Downton Abbey:
Guy(s) Night
by Mirwalker
Chapter Thirty: Cold cash
The large house's ornate door finally opened, to reveal a sharply dressed butler who looked more than inclined to dress down the unexpected, and tidy but underdressed caller. The servant was handsome, if beginning to show his age—clearly more grown and gruff than bright and boyish. Giving Thomas a once over of his own, the man asked "May I help you?" in what was obviously an affected upper class accent.
"Ah yes," Thomas responded in a better rendition of a less haughty tone, "Would you be the Baron Greenhalgh?"
"No, sir. I am his butler, Bowers." That butler's face grew even more grim, at having to explain his more than obvious role to this apparently uncultured stranger.
"Of course," Thomas laughed at his intentional ignorance, before adding flattery to the mix. "I merely assumed a fine looking gentleman such as yourself…" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, I am here to see the Baron Greenhalgh. The head man at Strangeways youth home gave me his name, said I might find an arrangement the good Baron has had with them, to be well-suited to my… charitable tastes."
Bowers visibly flinched at the mention of the children's home, and darkened all the more at the visitor's interest in his household's relations with it. "The Baron is a humble man, sir; and not one to discuss his philanthropic undertakings openly. I think it best you discuss yours with the charity directly. Good day." He made to shut the door even as he spoke.
But Thomas was expecting the active disinterest, and shoved his foot into the shrinking space, adding some clear resolve into his still polite voice. "I'm not police, if that's what you're worried about; but I'll come back with them, and a photographer, if that's what it takes to have his Lordship see me. And I don't think any of us wants that; do we, Bowers?"
Doubt and concern overtook the disdain on the butler's face, and his hold on the door relaxed.
"I guarantee that both you and your master will appreciate our moving this scene indoors now," Thomas let more and more heat enter his voice as he gave orders. "You can tell his Lordship that I bullied my way in you like; but I'll see him now no matter whether he's awake, dressed or otherwise indisposed."
"Your name, sir?" the man asked, not committing to any course of action except to know who was troubling him.
"Thomas… Thomas Colson."
Bowers' eyes flashed wide; and he gave no resistance as Thomas pushed his way over the threshold. Recovering, he made a stand between the insistent visitor and the hall beyond the entry. "I will see whether-"
"Perhaps I wasn't clear," Thomas interrupted, politely removing his hat. "You can announce me, and remain if you like; but you will take me to his Lordship directly. Now."
Bowers looked at him with the same quiet face and busy mind that Downton's own Mister Carson used when facing difficult guests. Assessing the risks of further resistance as higher than his master's displeasure at the intrusion, Bowers stepped aside and closed the outer door with a quick glance for who else might have witnessed even the brief exchange.
Closing the inner door, he did not offer to take Thomas' hat or coat, but instead pushed past him brusquely. The 'don't get comfortable; you won't be staying long' message was clear.
Thomas noted, however, that not all of the interior crystal was. As he kept up with the fast-moving butler—probably hoping to have a quick word with the boss before the visitor could, Thomas could see that the furnishing were top notch, but the housekeeping was lacking. Through the main hall, ornate tables, grand portraits and intricate chandeliers and sconces were showing their age and neglect. Likely the house matched its master's decline.
Not wanting to like either, Thomas thought even less of the butler who shouldn't let things slip regardless, and of the old codger who didn't know better. He was all the happier to help along their merciful demise. But no mercy just yet…
Not letting Bowers keep him outside the door while announcing him, Thomas followed him in to what may have been a warm study and receiving room at one time. Like the once grand main hall, it now was simply warm, musty and cluttered. And prime among the antiquities collecting there, perched at a teetering desk covered in yellowed parchments, was the Lord of the manor—a small, wiry man overdressed for the times and the room's temperature, who looked up from his papers at the unexpected interruption with an already sour face.
"What the devil is this?"
"I am sorry, your Lordship," Bowers excused very honestly. "This… man insists on seeing you immediately, under threat of returning with the police."
The old man squinted to assess the invader.
Anticipating the question, the butler further offered, "He says his name is Thomas… Colson, sir."
The older man was slightly better at managing his reaction to the name. He pretended to be entirely uninterested, still simply bothered, "Do I know you?"
"You don't need to, honestly," Thomas finally injected, moving past the butler to face the butlee as well. "All you need know… is that I know the truth behind your arrangement with the Strangeways Youth Charity Society. I don't know many boys you've had them shelter, stunt and deliver to you; but I know everything that you did to one of them: an Ian Colson."
