Downton Abbey:

The Sufficiency of Service (formerly "Guy(s) Night")

by Mirwalker

Chapter Eleven: Hope(s)

Knock. Knock. "Wink?" he 'coughed' as he entered his own room. Flipping the lock, Thomas turned as a comically dressed Ian slowly slid out from under the bed with a multi-leveled grimace. Too long trousers were rolled up so he didn't step on the hems; and an oversized shirt draped on him like a tunic, with its own upturned sleeves.

"I'm glad to be in clothes, full stop; but I look silly," Ian bashfully showed off his costume.

"Adorable," Thomas corrected and teased, setting down the basket he'd carried with him, and nodding his sore model to join him in sitting on the bed. "I can only stay a moment, but wanted to bring you something to hold you 'til after dinner," he offered a heavily buttered roll and a small apple, which Ian started into immediately.

Turning Ian's head for a better lit look at his slowly healing injuries, the host again felt bad at having only been able to sneak away with a handful here and there through the day. He'd grudgingly gone back to work that morning, knowing a prolonged illness would only invite more visitors; and being back in the downstairs mix meant he was near food more often, and could get more than what they'd bring him for one person. "It'll be easy enough to pocket more as I do the family service."

"I'm grateful, I am. But I do hate that you're havin' to… take it without their knowin'," Ian admitted guiltily.

"You've a good heart, you," Thomas bumped his shoulder, "But, I promise they won't miss it." And it's not the first thing, or likely the last, he'd 'borrowed' from his employers and housemates. Perhaps at some point, he'd explain how he rationalized it all as 'additional payment due' for the long hours and hard work he provided to keep the family lazy and comfortable. Or for regular disgraces he endured at their hands, on their behalf. Such as this afternoon's latest humiliation…

In fact, Thomas was tempted to tell Ian about the police constable who'd been waiting for Lord Grantham on his return from the village that afternoon, and about the single shoe he'd brought with him. And what they'd all had to do to prove it wasn't theirs. But, that would invoke Ian's backstory; and they didn't have time to get deeper into it properly right now.

Instead, he emptied the basket of damp laundry into the straight chair, also leaving instructions, "While I'm downstairs, tuck a towel under the door, and you can leave on the light. I talked Daisy into doing a load for me special, given how I'd been ill and all. So if you don't mind hanging these about to dry, by morning, they'll give us some more options for you. And," he pulled a final gift out his other coat pocket, handing Ian a pin cushion, promising, "You can pin up the clothes you're wearing. I can help get the fittings proper, and take measurements, when I'm back up…"

He looked up to find Ian staring at him, not in affront at the chores given him, but again trying to take him in, to figure him out. He smiled, understanding the suspicion, especially given Ian's last experience with refined 'hospitality.' So, he winked at Wink, and reminded, "Towel under, and lock the door behind me. I'll be back as quick as I can, with something proper to eat. I promise. We're good?"

Ian nodded he would trust. He had to. He wanted to.

"Whatever did you tell him?" Mary looked up from her second course aghast, a little surprised her father had actually let the officer have a second audience when he had nothing meaningfully new to offer or ask.

The other members of the immediate family sitting around the dinner table turned toward him, curious themselves.

"I told him that, like the gored jacket he'd already traipsed through the study, this random shoe wouldn't fit anyone in this house. But he was most insistent, and had poor Carson line up all the male staff—butler to hall boy—to compare foot sizes."

"And I assume none of our staff were the unlucky match for this prince un-charming?" the eldest joked, stoking the fire.

"Certainly not," the increasingly agitated Earl agreed. "And then I asked him rather pointedly whether it looked, to his trained, eye whether anyone had been beaten bloody recently?"

"Robert! Not at the table!" Cora scolded.

"Well, I'm sorry; but he should know full well that we had nothing to do with his mystery clothing, and that we want nothing to do with it either. It's not like they even have a victim, and thus no crime."

Thomas worked hard not to flinch at the quick dismissal of Wink's suffering.

"Isn't it his job, papa, to be concerned about us and others?" Sybil asked, trading looks with her sisters and mother as to their father's vehemence.

"Precisely. So I don't understand his return to Downton when it's clear we're not involved. He's almost as bad as Edith and her 'angels', or Cousin Isobel and her meddling…"

"What has Cousin Isobel to do with any of this?"

"I shouldn't have said anything," the patriarch seemed to regret.

"Well you did," his wife pointed out.

Robert sighed, "It seems she was visiting Dr Clarkson when the constable presented his 'evidence' there. And she expressed a surprising curiosity in the affair…"

"How disappointing," Mary judged between sips of wine. "Though, I suppose a woman of her station must find something to occupy her time, as accustomed to blood and bodies as she has been. Professionally, of course."

