Downton Abbey:

Guy(s) Night

by Mirwalker

Chapter Thirty-seven: Holiday spirit

Leaning back against the hearthside chair, Thomas held Ian with extra care through that reunion night, intent on not again taking for granted the precious presence. Mindful of the slung arm, he traced the faint two day's stubble that had begun to complete a scruffy frame of Ian's face. He rested his cheek on the softer top, and focused on picking out the faint, now familiar scent of the other man amidst the mix of smells settled on them both. He watched the crackling firelight dance across the still face at rest against his chest, noting each perfect slope and turn. He adjusted the blanket over them, finding and caressing the thin fingers through which the sleeper's imagination, or at least creative memory, poured out onto the page. They closed lightly around his own; and he sighed into a moment of peace and …enoughness, and relished a contentment deeper than any he could remember.

For he had Ian; and they had as much money as they both could need for a good while. He wondered whether he ought to hand in his notice come morning, and just move to London immediately—trusting Ian's artistry would be hired, and that he'd find something promptly. His mind raced to their first shared room, then flat, and on to their own house, as they advanced in their new work and shared life. Select, safe friends and parties, seeing and perhaps setting trends in cosmopolitan circles; calling and beckoning, rather than being so called and beckoned for a change. He'd send the occasional letter back to Downton, informing them of his success, implying their loss, but without bragging, of course.

Or mentioning Ian directly, either. Or other details that might give away too much. Or invite visitors who'd recognize Ian with his hair grown back, or questions about the previously unmentioned, and now live-in bachelor "cousin." No, he realized, the break with Downton would have to be fairly complete; and any communication, very careful. He and Ian would be safer in the crowds of London, if not entirely safe. But they would be free; and they could be cautious. And they would have each other.

Once they got there.

For neither Ian's hire, nor his own as yet undetermined position were assured. He still had figure out how to get Ian to the interview without raising suspicion, and keep him secret and stocked all the while. And Christmas! Gift buying trips might again provide cover for an overnight to the capital, and Yule stockpiles might make his diverting provisions less obvious. But the season also meant the house would be busier, and already scarce down time, even rarer. Never mind what to get Ian for Christmas… For once he had little concern for cost; but he'd still need to think hard and well on what Wink would want, and how to get it.

He smiled again at knowing this would be their first Christmas, with not even two months' knowledge of one another. But that would be enough to begin, he knew. Despite his misgivings the afternoon before, this evening's discussions had put to rest the suspicion that Ian's return was anything other than a genuine desire to be together. While the young man really didn't have anywhere else specific to go, by the end of Saturday, he'd had everything he needed to start afresh somewhere else—even to make his own inquiries with publishers in London, independent of Thomas and Mrs Crawley. He also hadn't known about Greenhalgh's hush money; so his return wasn't merely a ploy for that small wealth. And he knew this hideaway, however kept and served by Thomas he was in it, was an arrangement that could not last. Ian had every reason, then, to move on when he had the chance. But he'd come back anyway.

And with Ian's return against all odds and suggestion, Thomas hated the Baron and all like him, for abusing Ian to the point he'd begged for death the night of their meeting, for preying on how many other young orphans, and then for nearly seducing Thomas to take his side against the victim he'd rescued. That vile man in mind, Thomas now despised Crowborough with a fresh passion, as another example of the treachery of well-bred and well-heeled 'gentlemen'. And for only a fleeting moment, he wondered how he might rub Philip's nose in his resplendent recovery from that spring's betrayal; Ian was no rich Duke, but was worth more than a thousand wealthy wretches. Huddled in an outbuilding, bringing scraps for dinner, Thomas even resented the Grantham family for requiring him to sneak about, first for simple charity, and now for love.

He might want riches and opportunity for himself and Ian; but he certainly didn't want to become one of the appalling aristocracy. No, he and Ian would have to succeed despite the upper class, amongst other impediments. But, they'd already been through so much in so short a time; he knew they would be able to face well their large and promising future. As Ian had reminded him before drifting off in his arms, Thomas was only a few months into his twentieth year himself; the young couple had no need to rush…(1)

As he closed his eyes for the night, Thomas felt much, but mostly an overwhelming joy, knowing that this was only to be their first Christmas together.

Monday, 2 December 1912

"Thomas?" Mary wondered suddenly, after she'd accepted the pile of letters, pamphlets and even one small box from the mail-delivering footman. "Are you sure no one else in the house has been receiving similar waves of unsolicited post?"

"Just your Ladyship," he confirmed, and made to turn back to his departure, as she smirked.

"And Thomas?" she refused to let him go that easily, and continued at a lower volume. "At luncheon yesterday, Cousin Isobel was quite adamant that your involvement in her Manchester investigations was entirely at her request and instruction…" Her too bright look suggested she was expecting a response from him.

"That's true, my lady."

"And Lady Edith was not a part of this affair in any way?"

Thomas hoped his look would be read as confused rather than concerned at her line of questioning. With apologies to Lady Edith, it was probably best to play to this sister's heightened sense of sibling rivalry. "Mrs Crawley spoke truthfully. And we were both very surprised when Lady Edith and Mrs O'Brien appeared at the train station, even knowing of her earlier… experiences."

"Her hallucinations, you mean?" Mary verbally rolled her eyes.

He smiled non-committally, thinking better than to remind her that Mrs Crawley explained there had likely been a young man at the window, or that Mrs Patmore had also seen a figure, if days after the rascal orphan had been returned to Manchester. Best to let the business drop altogether.

"And cousin Isobel's quick conversation with you as she left us yesterday, more appreciative words from her for that involvement?" Mary smiled admiringly.

"She was very kind," he nodded agreeably. So, she'd seen their quick exchange about getting Ian to London.

"Mmmm," she didn't quite agree, before tapping a letter on her chin as if thinking deeply. "And yet… his Lordship didn't bat an eye that you'd assisted her, against his express instructions for us all to leave it. As adamant as he's been about the whole affair, he didn't even seem surprised that one of his staff was taking orders, contrary to his wishes, given by a distant relation… by marriage. And not a word about Lady Edith's escapade or your gaining a split lip in the process. I find that all rather odd; don't you?" Her case made, she looked expectantly at him to disagree.

Thomas could only smile blankly, petrified that Lady Mary had not only not been satisfied by Mrs Crawley's midday show, but actually seemed emboldened by it. She smelled foul in the folly; and he was the only unrelated, and therefore the most vulnerable, link to pursue.

With a satisfied grin, she closed her case. "I'd bet the value of every trinket in these sales brochures that there's significantly more going on than anyone at—or around—that table let on. And I imagine that, should it all come to light somehow, there will be significantly more... unfortunate outcomes for many there, beyond just an awkward Sunday luncheon."

Though he wanted to run, Thomas could now only swallow despite his suddenly dry mouth.

Mary proceeded to flip through her mail casually, "I don't know if my sudden popularity with catalogs is related; but I do know that you, Thomas, are at the heart of everything else. Not intentionally of course, just practically; it's what staff are for. So," she looked up with a cool determination, "You're going to tell me everything. If you do, I'll make sure you're able to get away to London on whatever urgent business you and Mrs Crawley have. If not… well, Christmas is such a busy season at Downton, I don't see how we could ever spare such an obviously trusted and capable footman."

NOTES

1. As the Downton Abbey Wikia explains, Thomas must have been born by August 4th or 5th, 1896. I've opted here to make him ~two years older than that, to allow more time for him to have left home, learned his craft and moved up to first footman, while still being relatively young, and near Ian's age.