"What are you on about?!" the old man demanded angrily, though clearly more agitated than one would expect a consummate gentleman to be merely by a surprise, rambling caller.
The Earl would have maintained his composure much better, Thomas thought before continuing, "I'm on about this, your Lordship: I know the police have found you, and tied you to a bloody jacket, handkerchief and single shoe found along the road to Newcastle earlier this month. I know you reported these were simply gifts for your nephew, used by you and your man to pull the car from the mud.
"But I also know that you have no living nephew, in Newcastle or elsewhere; and," Thomas turned to give the butler an obvious look, "your 'driver' shows no sign of such serious wounds. Moreover, you both failed to report that the car was not actually stuck, but was in fact blocked by a tree, put there by three brigands, to whom you abandoned the youngest member of your party—whom you failed to mention to the police entirely.
"Or perhaps you paid the police not to pursue the matter too closely. Or you paid the pub staff to forget the young man too," he pondered aloud. "I don't really care about those details; but I'm certain that, through it all, you painted yourself the hapless victim somehow… And I'm here to see that you make amends for it all."
"This is preposterous," the older, reddened face spat at him. "How dare you come in to my home making such claims and accusations! Bowers, send for the police at once!"
"Yes, please do." Thomas remained very calm, his tone and terms stopping the servant in his tracks. "Let's have them come back to see you explain all the holes in your story, better than you did the holes in that jacket. Or the blood stains on this." From his coat, Thomas pulled and unwrapped a ragged, muddied, but recognizably dapper shoe.
"Rubbish!" the old man judged, on every level, before seeming to regain control himself, becoming more dismissive than distressed. "You've done nothing more than produce an old shoe and a wondrous story, easily cobbled from police reports and warped by a criminal imagination. Do you really think you're the first despicable character to appear at my door, demanding money? Ha!" he actually chuckled. "Fie on you and your pathetic attempt at thievery. Bowers, throw him out…"
Thomas signaled the butler to wait, and chuckled himself, gently twisting an errant lace back into place. "I've only brought the shoe, because I am not about to let Ian himself anywhere near you again." He looked back up at the aged aristocrat, eye-to-eye. "You see, unlike the police, I have the third member of your Newcastle party, who could fill in a lot more from that night than just the shoe and jacket. Who'd like to share that story…"
In the corner of Thomas' eye, the butler paled noticeably; and before him, the angry elder sank back into his chair, with shock quickly becoming sadness.
The Baron set aside the newspaper and clasped his hands, "You found Ian?"
"Your Lordship!" the butler tried to warn, but was waved down.
Lord Greenhalgh cast his eyes into the fire and his memory seemed to follow. He swallowed and whispered, "The brigands carried him off into the night."
"Which you didn't bother to tell the police?"
"I've been looking…"
"Rubbish!" Thomas turned his dismissal back on him. "You drove off while they held him, and didn't look back. You did nothing that night except abandon him; and you've not lifted a single ringed finger since, beyond lying to the police about his very existence, and then only after they tracked you down."
The accusation's fire melted the sadness from the Baron's face; and he looked back to Thomas with a cool, clockwork gaze.
For the first time in their brief exchange, Thomas felt that he was facing the true, actual Baron. That he was being sized up by him. Whatever calculations had gone into creating Ian's situation, the old man's full attention and consideration were now being applied on how to handle the boy's avenging angel.
Not willing to grant any ground or time to response, Thomas continued the string of charges. "And, your Lordship, I'd guess that night was just a bad end to a long list of your orphan 'rescues'… I know your people at the home groomed him for you—gave him little schooling, no trade training, held him from self-reliance longer than most boys, before being turned over to you, without much knowledge of the larger world or ways to survive on his own. I know how you dressed him up nice, gave him a beautiful room and bed upstairs, and then… undressed him in it." Thomas realized he was wrenching the shoe in obvious show of his feelings around the transgressions of this place. Casting a glance at the ashen butler, he added, "And I've good mind to guess he wasn't the first young man whose innocence you stole."
Bowers looked down and away from them both, while Greenhalgh's expression didn't change through the litany. Admitting nothing, suggesting nothing, he simply glared and asked, "What is it you want, 'Mister Colson'?"
"I shall be quick," Thomas smiled, having tipped the balance enough against the old man to be worth being rid of, however true and tangible his story or proof. "As I am expected by some… companions, who will bring the police here if I don't meet them soon."
He placed the shoe back in the coat pocket, and resumed his pleasant, businesslike stance and tone, as he ticked off his demands. "You can't undo what you've done to Ian; but you can ease his future, and not repeat the sins. So, you may continue donating to Strangeways and any other charities, but the rest of your orphan 'relations' are over. You'll have no further contact with any of the wards, or allow those slave traders to groom or deliver any more victims to your or others' stables."
