Downton Abbey:
Guy(s) Night
by Mirwalker
Chapter Thirty-eight: Home Fires
Tuesday, 10 December 1912
Ian "arrived" in Downton that evening, too late for visiting Mrs Crawley or meeting her son at the house, and late enough for Thomas to send him up to the room directly while he completed registration at the bar, ordered a prepared dinner plate to take up himself, and had a glass of wine as he waited for it.1
While the requested fish and chips were prepared, Thomas considered what Ian had faced the last time he'd been a guest at the Grantham Arms. He shuddered to think that just over a month earlier, at one the tables before him now, Ian ate what the old wretch ordered him, as the old wretch watched, while the wretched butler schemed against them both. That he'd left from this room, into the storm and into the clutches of a second set of ill-wishers just up the road.
No, tonight was not about what was. Even later that fateful, post-Inn night, Ian had found his way into Thomas' yard, arms and life. And this night, they'd share a proper bed, in their own private room, on the way to a whole new day and life in London.
In fact, the ten days since resolving most of Ian's nightmarish past had been quite busy with the turn to a brighter, shared future… Thomas had had little choice, and some considerable motivation, to share a version of the Manchester tale with the oldest Grantham daughter when she threatened it from him. Grudgingly, he'd been sure to tell her what he "couldn't possibly" tell her sister or Mrs Crawley, of course; the special confidence would appeal to her vanity, and dissuade follow-up questions or sharings. Thankfully, she was both appalled and satisfied; tales of runaways whose orphan lives were violently ended on rainy back roads tended to have that effect on most polite company.
True to her word, Lady Mary had somehow managed to cajole her parents into letting her accompany Isobel to London, and them both to take Thomas. After all, Edith had done it, hadn't she? And against the Earl's express wishes. And with no apparent consequence… She'd made a good point, and threatened to make it in front of her sisters and the staff; so that her parents really couldn't, and didn't, argue. As he'd learned in his few years at Downton, Lady Mary inevitably got what she wanted.
As the traveling party was settled, Isobel had been able to arrange interview details with her London connections, and Thomas to confirm them "by post" with Ian in Manchester. With gratitude for it all, especially Lady Mary's agreement to keep Mrs Crawley's interest in his "cousin" a secret, Thomas had spent the intervening week coaching Ian best he could to prepare for the interview: etiquette, speaking to his history, acceptable wage types and good amounts, etc. The task was made harder by his own relative lack of experience in such exchanges, harder still that Ian's illiteracy meant no written or read practice when they weren't together. Mrs Crawley had been clear that he couldn't attend the interview with them, for once a chance for her to determine what was appropriate for their interaction; as it was all to Ian's benefit, he was as gracious, if disappointed, as she'd been in reverse circumstances in her new life.
So, he'd be 'free' to attend to Lady Mary—an assignment he still hadn't found a legitimate means of shirking if only to avoid her chilly company. Apparently that was to the price he paid for Ian's opportunity. And so he downed the last of the wine as his tray arrived, and wished all the night's intoxication would suffice him through the morrow's trials.
"You make a good fire," Thomas observed as he returned from his turn in the bath. Seeing the plate had been cleaned, he chuckled at the simple tastes of the man who preceded him to the bath, and would be joining him in bed. He stepped behind Ian, and wrapped his arms around the fire tender who was wiping his good hand clean.
"One of the old caregivers at the… in Manchester, she taught me," Ian explained, as he reciprocated the embrace and took in the cool touch and fresh smell of his admirer. "She said a good fire was important, so folks could always follow it home."
"Did she mean actual flames, or somethin' more… metaphorical?"
"'Meta' what?"
Thomas dismissed it as unimportant with a head shake; but Ian deduced, "I think she meant more than real fire. But I never thought about… that place as more than somewhere to be, or to get out of." He reached up to gently trace Thomas' face, "But I'm grateful for that lesson at least, since I did follow the lights the one night it mattered, and look what good it brought me…"
"Well, I'm certainly enjoyin' all the fires you started since," Thomas wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, as he leaned in for a deep kiss. As they both grew warmer entangled before the fire, he twisted suddenly and carefully scooped the surprised but grinning Ian into his arms. Draping his lighter haired lad across the fresh sheets, he slid in beside him. "You're fed, bathed, housed and nearly employed; and I intend to celebrate the occasion accordingly. To just the beginnin' for us…"
The fireplace glowed low across the room, as Thomas chuckled at their having undone much of their earlier ablutions. He groaned at having to make the mature suggestion that, "We should sleep; we'll both need to bathe again before heading out."
"Small price…" Ian admitted contentedly and guiltily as he ran his fingers through Thomas' chest hair.
A moment later Thomas asked, "What?" when Ian's finger paused mid-trace of his navel and its neighborhood. He didn't have the same all-seeing gaze as the younger man, but he'd learned that Ian's touch, or hiccups therein, often belied his thinking.
Laying his hand flat across Thomas' stomach, Ian turned his face up with a pensive look. He took a breath and asked, "Are you happy?"
The older man blushed, "I'm fairly certain we just had evidence of that." He pressed his lips against the curious forehead. "But I can prove it again, if you need…"
"I've no doubt of that," Ian laughed, as he slid his hand back up onto Thomas' chest. "I meant, about everythin' of the past month, and even more into tomorrow."
