Downton Abbey:

Guy(s) Night

by Mirwalker

Chapter Fourteen: His Story

"Are you well?" O'Brien looked up at him with pure, cynical suspicion. "That must have cost a fortune!"

"What?" Thomas started at the ferocity of her distrust. "No; I'm fine now. It's a gift; go on, take it…"

Without taking her eyes of him, she took a drag off her cigarette with one hand, and carefully scooped up the open wax paper with the other. "What flavor?"

"They only had rosewater," he shrugged and lit a match to join her. "Hope that's alright."

"It's all there is; so I have to like it, don't I?" she smirked, hurriedly finishing her own smoke so she could sample the sweet. "I've only ever had Turkish delight the once before… Hard to say whether I'd like another flavor more."

That she was even considering it was a good sign, Thomas knew. And when she closed her eyes on biting into it, he was sure he had succeeded. Still, best to reinforce her unique and special place in his world. "I gave William and Daisy one square each, for coverin' for me this week, while I was not feelin' me best."

"What's my second one for?" she queried around slow, relishing chews.

"For not sayin' anythin' about my stormy night 'quality checks' on the household's liquor stock," he grinned.

"You never told me you'd done that."

"Precisely…"

With his most amenable co-workers rewarded for their past, and hopefully future, support, Thomas then just had to get through dinner with the family.

While serving and "not" observing, he could tell Lady Edith wanted to say more when her father asked after Cousin Isobel, beyond her plans to come back with them after church in the morning. As always, she was desperate to prove her worth to the collective judgment, especially as dismissive as Lady Mary had been around the storm and angel visions. But, with some great effort, she held her tongue on the topic entirely, giving her older sister no opportunity to mock her involvement in the first place, and her father none to admonish her success today. She seemed willing and able to play the longer game.

Given that restraint, she was probably also eager to get through the evening's pleasantries, if only to speed along a re-convening with her cousin the next morning to continue their investigation of the roadside ambush. Thomas just wanted to get them fed, his post-dinner chores done, and up to see Ian, in order to launch the next step in his scheme to correct that assault's damage.

Finally, he was able to share his thanks again, volunteer to take up a load of linens for the men's bathroom, and thus retire for the evening. Slipping into his own room to drop off the meal hidden amongst the towels, he let Ian eat as he made the delivery, and cleaned himself from the busy day and in preparation for church in the morning.

Wishing William a good night as he passed in the hall, Thomas entered his room, as Ian wiped down the plate with the last scrap of dinner roll. "Your appetite seems stronger than ever, and you look healthier," he observed.

Having looked at himself all afternoon, while drawing Thomas' requested self-sketch, Ian disagreed, "I look worse today; I'm all bruises and scabs."

"That's a sign you're gettin' better," his host insisted, joining him on the bed, and turning his head to check the unpretty progress.

"Thank you for sayin' so, and for dinner and all," Ian changed the subject.

"Don't thank me just yet," Thomas nervously transitioned to the delicate subject that wouldn't wait any longer. "We've talked already about how you can't stay here, in the house with me. It's only a matter of time before someone finds you, or notices the food I'm takin'. And it's not fair to you to be caged up here like you've done somethin' wrong…"

"I haven't minded…," Ian tried to reassure. "Really."

Thomas smiled at the suggested mutual enjoyment, and dreaded the break in that connection they now faced. "So, I've come up with a way for you to stay close, while you keep gettin' better. Until your injuries and borrowed clothes won't attract attention; and so we can figure out what's next for ya, in a more permanent way."

"I can't go back," Ian reminded, with a little anxiety in his face and voice.

"I know; this is about movin' forward. So, if you'll hand me paper and your pencil, I'll draw you the map I promised, and explain what needs to happen next." He watched Ian move to the chairs and back with less stiffness and more comfort; another good sign.

Ian delivered the supplies and sat down right next to him, intent on displaying his trust and attentiveness. And perhaps his own wish to stay close.

As he drew a quick sketch of the house and nearby area, Thomas explained, "The estate has a number of cottages—rowhouses really—that tenants, and occasionally staff, have lived in through the years. But His Lordship has let a number of them go idle; nobody goes near the empty ones, much less into them. So, I've... borrowed a key to one; and we're goin' to set you up there, at least while you heal up enough to not draw attention, and we figure out somethin' longer term."