Bowers almost snorted at the description.
Inwardly counting the point, Thomas outwardly ignored him. "And, as a—let's say—'reward' for my not going to the press or police with evidence of all your schemes, you will write out a bank draft now to Strangeways, in an amount you feel commensurate with your transgressions. Go ahead. Bowers, please assist your master if he needs it."
Thomas stepped aside, waving the butler toward the desk, and nodding them both to get on with it.
The Baron didn't move for a moment, again assessing the seriousness of the man and his threats. That Bowers had jumped to it without delay suggested he'd already decided for the larger victory in this slight surrender. Greenhalgh looked up to the handy butler, and around at the venerable room. "My house is humbled compared to its history; but we are not ended. And I will protect its good name," he vowed.
"Of course," Thomas nodded.
"I admit to nothing," the old man insisted.
"I've not asked you to," Thomas replied with no hesitation. For all the satisfaction a confession would bring him, it accomplished nothing for a young man who wouldn't hear it anyway.
Slowly opening his ledger, the Baron grudgingly took the pen handed to him, and turned to the ticket spread out for him.
As he grumbled a few numbers on in, Thomas interrupted with an additional instruction. "Now add a nought at the end."
"What?!" both other men scoffed, both annoyed at any rise in cost to buy the visitor's silence.
"By your own mouth, I hadn't expected your reputation to be worth so little…" Thomas shook his head sadly, before reminding, "We could debate it until the police arrive."
As the butler glared and the baron harrumphed, the latter paused before signing the order of magnitude-larger than intended cheque. "What guarantee do I have that you won't simply come back for more once you've squandered this?"
"First, you'll note that, by your hand, it's not made out to me. And beyond that, I suppose you have nothing beyond my word. So, let me also guarantee that, if this note isn't honored, if you so much as touch another child from any care home, or if you stop supporting the homes at your current level minus your lecherous conditions, then I will return with constables and reporters like a plague of hungry flies on your carcass and kingdom."
Not doubting the resolve of the angry angel before him, Greenhalgh put his flourish on the slip, and handed it over contemptuously.
"A prudent investment, your Lordship," Thomas smiled with equal disdain. "You mark my words, the both of you; and this will surely be the end of it. I'll see myself out."
"By the way," he turned in the doorway, as if remembering suddenly. "One detail from that stormy night I just haven't been able to work out… How did those three brutes know to find you on that road on that night in that weather? Now there's a mystery… Oh, and Bowers, I'd almost forgotten, speaking of that area, Willy and the boys from Leeds send their regards."
He tipped his head and closed the door behind him, leaving them to sort out his meaning between them.
"Mister 'Colson,'" the Baron's voice echoed around him, the name dripping with doubt.
Thomas turned in the inner door, to find the Baron at the table halfway up the grand hall behind him as if by magic, though leaning and breathing heavily for the effort. Despite this, the old man had him fixed again in a cold stare. "Your dedication to this boy, or at least his cause, is admirable. And you obviously think yourself a clever man for concocting and carrying out this petty extortion. I'd like to add an unrequested, parting gift, if I may... Let me suggest you reconsider your alliance with the darling angel, if you even know him."
Thomas cocked his head, disappointed at this weak, attempted last blow from the defeated gentleman.
"Whatever he may have told you," Greenhalgh continued, growing more smug as he spoke, "I'd guess he hasn't mentioned whether I was the first doting patron he'd chased, the first home and pocket into which he'd warmed his way. Didn't explain why we were going to Newcastle that night, or why we were in such a hurry to get him there. No? I didn't think so. No, the story he's told you obviously painted him the 'hapless victim,' like you've accused me.
"I'll not bore you with the details of how he gained this old man's attention and affections, as I expect your nefarious character can devise them easily enough. I'll only say that we were glad for the opportunity to be rid of him that night, and remain in no hurry to retrieve him, to be sure."
Greenhalgh pulled himself upright and shook his hand toward the departing advocate, with as much finality as feeling. "As you relish your newfound wealth, I suggest that you consider how easily I gave it, to be fully done with him. And that you tally everything you've willingly given him since you've known him… What costs have you incurred? What risks have you taken? What badges do you now carry beyond his cursed name?"
The cold house had grown infinitely colder.
"In any case, per your own terms, our business is complete. Whatever you do with that draft, sir, he is now your problem, and yours alone. So I wish you the best with him, as you're clearly made for one another."