do, Robert? Edith remains convinced she's seen an 'angel' in the house; and she's adamant that it's someone involved with that ghastly jacket affair the police visited about."

"Doctor Clarkson has just suggested that we allow her to pursue her interest in this affair, to deny her any possible satisfaction at defying us by doing so, and expecting it will quickly come to nothing."

"Is that safe or wise?" Cora seemed as shocked at the suggestion as he'd originally been. "We already have one footman ill for indulging her; and she did just get so worked up over this, that she fainted down the stairs. Never mind brigands on the road, or word getting out that a daughter of this house is involved in police investigations…"

"I didn't say it was desirable," he admitted, "but some oversight of her interest might keep it from getting out of hand, and help her wrap it up all the more quickly."

Knowing him well, his wife looked at him with an uncomfortable feeling he'd just shared his decision, rather than one option. "And whom exactly did you have in mind to be this hapless and unhelpful chaperone?"

Blessedly, Ian had the sleepy self-control to remain silent when Thomas whispered him to stay still, slid out from underneath him, threw the duvet back over him, and answered the door that evening.

"You look a mess," William started, as the hall light poured onto the disheveled hair, sleepy eyes and wrinkled undershirt of his fellow footman.

"Perhaps you hadn't heard; I am ill," Thomas yawned, and wiped his face.

"I know full well," the lone working footman corrected. "Thankfully, it's just the family for dinner tonight. Mrs Hughes sent me up with this before I get to be first and second footman in the dining room."

"You'll do fine; just don't rush it."

William seemed both frightened and excited at the responsibility, before remembering what food delivery to which he was currently tasked. "Shall I bring it in?"

"No! No," Thomas smiled, "We don't want you getting sick, especially on your night to shine." He took the tray, using his foot to keep the door from opening any further. "Don't start anything until Mister Carson tells you to; and never stop moving in Mrs Patmore's presence."

"That's good advice," William chuckled at the extremes.

"Just don't do too well," Thomas admonished lightly. "I will be wanting my job back, soon as I'm up and about again…"

"No promises," his heir suggested. "Do feel better, though."

Exchanging nods, Thomas closed and locked the door, standing in place a moment to be sure William had lumbered off, and to let his eyes re-adjust to the dark room. He set the tray down, lit the lamp, and turned to determine the best way to arrange a shared dinner, given how they'd settled in after nearly an hour at the bath that midday.

While Ian's fever had broken, his cough still lingered; and so, Thomas had put him back in the easy chair, to stay upright and breathing well. But they'd moved it to the bedside, so Thomas could react quickly if needed. Placing drinking water and the chamber pot at the ready as well, the host had tucked his guest in for the afternoon, before passing out on his own blanket-less bed, exhausted from more than two days of little rest and lots of activity.

He'd been woken several times by Ian's coughing, but no spell had required him to intervene. And then, at some point as the sun was setting, Ian had thrown the blanket over him, and crawled in beside him, apparently trying to return the favor of keeping warm.

For all it had taken to get to the point of that payback, Thomas hadn't slept so well in a long, long time. While knowing that they needed to eat, he also hoped Ian had enjoyed such a comfortable and comforting rest.

"Ian," he called softly, pulling back the edge of the covers. "Supper?"

Yawning, stretching and rubbing his good eye, Ian slowly sat up, re-covering the shoulder exposed by the oversized short johns.

"How are you feelin'?" Thomas asked, fetching a glass of water to add to the tray, which he settled between them on the bed.

"Better, thank you," Ian cleared his throat a little, nodding as his host poured and offered him the cup of steaming tea.

"More lamb tonight, I'm afraid," Thomas explained as he divided the plate's contents in half, handing Ian the fork as he cut with knife and spoon. "Mrs Patmore—the cook—must have a surplus this week…"

"It's very good," Ian smiled through a mouthful, not being slowed at all by the lack of a proper place setting.

"How did you sleep?"

"Well," he nodded, before looking up a little nervously. "You had curled up tight; I thought you might be cold, so…"

"I don't mind," Thomas assured. "These rooms do get cold. And we know we both fit nicely."

They both blushed a little at having proven that fact so decisively, and turned their attention back to eating.

"Ian, not that the hide-and-seek of the past two days haven't been quite the adventure," Thomas smiled a few moments later, before turning serious, "But we can't keep this up much longer. I can't hide you in my room forever; and whatever may have happened recently, I expect you have a life to get back to…"

His dinner companion nodded and swallowed, not excited for the conversation he knew had to happen, but whose outcome he had hoped could be put off a long while, if not forever. "I know… And I know I've been a horrible burden. And you've done so much…"

"It's not been horrible," Thomas corrected him adamantly, with a too glad smile that showed he meant quite the opposite. "Not at all…"

Ian glanced at him, dubious, wondering how that could be possibly true. Seeing Thomas felt he'd confessed something, rather than simply been polite, the guest made his own confession. "You're more than kind, again… And I know this has to change, I do; but… honestly, I have nothin' to go back to."

Thomas swallowed, not sure how much of an exaggeration that was, or just a desire not to risk interrupting their awkward arrangement.

Either way, Ian stressed his interest in remaining, suggesting hopefully, "I know I don't look it now, and I'll admit that I've got no trade; but, I'm a hard worker. Once I'm healed up soon, perhaps there's some place here in the palace—in the house—for me?"

"I'm afraid Lady Edith could recognize you at any moment, if she didn't already this mornin'," he was reminded of his repeated dramatic appearances. Even out on the estate, there would be a real risk, as distinctive and eye-catching as this newcomer was. And it's not like Downton was hiring.

"And I don't think there's a way to keep you hidden here, even while you heal. And it's not that I don't want to," Thomas was quick to assure. "I just don't see how I could sneak the food without the other staff, or his Lordship, finding out. Never mind you gettin' bored to death up here…"

Ian's resigned nod indicated he knew where this was going; he should have expected it sooner, in fact. "I understand… Can I stay just this one last night, and wait 'til mornin' to go? If you'll point me in a good direction, I'll slip out at dawn."

"Hey," Thomas realized, reaching over to tip up the scratched chin. "I am not throwin' you out into the cold; I wouldn't. Ever." He let that promise sink in a moment. Thumbing the nose gently, he explained, "I just need to get you some clothes, and somewhere safe to stay while we work on somethin' longer term. And luckily, I'm good with plans; I'll get you taken care of."