Downton Abbey:
Guy(s) Night
by Mirwalker
Chapter Thirty-three: (De)Part and Parcels
Smoking and heading away from the River Irk, the Cathedral, and the Corn & Produce Exchange, Thomas refused to answer any additional questions, or make talk more than small with O'Brien, as they approached the shops around Market and Oldham streets. As she'd arranged, they found Lady Edith critically eyeing both products and people at the recently imported American store, FW Woolworth and Company.
She happened to look up from the counter where she was reviewing broaches, and smiled for the lady's maid's success, and in hopes of the footman's. "Ah, I see you found one another."
"As instructed, your Ladyship," Thomas confirmed he knew he'd been hunted, before focusing the attention on her. "And how has your Manchester visit been?"
"Well, I've had quite the excursion," she proclaimed proudly. "I visited the Kendal Milne & Faulkner over Deansgate, a darling haberdashery on the walk back, had a quick bite at a quaint café near St Ann's, and have just been exploring the more… popular experience here for about half an hour."(1)
As she had only one small bag in hand, Thomas presumed she'd either exercised restraint, or…
"I've had a few things sent ahead to the station, to make things easier all around."
He nodded his understanding and approval, counting O'Brien's stars as lucky that her Ladyship hadn't been left carrying her own bags, or relieved of them by some quick-handed thief.
"It seems you've had a fine day in the city," O'Brien paraphrased obediently, unmoved or not caring for her own good fortune.
"Indeed. And… I hope you both have had successes as well?" Edith jumped quickly to their dual detective work.
O'Brien glanced at the successfully delivered the footman; but she was content to watch his traveling show unfold before her.
"Shall we step somewhere less… public?" Thomas suggested, gesturing toward a less trafficked area beside the grand stairwell.
As they re-gathered, he made of point of looking at his pocket watch. They all had places to be; and so he chose how best to briefly provide them both just enough about his business in the city.
Both women looked at him with rapt attention—one desperate for good news, and the other eager for a bad performance.
"As Mrs O'Brien appears to have joined the ranks of our investigation…?" He looked to Edith to acknowledge what he'd clearly deduced already, which she did. "I will confirm for her sake, that Mrs Crawley has been assisting her Ladyship with some subtle inquiries as to the events at Downton on Guy Fawkes Night. They requested my help in asking amongst my networks in the region."
Part of him didn't like implicating the mother of their potential estate heir, especially as nice as she'd proven to be. But Edith could attest that it was true; and, he might need every bit of cover he could get, should others find out about even the surface version of his recent activities. "We'd gathered clues from the items found at Downton, and the police reports on the roadside items. As Mrs O'Brien has undoubtedly noticed, I have slipped away from the house several evenings of late, drinking up the staff and travelers at the Downton pubs, and talking up those on the trains. I've written to contacts at grand houses and businesses across Yorkshire. And her Ladyship's research helped us narrow the search to three families with 'G' names, and finally to one here in Manchester."
O'Brien didn't react to what little new information Thomas provided, certain he wasn't actually providing very much. Edith grew increasingly eager as she perceived him catching up the dour maid, and building up to greater revelations.
"As Mrs Crawley makes some society visits today, I have visited a gentleman whose handkerchief we found that night…"
Edith held her breath in anticipation. Even O'Brien's eyebrows twitched.
Thomas' smiled evaporated as he summarized, "I'm sorry to bear the news, your Ladyship, that in short, it seems we were the victims of wicked prank by a runaway orphan."
"What?" both women started, deflated at that sad explanation, if for differing reasons.
Glancing to O'Brien when he referenced a location she'd apparently tracked him to, Thomas explained. "The 'G' gentleman I called upon is a patron of one of the city's orphanages. The day of the storm, he'd generously taken one of the older boys with him on a driving trip. But, loosed from the work house, the lad was apparently quite the handful, and slipped away after dinner in our village. Being a prankster as well, he used some jam from the pub to shock a few people along the road, including us at Downton, with concocted wounds and frightening appearances."
"But the police reports…?" Edith wondered. "The downed tree on the road…?"
"Our 'ghost' apparently also fancied himself a lumberjack, tried to block their giving chase with the car, and cut himself in the process. Fearing the scandal of association, our Mancunian gentleman convinced the police to let the issue drop, and returned the boy to the home. While I was careful not to identify our family to him, he was still most embarrassed at the boy's antics, and perhaps more so to know we'd tracked the fraud back to him."
"And you've seen this prodigal rascal yourself, have you?" O'Brien seemed dubious; but the confirmation fit his day's visits, and further reassured Lady Edith.