"You make me happy," Thomas assured the sudden doubt. "Happier than I've ever been."
"And you, me," Ian added with a kiss on the chin. "But, for a month, it's been mostly you doin' all the work, all the givin'. You serve at the house all day, and then do the same for me at night and every half day."
"They pay, house and feed me in exchange for my labour," Thomas reminded, as he sat up a little against the insecurity he felt joining them in the bed. "And then I get to live, to share life, when I'm with you."
"But it's all carin' for others," Ian insisted, adjusting himself to sit up and take Thomas' nearer hand. "And you've said you don't want to live a life of service. You want more; and I want you to be happy. You deserve that, you know."
"So you keep tellin' me, and keep makin' me… Truly," he rested his head against Ian, and smiled eye to eye. "Bein' at Downton has already helped me learn a great deal, and begin to make connections. They need me; and I suppose I like that dependence in a way; but it's all for pay and experience. You needed me at first," he shushed the start of a protest, "but I'm certain, especially after Manchester, that now you also want me, aye? Not because you have to, but because you care…"
Ian nodded furiously, with a kiss to the held hand.
"And I doubt I'll ever say the same for the Granthams and staff," Thomas continued with a roll of his eyes. "What's more, I want you. I knew that even afore we moved you out of the house. And the night after the city trip, I was miserable at havin' hurt you, at thinkin' I'd lost you… Because more than want, I need you, Ian. I love you. And that's not something Thomas Barrow says lightly."
Nearly overcome, Ian nuzzled in against him, nose beside nose. So close, he shared in a whisper born of a bursting chest, not caution, "I can't shout it in the halls or streets; so I'll say it to the only ears that matter: I love Thomas Barrow."
He sat back slightly, so that watery-eyed Thomas could see him expand on the confession. "And that's not something I've ever felt about anyone, much less said about a single other soul in the world."
Thomas inhaled sharply, pulling him closer with one arm and pulling their clasped hands to his chest.
"I will make this London chance work, for you," Ian promised further. "I'll pull my weight for us. I want to make you happy, and keep you so."
"You already do," Thomas forced out, thumbing the ruddy cheek that curved into a matching smile.
They held each other still for a moment. Morning, baths, trains and interviews could wait, or not come at all, for all either cared at that moment.
"Fire's goin' out," Ian observed quietly.
"No chance," Thomas grinned, maneuvering to bite playfully, first at Ian's jaw, then the nape of his neck…
Wednesday, 11 December 1912
Later that morning, the pair were clean, fed and still punctual to the station, arriving in time to purchase their tickets and be out front to greet the Abbey car, and its three passengers.
"Thomas! Ian!" Mrs Crawley exclaimed happily as age bested status for exiting. "So good to see you, and for such an exciting day!" She stepped over to acknowledge Thomas' nod and Ian's now habitual, slight bow, before turning to make introductions. "And, Ian Barrow, this is Lady Mary Crawley, eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham."
Ian bowed more noticeably to the forced smile from the beautiful young woman, as Thomas waited beside him with a roll of drawings.
"And this is my son, Matthew Crawley…," Isobel continued, as the much friendlier man stepped out and toward them.
"Thomas," he nodded, before sticking out his hand to the younger man, "Ian, so nice to finally meet you. Mother's spoken highly of your gift for art and your good manners."
"Thank you, sir," Ian both blushed and looked pained, glancing at the proffered handshake while his etiquette was being praised. He looked from Isobel, to Thomas, to Lady Mary and back to Thomas. "Am I allowed with him?" he stage whispered through a forced smile of his own.
"Of course," Matthew laughed to beat them all, before realizing the incapacity of Ian's right arm, "Ah, but it's the other hand today." He switched to his left, and took the tentatively extended counterpart.
"It turns out Matthew has some business in London, and was able to join us, at least for the train down. The more, the merrier, for an auspicious day," Isobel grinned as she took Ian by the good arm and headed toward the platform.
Oh, goody! Mary's cheeks-only smile seemed to suggest before she stalked after them.
"I'll just see to the luggage then, shall I, sir?" Thomas almost sneered, as Matthew's whimsical decision had increased the service expectation on him, without warning and on today of all days.
"It's just an overnight bag for myself, in case it's needed; and an empty case for presents I hope to have a spare moment to purchase… Actually, you know, I'll get them myself," he corrected, pulling a bank note from his jacket, "if you wouldn't mind seeing to the tickets instead."
Unclear whether the solicitor didn't trust him with the bags—less than with money?—or didn't wish to impose on him, Thomas nodded curtly and headed off to the ticket agent before the Mancunian could clarify, and inevitably make it worse.
Another Crawley, this Crawley especially, to keep track and keep happy had not been part of the plan. And mixing this Crawley with Lady Mary meant that all of Downton was going to be even more interested in what transpired today, overall and between them specifically. The two Crawley trip had officially become a three ring circus.
NOTES
1. Carson will put Alfred up for night here in episode 4.06; and Branson stays here when fired. So the only inn in town is obviously not too posh for the servant class.