Downton Abbey:
Guy(s) Night
by Mirwalker
Chapter Twenty-eight: Re-(un)settled
To his credit, Ian never more than glanced at any of the "strangers" in the car he'd joined so last moment. His cap held in one stiff hand, he spent the entire trip with his wide-eyed face pressed against the window.
O'Brien rolled her eyes, and turned quickly to the magazine she'd brought with her. Thomas had said all he likely would, and none of the other passengers was worth her attention, and were unlikely to demand it if she made no eye contact.
Smiling despite himself, Thomas leaned back and closed his eyes, clear on giving the same message of disinterest to most of the car. But he kept his eyes open just enough to witness some of the late arrival's curious joy reflected in the passing countryside.
"That's our last stop afore Manchester," Thomas shared loudly over O'Brien's protective pages. He hadn't been able to come up with a definite way to get Ian connected with Mrs Crawley if Lady Edith, or now O'Brien, were now going to be present at their intended meeting place. But he could at least be sure that Ian got off quickly at their destination, and hope that Ian would keep out of sight until a safe opportunity arose to appear.
"Oh, is that what the conductor meant by 'next stop, Manchester'?" she snapped at him. "Thank you so much for clarifying."
The young man peering out the window looked over at the sharp tone, nodding quickly as he turned back to his own observations.
"Would you mind seeing Mrs Crawley to the main hall, while I get the luggage together?"
The magazine slammed shut. "I don't work for Mrs Crawley, do I? And I certainly didn't set out today to do your work for ya."
"True enough. Then be sure to fetch her Ladyship with all due haste, and head on to your exciting day together… She's no part of my duties while we're here; so I'll thank you not to tarry and try to make her so."
Her own logic turned against her, O'Brien could only harrumph and clasp her hands. She'd obviously disrupted his schemes for the day, which was a mild success in itself. But her underlying goal was simply to understand, not to derail entirely, his illicit activity. Spending the time with Lady Edith had been a necessary cost of that investigation; it was by no means a desirable end in its own right.
They sat in silence, stewing on how to push but remain connected to the other, until the train pulled to a stop at Manchester London Road station.(1) Despite having only his cap to gather, Ian seemed to ignore Thomas' nods that he should exit quickly, first even, once the door opened. Seeming less excited for being back in the city he had only recently escaped, and in no hurry to rejoin its ranks despite the risks of discovery if he waited, the younger man seemed unconcerned about the slow pace of egress by their car's other and older passengers.
"Ladies first," the man nearest the door nodded to O'Brien.
She tipped her head to his rightful deference and stepped out, as the same man waved Thomas on next, presuming them together given their familiar, if brief, conversation.
But Thomas hesitated, seeing Ian still making no move to leave.
"After you, sir," the other man insisted aloud.
Not wanting to call any additional attention to the short-cropped man, Thomas obliged, but turned back quickly, only to be pushed further away by the two other disembarking men, and pulled by O'Brien's expectant look. "Luggage," he gestured toward the rear of the train, holding his ground that she should see to their First Class cares alone. "I'll meet you in the hall."
With what may have been a growl, O'Brien grudgingly headed along the train to see to their finer fares into the terminal.
Returning his attention to the train, Thomas was surprised to find their car empty, and no sign of Ian. Well, now I know he can be quick when he wants to be… Let's hope he's as quick on avoiding the women folk lying in wait for us.
A second locomotive pulled up opposite him, and began disgorging its load of people, further crowding the area. Keeping his eyes sharp, Thomas claimed the Crawley trunks from the luggage car and pulled the trunk-piled cart up the length of the platform, and into the huge main hall. Ahead of him, he saw a slightly deflated-looking Lady Edith turn away from Mrs Crawley, an irritated O'Brien cast a glare his way before skulking after her.
"Lady Edith isn't staying?" he surmised as he approached, filled with hope and relief that this was actually the case.