"Aye, your Ladyship was so clearly upset by the events, I wanted to be sure," Thomas explained, with a gush of concern. "Mrs O'Brien's just seen me come from visiting the charity to confirm. The boy's injury is healing. And his hair's been shaved off… I think as much punishment, as attempt to clean him up." No need encouraging Edith to set out to see for herself. "He comes of age very soon. God help the people of Manchester once he's out on his own."
Edith was heartbroken that her vision was no more than a child's mean-spirited joke.
O'Brien looked all the more skeptical of him, and unsurprisingly disappointed in their young mistress.
This quick summary, mostly true, would explain much of his secretive activity of late; but he needed to be sure they didn't push for more details. They needed a good reason to be satisfied with the general idea. And if facts couldn't do it, charm would have to suffice. "I appreciate both your patience," he smiled to each woman, "that I've not said more before today, and won't go into further detail now. Beyond the gentleman's request for his own privacy, both Mrs Crawley and I feel it best not to implicate either of you further, given his Lordship's stern words on the issue. Your Ladyship, I thank you for your understanding as we've kept you from much of the process. And we all owe a thanks to Mrs O'Brien, who deduced I was up to something of late, but whose discretion is, as always, impeccable."
"It seems I owe you thanks a second time today," Edith offered to the lady's maid. "And again to you, Thomas. While I must say I'd hoped for a clearer resolution on the sightings at Downton, there is some comfort in knowing I wasn't imagining it all…" She was clearly downtrodden at the stormy night's revelation, if only because it meant that she had apparently conjured the vision at least once, in daylight. "But wait! That still doesn't explain how Mrs Patmore saw the boy in the dining room days later…"
Thomas shrugged understandingly but dismissively. "Your sharp eyes on Guy Fawkes Night had set many of us on edge, my lady; and that morning was a stressful one in the kitchen, what with the Crawleys and the Dowager Countess dining, and church interrupting her preparation time. She'd left services early…" He dared not speak to having reasonable explanation for her seeing things on the gallery, and falling down the main stairs.
She sighed, before remembering the public setting and its necessary stiff upper lip. "Well, I suppose I'll have to take some comfort that at least the initial sighting was real. But, it seems I'll have no vindication with the rest of the family, as we'd all only get into more trouble should either of my parents learn what we've been up to…"
"And speaking of, your Ladyship," Thomas was again looking at his pocket watch, rather than supporting her pity wallow. "While you head to your train to make dinner and explanations, I must take my leave, as I have one more appointment to make here in the city."
"Something else about the case?" Edith hoped against the likely heated homecoming at Downton.
"Nothing so exciting, milady," he smiled all the more warmly. "Especially, as I believe that course is run. No, I am simply to help Mrs Crawley shop for her son, so that none of us will have actually lied about our time in Manchester. Shall I point you in the correct direction?"
With a sad glance of thanks from Edith, and a clear 'this isn't over' glare from O'Brien, Thomas waved them away, and then took the long way around to his rendezvous, arriving slightly tardy. As he approached the tea shop closer to the Town Hall, he caught sight of Isobel Crawley delivering a large tea cake to the politely protesting Ian Colson.
He paused at the window, feeling a precious rush on seeing the fetching young man smiling, socializing and cinched in a sling that finally provided some proper healing to his artist arms. His mind flashed to repeats of this scene, only with himself making the delivery, and sitting opposite that happy face, and being the cause of it. And Ian smiling back in return.
And then Thomas' smile fell despite himself, as a raspy voice in his head suggested that the man had actually just used that charming face and manners to swindle himself yet another free meal, professional medical care, and a doting mother figure to offer it all. That Ian was playing her, just as Thomas had just played Lady Edith. That he and Ian were indeed alike, but not for good.
A car horn interrupted the building tension. Taking a breath as deep as his doubts, Thomas entered and made directly for their table.
Sitting facing the door, Mrs Crawley saw him first, "Ah, Thomas," she smiled, "We made good time at the hospital, and arrived a little early ourselves. We were just getting something for Ian to take with us."
He'd charmed her into feeding him, and then giving him more for the road.
Ian hopped up with a wide grin, before hesitating and sticking out his left hand. "They've done up me arm, quite nicely. I'm a proper patient now, I am."
Thomas smiled back, and shook the proffered hand, daring and desiring nothing more at the moment.
"I saw me own bones," Ian continued with excitement which began to wane as he took in Thomas' merely polite reactions. "I fractured me… humerous ball, in me shoulder." He checked with Mrs Crawley that he'd said it correctly.
"And so long as he uses that sling, and not his arm, for a few weeks, he should largely recover," she nodded, and further explained. "I shall expect him to continue to be a good patient, now that he's been seen to."