"I have to stay there by myself?" Ian looked distressed at the apparent exile.

"I know it's not ideal; but it's only temporary; and I'll make sure you have everythin' you need…," he tapped his head again Ian's furrowed brow. "See here: Tomorrow mornin' after breakfast, the whole house will leave for church, and be gone nearly two hours, with travel time. Once we're all out, you'll run down and get some hot water from the kitchen, to have a quick bath up here; you can leave the towel in my basket. Then, you'll take that basket of food I brought up earlier, and a set of beddin' I'll give you. Make sure you're wearin' a cap to hide those goldilocks, and slip out the back," he pointed to the house's service entrance on the map. "Go directly to the empty cottage here. And if anybody happens to notice ya, just nod and keep goin' and don't stop; you'll look like you're makin' a delivery."

While not looking happy, Ian clearly understood the steps to get safely to the new hiding place. He was sharp, and was trying to trust.

"Lock yourself in, and head upstairs—just so you'll be out of sight in case anyone happens to walk past. All four of these house share a common chimney; so you can make fire in the bedroom hearth for warmth, without givin' yourself away. I'll come by in the afternoon with a few more things, and to help you cover all the windows. It'll be like havin' your own flat!"

"Except recently," Ian's smile faltered at that memory, before recovering at the irony of getting his own cottage, "I've never even had me own bed."

"You deserve more; but this is a start. We can plan from there about findin' you some decent work and a proper place to live."

Ian looked at him intensely, so clearly trying to read for ulterior motives or nefarious interests, to decide whether continued trust was warranted, especially when he had few other options.

Expecting that being sent off to yet another new, strange place was stressful enough, Thomas met his gaze, hoping to reinforce his good intentions. And to hide his broader knowledge of the dual investigations seeking his "gentleman's" identity, and by extension, his. Ian seemed so distressed at the idea of being connected back to his previous life. But it was only a matter of time before the police and/or Lady Edith and Mrs Crawley put the pieces they had together, and what that identification meant for Ian, Thomas wasn't sure. He only knew it would be best if he could connect all the dots first.

"Ian, the other thing I wanted to talk about tonight.. And I hate to ask it; but especially as we look toward future, I need to be able to help you avoid the parts of your past you want to break from. I won't press you for more; but I at least need to know the name of the home you lived in, and of your 'gentleman' patron –if only to make sure we steer clear of them."

Ian swallowed and looked down, as if some fear had been confirmed, or the expected other shoe had dropped. Of course there was a catch!

Thomas pressed him with a little detail on why the further trust was needed. "The night you found us, you dropped a bloodied handkerchief on the front steps. It had the initial 'G' embroidered on it. So the family and the police have that clue as to who might have been out and about that night. They don't know more or that you're not 'G' yourself; but if you can tell me who he is, I can better plan for and protect you."

Ian got up from the bed and paced, glancing at the door and window, as if another escape might be preferable to confessing, even to this to-date caretaker. Finally he stopped and face the worried Thomas, still sitting on the bed. "I don't wanna think about those days again; not ever. But I'll give you the names, if you tell me why are you doin' all this for me. Why all this extra work and risk for yourself…" He motioned at his clothes and bandages, the bed and the map. It was clear that he too had been thinking about the interests and motivations of his unchosen partner. "I'll trade you."

"Fair enough," Thomas agreed quickly. Not that he wanted to start spilling his history or thoughts; but the exchange showed that Ian was no gushing fool—a positive in itself, and that he was interested in knowing more about Thomas—also a plus.

So, Thomas set the map aside, and patted the bed beside him. When Ian had joined him, he took a breath and made his offering of information. "I want to help you, Ian, because I like you. And I think we may be a lot alike…"

Ian looked puzzled and a little nervous at that confession and connection.