Adjusting her coat for their quick jaunt to the taxicab queue, the native Mancunian calmed his concerns, "Once I could get a word in edgewise, I explained that, with only Mr Crawley there and only during the week at that, our house was in no condition to receive guests; and that I really couldn't impose unexpected visitors onto my later social call. As she's ostensibly come for some Christmas shopping, I suggested instead that she and the lady's maid visit a few reputable streets and stores, and warned her that the Penny Bazaar and Woolworths were popular, but probably too 'value' for her."(2)
Thomas exhaled noticeably, relieved that she'd proactively handled the most significant risk to his—to their plans for the day. "They didn't seem happy; but it's for the best."
"So I thought," she smiled with confidence. "And your cousin?" she asked after their expected companion, glancing at the large station clock.
"He was to meet us here, mam," Thomas assured, glancing around himself. "I expect him along at any moment."
"He is welcome, of course, to join us to the house, where we can drop off these trunks. We can have some tea, and then go separately to our… appointments from there?"
He nodded his agreement and appreciation, curious to see this fascinating woman's own home, and happy to have the agenda underway.
"Thomas!" a new voice cried out through the bustle of the busy room.
Turning toward the main entrance, they saw a familiar face pushing through the crowd wearing a smudge and a large smile.
Ian wrapped his good arm around his "Cousin!," before remembering to remove his hat and bow haltingly to "My lady."
"So good to see another well-mannered gentleman," Isobel chuckled at the young man's clear attempt to behave properly, even if incorrect with this company. She continued as Ian tolerated Thomas' mortified scrubbing at his dirty cheek with a handkerchief, "I was just telling Thomas that we'll first stop by my home, have some tea, and then carry on from there. How does that sound?"
Ian nodded, checking with the older man that this was a good course of action. "That sounds splendid; thank you, mam."
"Excellent. Shall we?" Isobel headed out to the street.
"Help me with the cart?" Thomas asked with a wink.
Ian nodded, and put his good shoulder into the stack.
"Well done on the entrance and introduction," Thomas smiled back at him.
"You told me I couldn't let the others see me; so I let you all go ahead, and took my time through the crowd up the far side of the platform, waited until they were well gone, and then went round to make it look like I was comin' from outside."
"And the dirt?" My brilliant man…
"I'm a poor city boy, right? How many of them are kept as nice as you keep me?"
"Smudge-cheeked but silver-tongued, you… How are you, being back here?"
The grin faded; and Ian took a deep breath as they stepped out into the busy downtown. "I'm glad you're here with me; no other way I'd do it."
Thomas smiled, hoping both their confidences would hold once they soon had to separate.
"Ian?" their well-dressed guide asked as the cramped taxicab hurried them south, past the University and the new hospital, toward the new Platt Fields Park. "Have you not been to these parts of the city before?"
Ian pulled himself away from views of sweeping lawns and grand estates, to shake his head. The Oxford Road, Rusholme and Fallowfield areas were certainly beyond his experience, and perhaps, his imagination.(3)
Thomas beamed at him as he pivoted back to the spectacle, almost wanting to laugh aloud at the tangibly happy awe.
"If it weren't for all the luggage, we'd have taken the tram you saw. I'll have the lesser return luggage taken to the station directly; and we shall take the tram back up to the Royal Infirmary I pointed out. Ah, here we are!"
The car pulled up in front of a row of considerably less grand, but still quite impressive and neat row houses. The neighborhood was well beyond both orphanage and country village.
"I'm afraid there's no staff here, Thomas. Could I trouble you to supervise the driver's getting the trunks upstairs, while I put on some tea?"
He could tell that she hated to ask him to do this while away from the Abbey, perhaps at all. But neither she nor Ian could move them; and she did make him manager.
She nodded gratefully to his agreement, passed him some coins to pay the driver, and gave specific instructions as she pulled a ring of keys from her bag. "The lighter ones into the bedroom on the right; and Mr Crawley's darker ones in the room to the left."