"I will, mam. And, you should have this," Ian pointed Thomas to the spare chair and boxed sweet.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Would you like somethin' else?" Ian asked, thinking better of adding Í'm buyin', as it was actually the other man's money.
"No, thank you," Thomas declined, despite having eaten nothing since breakfast. He was more conflicted than hungry, and sitting to eat meant sitting to chat. And there were several conversations he couldn't have yet, here, in mixed company. "In fact, we should go, mam, if we're to get in some shopping, and make our connections back."
"Very well," Isobel agreed, a little surprised by his urgency, but not wanting to push back, lest his coolness relate to what he'd discovered in his errands. No need to involve the younger man, or spoil his recovery or their day on the town.
They walked the few blocks back to the department stores in too polite conversation, each overlapping concern publically paused. Isobel suppressed her interest in Thomas' investigations, and substituted the news of the London publisher's interest in Ian. Ian balanced his nervous excitement at that possibility, with an effort to gaze his way into Thomas' discoveries. And Thomas held his tongue and offered his smiles as appropriate, wrestling all the while with the implications of the day's dramas.
Once to the store, Ian gawked at even that modest commerce emporium as Thomas helped pick out a few dapper, and Downton functional fashions for Mr Crawley. His services availed and their cover story confirmed, Mrs Crawley suggested the cousins catch up while she saw to a few items for herself.
Ian suggested Thomas take a smoke, and wasted little time heading out to the street. As soon as they'd stepped aside from the street door, he turned and asked, "What's wrong?"
"Why should anythin' be wrong?" Thomas didn't answer, focusing on his match in the cold evening breeze.
"You've gone diggin' in my past, and come back troubled, no surprise. But you insisted. And I trusted. And now, I'm askin': What's happened?"
"Let's just say that I've put an end to Baron Greenhalgh's foul antics, and ensured those at Strangeways will end as well."
Ian looked out into the cityscape, terrified at what smoke or fires he might see in the distance. "What have you done?"
"I've not broken anyone or anythin', except their secret agreements, if that's what you're worried about…"
"Then I'd expect you to be happy in victory," Ian pointed out insightfully, "not distracted or nervous. But that's what you are. Somethin' more happened while you was 'breakin''."
Thomas was again impressed at the boy's ability to read him. But today, after… it was more concerning than intriguing.
"You saw the Tutwilers? The Baron? They said somethin'?" Gaining no response beyond more fervent sucking on the cigarette, Ian stepped closer. "Please tell me?"
"Let's just say the old man… asked some questions about your… intentions," Thomas admitted quietly, terrified that even naming the doubt aloud gave it credence. He needed to know, but he also feared the answer.
Ian stepped in front of him, putting Thomas between him and the building, unable to escape his angry, angst-ridden face. "If you got him to stop his meddlin', that means he admitted it in the first place. And despite that confession, you'd still believe anythin' he'd say about me?"
Thomas hadn't thought fully to that point, and could barely face the injury Ian was taking at his aspersions for it. Or at least his performance of that slight. Wasn't his whole struggle between whether the allegations were true, and how much didn't want them to be so?
"You believe him," Ian realized, ice settling in his voice, face and posture as quickly as Thomas finished his anxious smoke.
"I-" was all Thomas could say, before another voice and form jumped out from the passing crowds.
"Knew it! You! Thieving! Bastard!"
Ian reeled to the ground with a yelp of surprise and pain, as several other voices also cried out. A well-dressed man with wild hair had fallen upon him, shaking him by the lapels and mumbling, "Ruined everything… so smart… smug git…"
Reacting only to Wink's distress, Thomas leapt to the assailant, and pulled him off.
"Someone get the police!" a spectator shouted.
"Bowers!" Thomas realized as he pushed the man away, the stench of good whiskey nearly gagging him. He turned back to Ian, who had pulled himself into a crouch, clutching his bound arm.
"Thomas!" the Greenhalgh butler slurred across their standout, "You've ruined me… But led me straight to the ungrateful whelp. Knew you would…"
Ian looked from him to Thomas, a fresh wave of disappointment and betrayal passing over him.
"Ian, I didn't…" Thomas tried to protest, as Bowers lunged at him, and managed to connect a fist to his lower lip. Shoving him back as men in the crowd moved to pulled them apart, Thomas saw the devastated face turn, dart out into the busy street traffic, and vanish as the crowd closed in again. "Ian!"
NOTES
1. I've tried to make their course and travel time as realistic as possible, based on what I know of the city now and can find on that era. Of particular help, FYI, was the Woolworths Museum UK site. (You can search for it.)