Downton Abbey:

The Sufficiency of Service (formerly Guy(s) Night)

by Mirwalker

Chapter Fifty-two: Epilogue

October 1925

"This is not 1850, you know!" scoffed Sir Mark coldly as he exited, chiding Thomas for doubting the manor's small staff size on his first day, and perhaps also bemoaning the scale himself.

Indeed, Thomas thought to himself as he surveyed his new domain. It's October 1925. I'm still in service. And, though chief of a household, it's a downright fiefdom compared to where I've been… This wasn't what he wanted.

Not two months earlier, he'd managed not to be caught by death; he was instead caught, just in time, by a seemingly clairvoyant Phyllis Baxter. Denied a quick route to being with Ian, he had used a visit from his only friend, the young Master George, and his larger "flu" recovery, to reframe his situation and to renew his commitment to seeking, even making, the happiness Ian had wished for him. So much in his life had not been his decision, or at least good choices by him; but this this new chance and outlook seemed different—a fresh start, opportunity and hope he'd not felt since the days following a certain stormy night…

For, while not stopping Thomas from leaving Downton just a few weeks later, everyone—downstairs and up—had spoken kindly of him and wished him well. He'd received rare handshakes, kisses to the cheek, words of journey and friendship, even a small satchel of long-forgotten favorite biscuits. For the first time in fifteen years there, he'd felt it possible they actually appreciated him. That he was wanted.

Then, of course, they'd all parted ways; and he'd come to serve the Stiles as butler, valet and more. Taking stock of what he had, and what had given up, Thomas turned from the table to the window, and looked out on his new, small world. He reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out the tattered sketch of his anchor and muse.(1) The faded gaze and smile greeted him through years of dirt and wear, reminding him that he was loveable and loved, even if lonely.

Only now, he wasn't just missing Ian—that he did daily, if not hourly. After years of wishing to escape the drama and disdain of Downton Abbey, he now faced a future as head of a drowsy and disinterested manor. With the Bateses friendly, Carson and the Crawleys complimentary, and Baxter ever-ready to see the best in him too, he realized that he already missed the larger house and household, and who he could be, who he was there.

Recalling the dream he'd shared with Wink, he remained certain he didn't love being a servant; but he was good at it—quite good. He accepted that he didn't have his own house, car or staff, at least not in the way he'd intended. And he knew that he would always carry an empty place inside for the strong, clever, beautiful orphan who'd adopted him one Guy Fawkes Night.

As those charcoal eyes peered up at him through smudged dirt, a lock of pasted curls, and countless kisses, Thomas understood that, through it all, he still desperately needed to be wanted—fully, openly, respectfully and for all his flaws as well as strengths. Ian had offered that intimately and completely; Jimmy, Baxter and a few scant others had offered that platonically; and Downton had ultimately offered that professionally. For all its complications and crises, the Abbey alone in his life had also been home to all his positive relations.

But he was still Thomas Barrow. While life was no longer unbearable, neither was it as sunny as the new home's garden today. Turning back to the table for two, he sighed and braced himself for the stale reality of his new life, after Downton.

Thursday, 31 December 1925

Thomas had to catch himself several times throughout the afternoon and evening. Back at Downton for the wedding, among the old faces and spaces, he had nearly picked up several stray glasses and trays, and had actually opened a door for one other guest, standing nearly at attention in his brown suit as he did. Andy, Baxter and Mrs Hughes had each chided him at some point, reminding him just to enjoy being a guest. But being more familiar with the staff than the other invitees, he found it more than awkward to hold only his own plate and flute; and more necessary than desirable to stand alone and merely watch, rather than fraternize with, the names and faces he'd once served in this very hall.

"I imagine this is a bit strange for you," said a familiar voice, suddenly beside him. "Though I hope not uncomfortable."

"Lady Merton," he turned and nodded.

"I'm afraid for all my years' in training here, I'm not entirely certain how I should address you this evening: 'Barrow, Mister Barrow, ...'"

"I'm happy with just 'Thomas,'" he smiled, as they continued to look out on the milling crowd.

"Are you happy, Thomas?" the once Mrs Crawley cut to the quick, pleasantly but firmly, as usual. "I've no right to ask, I know. But I do hope you are; I always have."

"I have always appreciated your concern. And I am glad for your happiness with Lord Merton."