"We should invite her and cousin Matthew to dinner tomorrow night or Sunday luncheon after church," Edith suggested mildly, if in clear opposition to her sister's disdain.

"Is there an occasion? Or are you simply planning to regale us all with another round of 'guess what I've just seen in the fireplace' charades?" Mary responded coldly.

"I think that's a wonderful idea, Edith," her mother interjected. "It will give us a chance to make up for the whirlwind that was their last visit."

"Splendid," Edith agreed with a smile. "I'd be happy to go and make the invitation first thing tomorrow. I shouldn't mind at all."

"Are you sure you're feeling up to it?" Robert worried.

"The fresh air and change of scenery will do me good."

"Perhaps we can talk with them about Christmas plans," Sybil suggested based on the previous night's discussions. "Of course we'll want them here; and we should confirm now so they don't make other arrangements."

"That's very thoughtful, Sybil," Cora approved.

Nods all around overshadowed Mary's eye roll. Unappreciated and outvoted again.

That settled, Cora risked a quick glance at her husband, nodding him a deserved "well-played."

He nodded a gracious "thank you," with a hint of "you expected less?"

Edith fell quiet, planning how best to engage the support of her also curious older cousin.

Ian looked up suddenly, realizing that Thomas had changed into his pyjamas, perched on the end of the bed, and then proceeded simply to watch him intently, as he intently laid waste to his only major meal of the day.

Rather than a judgement on his dining gusto, the look on Thomas' face was, in fact, a mix of amusement and pride. They were finally both fully awake and coherent, and not reacting to some imminent threat of illness or discovery. His patient's appetite had returned. And without anyone downstairs being the wiser, he'd successfully pulled the travel dish from a cupboard, packed it with platter scraps and leftovers on his runs between the dining room and kitchen, and then snuck it upstairs in a second basket of laundry.

"Did you want some?" Ian offered sheepishly, licking some rich crème off his upper lip.

"There's only the one spoon," Thomas demurred.

"I don't mind, if you don't," Ian shrugged. He scooped up a large dollop of dessert, and held it out for Thomas to slurp off graciously, while smiling and trying not to catch his teeth on the utensil. "Manners, mister butler!" Ian teased.

"Ah tull you," Thomas threw his head back to keep from spilling the shared gift, "I'm not the butler; I'm a footman."

"Right; you're just under the butler," Ian tried to recall what Thomas had explained about the house hierarchy. "And when the… Earl dies, Mister Carson moves up, and you become his butler?"

"They really kept you under a bushel, didn't they?" Thomas smiled mournfully. "No, these meek shall not inherit this house, though we keep it well… Alas, it's not likely I'll ever be nobility; but I will also not be a footman, or a butler all me life. I've got bigger dreams than this…"

"Tell me?" Ian asked, setting aside the nearly licked clean dish.

"Well, let's see," Thomas wondered where to start, as he laid down across the foot of the bed. "I'd like to have nice house of me own, of course. Nothing too big, as that'll take lots of staff. And good ones is hard to find, believe you me," he laughed. "And a car, to get around in, or to take to my country place. And enough money to keep it all up, and travel some, and to share a little with people who've been good to me…"

"And never worry about where your next meal will come from, or if it is? Or what you'll have to do to get it?" Ian commiserated, with a knowing sadness in his eye.

"That's a start, yeah," Thomas realized how relative his aspirations must be to someone who'd not even had what little stiff security he'd known, at least of late. "But it'll take a lot of smarts and luck; and lots more opportunity than serving food here will get me."

"Couldn't ya marry some wealthy woman?" Ian asked, pointing out, "Your Earl's gotta have some lonely widow friends about. And, you're kind, and smart, and… not bad lookin'… as 'footmen' go, I expect."

The scope of that unexpected compliment hung between them for a moment, as Ian waited for an answer, and Thomas considered how to address both it and the original question.

"Now you're the one bein' too kind. I've brought you dinner and dessert; there's nothin' else to be gained tonight by butterin' me up further…"

Ian smiled and nodded, before slipping into an expectant look, knowing what he was still due.

"I-," Thomas picked at the duvet a little. "I'm not sure I'm the marryin' type, really."

Ian looked a little disappointed, "So you wouldn't be sharin' the house, and the car, and the good staff with anyone else?"

"I didn't say that. I guess," he hesitated, before eventually returning to Ian's piercing eye contact, "Like anybody, I just need to be sure I've found the right person to share it all with. Whether they bring the big house with them, or just inspire me to build it…"

They sat for a moment with that possibility.

"For now," Thomas sat up and yawned. "Let's get your measurements done, so I can see about alterin' something for you, or gettin' away to a seamstress I know. I've got an idea for at least a next place for you to stay; but we'll need you not lookin' like a little brother smothered in hand-me-downs…"