Leaving the front door open to the obvious main stairs, she turned Ian into the formal sitting room, more modest than any Grantham home she'd frequented of late. "Can you make us a fire? Everything you'll need should be there. I'll see to the tea," and she disappeared past the dining room through a door to the kitchen.
He'd gotten it roaring by the time Thomas settled with and shut the door behind the cabman. He warmed his hands, and turned to find the taller man leaning in the doorway.
Thomas had quickly taken in the simple luxuries of the late physician's home, critically comparing the furnishings to his own his tastes, and imagining what he would do when such a house were his. And, coming down, he'd found a handsome man dutifully warming the hearth, and looking very pleased to see him. He could certainly grow accustomed to this suburban home scene.
Seeing Thomas wistful, Ian joined him at the door, and took his hand, "Is this what you've dreamt of? What you imagine livin' in? It's posh…," he whispered, glancing around the room and up the stairwell.
Oblivious now to the decor and trappings, Thomas ran his thumb across the back of Ian's chilly hand. "Maybe she left the keys, and just kept goin'. I'd have everythin' I'd ever need."
Ian blushed and tightened his grip. "Now who's silver-tongued…? But," his face dropped, "Not here. Not in this city."
The kitchen door opened with a loud "I'm afraid Mr Crawley has already finished the milk, and we shan't have another delivery until tomorrow evening, when he's back for the work week." She refused to let the professional footman take the tray, and shushed them to the loveseat. "I am sorry if it is 'improper', Thomas; but you and Ian are guests in my home, where I serve the tea. Sit and enjoy; that's an order."
With appropriate "thanks" exchanged for cups, biscuits, and napkins, the two gentlemen-for-the-day waited until their hostess was seated, and then carefully perched on the polished and upholstered mahogany.
"It's a lovely home, Mrs Crawley," Thomas shared honestly.
"Thank you. Though it now seems rather plain in comparison to the family buildings in Downton..."
"How many people live here?" Ian instantly regretted asking, as Thomas shot him quite the look.
Though taken a little aback at the bluntness of the question, Isobel reminded herself that the younger man was simply showing interest, if roughly exhibited. "Three, originally. Though now it's just Matthew, my son, while he's working here during the week. And I come back some days each month. Should we come to Downton permanently, I suppose we'll have to decide whether to keep it…"
Thomas chewed his biscuit vigorously and smiled uncomfortably, both at her having been put on the spot, and at the privilege she'd exposed in casually having multiple housing options.
"And, as I don't think I've asked previously, in what part of the city do you live, Ian?"
"Strangeways," the boy answered honestly, before Thomas could swallow. "The prison is the biggest house on my street," he grinned, hoping the dark humour would still lighten the mood he'd clearly created.(4)
"Haha," she laughed, genuinely amused by the funny forthrightness of Thomas' cousin.
Thomas sighed that she wasn't insulted, and made a note to school the up-and-coming gentleman on better conversation-making.
"Well, I shall hope none of us should have reason to visit there today or at any other time," the lady of the house smiled, and nodded to the mantle clock. "But we do need to head back toward town very shortly. At half-one, Ian and I are expected by Dr Lennox, a colleague of my late husband's. He's agreed to have a look at your arm, while Thomas tends to some… errands of his own."
Ian's mouth fell open; and eyes full of abandonment, he turned to the flushed Thomas, "You're not comin' with me?!"
NOTES
1. Now Manchester Piccadilly, the city's main rail station.
2. At the time of the story, Marks & Spencer Penny Bazaar and Woolworths value stores were open in downtown Manchester, but these early department stores—like Lewis's and Paulden's also—were seen as more middle/lower class compared to high end, specialty stores that wealthier clientele were likely to frequent.
3. You can follow Oxford Road south from downtown Manchester, past/through these areas, to what was a burgeoning area for middle/upperclass families at this time. Fallowfield is now best known for its large University student housing estates.
4. Now HM Prison Manchester, is located in the northwest area of the city, and was opened in 1868.