"We've all been through a great deal, this family—above and below stairs. But I remain convinced that, on the whole, we each have earned some happiness, don't you think?" she looked up at him with a piercing gaze. "You deserve to be happy. We all do."

"May I get you another drink?" he nodded to her empty glass for lack of other handy response, overwhelmed by the unexpected outpouring from her, and the sentiments it echoed.

"Thomas, you needn't…"

"I would like to," he offered sincerely, person to person.

She paused a moment, assessing the dynamic at play after all the years. Judging this to be a return to a long lost collaboration, not a continued role play across heightened social lines, she nodded her own sincere, "Thank you."

Approaching the service table, Thomas found Carson himself pouring the drinks. Or at least, trying to…

"Are you excited to come back to Downton?" Daisy rushed up to him in the servants' hall, and gushed without any other greeting. "Miss Baxter says you're not enjoyin' the new house at all. And it'll be so nice to have you back here with us."

"You're as bubbly as the champagne," Thomas didn't quite answer, still making sense of it himself. "Have you been tastin' it early?"

"I'm just happy!" as if she needed to explain what was so clear upon her. "So much has happened today!"

"You've cut your hair," he observed tangentially.

"All of them," she smiled back with a flip of her head, suddenly bashful.

"Has he noticed?" he glanced toward Andy. "He's a fool if he hasn't."

"Let's just say, there's hope…," she grinned toward the lanky footman, who also looked her way just then.

Adding to his evening's joy, Thomas smiled for them, genuinely glad for their budding, awkward happiness. Especially with his return, it also might ensure Daisy's moving off him for a while, if not forever.

As a giggling housemaid pulled the assistant cook away to show her something, Thomas looked about the crowded, festive hall of his friends and to-be-again colleagues. Relishing the return to this family, their complete couplings highlighted his own, eternal bachelor status: the Carsons, the too friendly Mrs Patmore and Mister Mason, Baxter and goofy Molesley, and now Andy and Daisy. And that was just downstairs! Needing a break from their even numbers and many layered celebrations, he slipped down the hall and stepped outside for some distance and a smoke.

Lighting up in the silence of the dim, snowy courtyard, he finally had a moment for all the day's events to begin settling in. The morose middle Crawley daughter finally married, and a marchioness to boot. Bates and Anna become parents, after all their literal trials, and in Lady Mary's own room and bed no less. And most unexpectedly, he had been plucked without warning from among the merrymakers, to succeed the inimitable Charles Carson as Downton butler. 1925 was going out with an excess of relief, joy, and poetic justice.

He'd need to take his leave soon, as he'd only had the one night off; he was due back first thing for the Stiles' breakfast service. And he'd have to figure out how not to shout his resignation too happily at the joyless couple at the earliest opportunity. Jumping past that unsmall formality, his mind raced with what else the next few days, weeks and months would entail. As snow continued to fall, he was reminded first how, in his room at the Stiles', an aging papercraft angel sat on his dresser, not yet put away from the Christmas season. One of only a few things he'd need to pack for the return to his new room here, or perhaps for year-round display in the butler's study. His study.

This wasn't at all how Thomas had dreamed his life would go; it was both better and not as independent. He would be running a grand household, even if not exactly his own. He wouldn't have one special someone to share it with; but he would be part of a large respectful and capable community. And most importantly, he was wanted, and would not be alone. It wasn't everything he'd hoped; but perhaps, on his own terms now, he could find the sufficiency of service.

"Thomas!" Baxter beckoned suddenly and excitedly from the doorway. "It's nearly midnight!"

With a bittersweet smile, he pulled a cube of Turkish delight from his pocket, placed a gentle kiss upon it, and set it on a stack of boxes beside the door. Snuffing out his smoke, he headed back in for the next of many arrangements it was now his happy responsibility to make.

THE END

NOTES

1. If you watch the series finale closely, you'll see Thomas reach into his jacket pocket just after Sir Mark Stiles chides him.

That's it for this one! The plan had always been more about building Thomas' relationship with Ian, as off-screen backstory for much of his attitude and actions through the rest of the series. I hope that is clear, quality and canon...

Also, I've added the likely new title (in addition to old one); I welcome constructive feedback on that potential change, as well as the piece overall.

Thanks to all those who've read, followed, fave'd, reviewed and/or just been along for the ride. Please check out my other pieces if you like those universes; good reading!