Thomas turned toward him, and recounted his story to date. "I told you my father was a clockmaker—not a bad profession, considerin'. We weren't wealthy, but we weren't poor neither. My dad liked everythin' as orderly as his clocks—the house, the meals, the children; so my sister and I had a pretty rigid upbringin'. Not harsh or horrible, but strict to be sure. And, like any father, I suppose, mine wanted his son to follow in his footsteps, to be like him."

Having never really shared this with anyone, Thomas fidgeted with his hands as he continued, "But what I was also learnin' when I went with him to the large houses he'd visit to tune or repair their clocks, was that I wanted to have the house, the wealth—not to serve those homes or people. I wanted somethin' more and different than my father did, to be somethin' more than he was. And the older I got, the more certain of that I became, and the more that gap between us grew."

He glanced up at Ian, who was looking back without judgement; he was just taking it in, and nodded him on.

"One day—well, let's just say it all came to a head. He realized I wasn't goin' to carry on the family business, ...or the family name, either. So, at sixteen I found meself out on me own, and needin' to get away, to start over." His voice caught a little, even as he glossed over the details of that inglorious incident; and Ian reached over and took his hand.

Eyes brimming, he looked over to find Ian's the same; and took heart at his gamble to share. "Thankfully, I knew enough about those big houses, and some people in them, to get on with one up here in York as a hall boy. I grew, worked hard and smart, and had that clock knowledge too; so I moved up, and moved on fast, and eventually got taken on here at Downton about two years ago as first footman. Not quite the path I'd hoped for, but I'm still climbin'."

He laughed, and sniffled, "So, to answer your question, I don't know what specifically it was when I found you the other night, but somethin' in me… recognized somethin' in you... Maybe it's that I have some idea of what it's like to be sent away, to need to get away, and to face the uphill future alone. I didn't know your story that night you appeared; and I still don't know it all. But I could tell in the midst of that storm—I can tell now that, for all your troubles, you're a fighter, and too good a person to have to go through this, much less alone. Not if I can do anythin' about it."

Ian laced his fingers into Thomas', cementing the shared experience and common commitment. He whispered, perhaps to them both, "You weren't a victim, and didn't let them make you into one. And you've been me angel as I make me escape. You didn't have to tell me none of that, on top of everythin' else you've shared; I know that. So, if you'll promise to let them be, I'll tell you who I'm leavin' behind."

Thomas nodded.

"I grew up at the Strangeways Youth Charity Society, and was taken out by... by the Baron Greenhall. They're all as dead to me, as I am to them. So promise me we won't ever speak of them, ever again…?"

Jackpot! And just as sincerely, Thomas nodded his agreement. A genuine smile breaking across his face, he jumped up and headed to the window. "I was goin' to wait and give you this in the new place; but I think you've more than earned it tonight."

He felt around inside the crate outside, and returned to the bed with a small, tied bundle of wax paper. "I got you a little somethin' extra today; go ahead, open it. It might need to warm up a little…"

Untying the satchel, Ian uncovered two small, white dusted squares of pinkish glass. Utterly confused, he looked up to the smiling giver.

"It's a sweet: Turkish delight. You eat it."

Ian pinched the unexpectedly squishy cube, sniffed it, and took a tentative bite from one corner, all while watching Thomas' amused observation. "Tastes like flowers?" he worried he wasn't getting it right.

"Like roses," Thomas nodded. "It's a delicacy, a treat."

"You mean it cost a lot," Ian understood, beginning to hand it back. "You shouldn't-"

Thomas caught his hands and pushed back, "It's a gift, to celebrate your feelin' better. And… hopefully to make up for the big change as of tomorrow."

Ian looked down at the symbol of all that Thomas had already given him, and the yet still more he was planning to share. He understood the necessity of the morning's move; but didn't like the idea of not being close to his protector, guide and… friend. Being on his own really wasn't part of his experience until recently. He knew Thomas wasn't pushing him away, but helping him up. But he still had to make sure Thomas understood he needed— he wanted to be close.

So, "We'll share it." With a grimace on using both hands, he held Thomas' palm open, and set the un-nibbled cube into it.

Thomas grinned, so relieved that Ian wasn't too bothered by the strategic relocation, that their mutual trust had been deepened, and that despite the change in daily distance, they would be, "Together."

tbc...