Downton Abbey:

Guy(s) Night

by Mirwalker

Chapter Eighteen: Focus

Wednesday, 13 November 1912

"Good afternoon, Cousin Isobel. I do hope I'm not imposing on you," Edith smiled as she was shown into the sitting room.

"Not all, my dear; it's always good to see you," Isobel assured. "Molesley, might we have some tea?" As he went to prepare the tray, she motioned Edith to have a seat on the couch. "How are you? And the cook, Mrs Patmore, I believe?"

"Yes, both well; thank you," Edith assured, before quickly using that transition to her reason for the visit, or at rather, its delay. "Given the… excitement after church, I thought it best to wait a few days before coming. Papa seems so easily angered by any mention or reference to anything related. We may be intrigued, and he accuses me of an unhealthy obsession around it; but truly, he seems to harbor his own quick passions about it as well."

"I suppose he must, in some respects," the older woman reflected, "as both a protective father and concerned Earl. An assault at the edge of his village; intruders at or in his home. And you did take a rather dangerous tumble yourself…"

"All without permanent damage that we know of," Edith insisted. "Which is also why I was hoping you might have heard something else through Dr Clarkson, or the police."

"I'm afraid not. It's been a week; and most talk has moved on from the storm. And I'd only happened upon the constable's discussion with the good doctor; neither seeks my advice or keeps me informed directly." Not that I haven't inquired politely…

"Well," Edith smiled, and paused as the tea arrived and was served. "I do have something that I think you may be better placed to explore, given your proximity to the village, and my father's… sensitivity."

"Oh?" Isobel realized she'd been drawn back to that tightrope between her own curiosity, shared with the girl, and her promise to Robert at least not to encourage it.

"Well, it's actually a thought from Thomas, the footman who was with us on Saturday. He's been with the family a little more than two years; and, while I don't know much about him, he has had a reputation amongst the staff for being a little… uncharitable and tetchy. But, I must say, he's been most cheerful of late, and more than happy to help me, to help us, with this in particular…

"Anyway, he pulled me aside to share a thought he'd had since our discovery on the road: The ambush must have involved more than one person—just to drag the tree across the lanes, if nothing else. And the thieves must have been based in the village—there's really nothing else about in that direction. It's a good chance our waylayers were from, or at least in, Downton that night."

"That's a very good, if also very troubling, suggestion," Isobel concurred. "I should hope that no one from the village would be involved, as that would mean we have robbers living amongst us. Everyone I've met seems nice enough; but then again, I don't know them all or any very well…"

"And," Edith agreed excitedly, engrossed in her own, if relayed, story. "Thomas also suggested, they likely had a specific, and worthy, target to have braved the weather. Especially given how dreadful the storm had become, to lay a trap and hang about on the unlikely chance that someone else would be foolish enough to follow that specific road at that time, and would be worth all the effort of robbing—seems a bit of a stretch…"

"Indeed," Isobel considered, having wondered on the same point. "I should also suspect that they were somehow confident that a specific traveler would pass that way, that night, despite the weather. And that he would surely have whatever it was they wanted badly enough to risk their comfort, health and freedom."

"But whoever could that be? How could they know that someone would be on that road, that night, in that storm?" Edith's head spun at the enthralling impossibility of it all.

Her cousin sipped her tea, considering that very question, along with how to proceed with both the investigation and her promised unsuccessful chaperoning of it. "I expect the authorities are making headway in tracking down our Manchester-clad victim… Perhaps we could approach from the other direction: identifying these most dedicated Downton bandits."

They shared a wide-eyed look, knowing that was also the more dangerous of the two options.

Saturday, 16 November 1912

Almost a week had passed quickly for the footman and his fugitive. Despite their new distance and open affection, they had quickly settled into a daily routine. Thomas spent his days listening for clues while serving the family; and his evening, slipping additional food out of the house with him. Though losing some precious sleep time to his nightly commute and companionship, he could not have been happier.

Ian too was happy, if less formally busy. He spent his days tidying his secret flat, borrowing firewood from neighboring cottages, and sketching. His eye and miscellaneous scratches were healing nicely, though his shoulder continued to hurt him, and limit the movement in his right arm. Thankfully, he'd originally been left-handed; and switching back from the charity-imposed right- had been fairly easy. Thomas hoped they hadn't put off a doctor's visit too long; but Ian insisted that it was improving, and that the risks of an official record outweighed what the physician might be able to do for him. So, they hoped that the "Wink" nickname might soon be the only vestige of that horrible night.

Thomas was just applying some salve to the roughest of Ian's remaining scabs, and gently inspecting the fading rainbow around the still tender eye. "By next week's half-day off, I think you'll be clear enough to go with me into the village, so long as you keep your cap on."

"You promised me a proper meal in the pub," Ian reminded, slipping a piece of biscuit into Thomas' smile—such snacks, the closest they really been able to come to sharing meal times together. "And even I know I can't sit inside with a hat on…"

"We'll think of somethin'," he was promised, around the sweet being chewed. "The fresh box of food might do you well here, but that new suit is meant to be worn beyond these walls." The smile that double gift earned him was worth the cost of the custom outfit, and the coming hassle of ensuring Ian wasn't recognized on their outing.

"Am I good?" Ian asked as the ministrations seemed to have been completed.

"So much more than just 'good,'" Thomas smiled, leaning in to relish a deep kiss and contented nuzzle.

Almost distracted, Ian's grin returned with a glow that pulled them both from the blissful daze. "I have somethin' for you." He stepped over to the makeshift desk nearest the now-covered window, and began shuffling through sheafs of papers scattered across it.

Thomas stood, wiped the medicine off his hands, and joined him in looking at papers covered in scribbles of varying sizes and subjects. In addition to marveling at their creativity and skill, he also regretted Ian had so much time and so little else to do given his recuperative quarantine.

"Here," said the artist, pulling a smaller piece from the piles, and leading Thomas back toward the light of the fire. "It took me a while to get one I didn't hate; but until I can do somethin' more to earn my keep… You'd asked for this." He turned the paper over, and handed over the present.

On it, he'd drawn a small, simple pencil portrait of his own face, smiling and appearing to be looking slightly upward, through a mop of graphite and parchment curls.

"I imagine I look somethin' like that from where you stand," Ian smiled in reality, a bit embarrassed at the vanity it seemed to him. "And I know you can't put it up anywheres; so I made it small enough to go in a book or drawer, outta the way."

Thomas just kept glancing back and forth between the sketch and the model, both before him in matching, uncanny stereo.

Ian's face clouded at the silent staring, "If you don't like it-"

"I love it; it's perfect, of course," Thomas cut him off immediately. "And it won't be going in any cupboard; it'll fit in the breast pocket of any jacket I'm wearing. A reminder. Thank you." He once again wrapped his arms around the larger version of the imperfectly angelic figure, and added another to the legion of head-top pecks he'd bestowed in just the last few days.

With Ian nestled comfortably against him, he marveled once again at how he was only keeping track of what joy this man brought him, when he counted everyone else around him in terms of the debts they owed him. It was unnerving really, as well as exhilarating; and only added only to the enchantment he was happily under.

But, he needed to pop the bubble a little this late night, for the longer term security of his- of their happiness. "Ian," he said, leaning back enough to be able to make eye contact, "speakin' of visiting the village and of sharin' sketches, I have an… uncomfortable favor to ask. Can you draw me the men who attacked you?"

"You promised to leave it be!" Ian stiffened and looked angry, which was an improvement over the fear previous references had invoked. "Why would you need to know what they looked like, but to go lookin' for them?"

"I don't want to; but the police know someone was attacked on the road; they found your jacket and shoe," he explained as Ian pulled away, and began to fidget in place. "And, because she's seen you twice now, plus the cook, the Earl's daughter is actively trying to figure out who you are. I intend to help them all focus on those who did the ambushin', in hopes they'll pay less attention to who was ambushed. I can't stop them all from investigatin'; but I can influence where they're lookin'. I'm hopin' we can let your ghost get his justice, without bein' sought after himself…"

Ian's face raced with worry, as he considered the request and its strategy.

Thomas stepped close, turned Ian's face up to him and asked, "Trust me?" Seeing the concern waver, and the doubt melt a little, he added a warmer confidence with a kiss.

Reluctant to remember or revive the interactions of that night, Ian pursed his lips, but nodded his agreement.

Successful without inflicting too much suffering, Thomas started to step away toward the garment box, "But not tonight… C'mon, I'll help you try this on."

But Ian had laced his hands behind Thomas' back, and demanded a further distraction from the previous displeasure with a quick recovering smile, "First, you have to help me get this borrowed set off…"

tbc...

A/N: I'm coming up on some offline time, so there may be longer than usual delays in posts over next two weeks or so; but more is coming!

And, Simin: So glad you like the style, pairing and story. Thanks for following along, and the feedback as we go!