1925

The next morning, Thomas was helped to the bathroom by the kind‑hearted Andy. Their eyes immediately settled on the shiny white tub, all evidence of the previous day's carnage scrubbed clean. "I'll wait outside," the footman mumbled uncomfortably. Thomas emptied his bladder and staggered to the sink to wash his hands. The reflection in the glass shocked him. He was still very pale, and there were purple smudges beneath his sunken eyes. He needed to shave but knew without being told that his razor had been confiscated. Perhaps Andy would assist him with that, too.

He received a number of visitors that day beginning with Lady Mary and Master George. Thomas wondered if he should stand but wasn't sure it would be quite proper in his pajamas. The little boy handed him an orange to aid in his recovery, bringing a smile to the underbutler's face. At least he had one friend. Later, Dr. Clarkson was shown upstairs, seeming pleased with the progress he was making. Miss Baxter and Anna dropped by frequently with little treats specially prepared by Mrs. Patmore and Daisy. Even Mr. Molesley looked in to ask if he needed anything. No one spoke to him about what happened, but everybody knew. The news of the attempted suicide had spread quickly downstairs, and the story of the flu promptly abandoned.

After dinner, there was a quiet knock, and Bates entered, closing the door behind him. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better, I think," Thomas replied uneasily. He had been dreading this conversation all day.

The valet lowered himself into the chair by the bed. He didn't speak for several moments. "I'm sorry."

"What have you got to be sorry for?"

Bates struggled to put his feelings into words. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to catch you this time."

Barrow turned away, willing himself not to cry. "It would have been better if I'd died."

"Don't talk like that," the older man spoke sternly. "You've been given another chance. Make the most of it."

"It's too late. My life is ruined, and it's all my fault."

"You can change it."

"I've already tried that," Thomas replied bitterly.

Bates looked puzzled. "How do you mean?"

"Never mind."

"No, I want to hear."

Thomas took a deep breath. "Last year when I said I was going home to see my dying father, I actually went for a series of treatments that were supposed to—make me like other men."

"What sort of 'treatments?' " Bates asked suspiciously.

"Electroshock therapy."

"Dear God!" The valet looked horrified.

"I saw the ad in a magazine. It claimed they could turn someone like me into a ladies' man. I telephoned and was told to come straight away. They gave me the address of their clinic in London, and I trained up the next morning. When I arrived, I saw there were other men there too, other men like me. No one spoke or even looked up. We were too ashamed."

Bates listened in silence.

"I was desperate. Jimmy was gone, and I knew if I were to have any chance of happiness, I had to change what I was. When I got back to Downton, I continued the pills and injections they gave me, but they made me very ill. Finally, Miss Baxter took me around to see Dr. Clarkson."

A look of realization spread over Bates' face. "I remember now. So that's why you were looking so dreadful." He added softly, "But it didn't work, did it?"

"No, it didn't bloody work. It was all a waste of time and money. Go on. Have a good laugh at the pathetic queer who thought he could cure himself."

But John didn't laugh. Instead, he went on to relate how he had once purchased a "limp corrector" in a futile attempt to rid himself of his stick. The device did nothing but cause him excruciating pain which he was unable to hide. "Mrs. Hughes found out about it and made me throw the damned thing into the lake."

Thomas smiled faintly at that. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

Bates agreed. "We're not so different, you and I." He changed the subject. "Do you ever hear from Jimmy?"

"He wrote to me once. I answered, but I never heard back. It's probably for the best."

"Is there—anyone else?"

"No, and there never will be."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," Thomas insisted.

Bates didn't argue the point. "So why did you do it?"

The younger man simply shrugged. "No one wants me, here or anywhere else it seems. Even Molesley got a job offer to teach at the school. Molesley."

That was met with a little smile. "Was that the only reason, or was it the other thing, too?"

"You mean the fact that I'll grow old and die alone?" Thomas replied sarcastically. "Apparently, I'm not even allowed to have a friend. Everyone here did their best to turn Andy against me."

"Not everyone. And you seem to be getting on now."

"Yes, and Mr. Carson all but accused me of buggering the lad. I told him there was nothing improper going on, but he didn't believe me. He still doesn't trust me after all these years."

"You've lied to him in the past."

"That was a long time ago. I've changed since then. Why can't he see that?"

"People have long memories," John declared sagely. "Maybe it's a good thing you're leaving. In a new house, you can begin again and make a fresh start."

"But this is my home," Thomas explained with a slight catch in his voice. "I've gotten used to everyone here, not that they'll be sorry to see me go."

"You're wrong about that. Everyone will miss you very much when you're gone—including me."

Thomas was astounded. "I should have thought you'd be happy to see the back of me. I've been a right bastard to you."

"Yes, you have, since the day I arrived. Why is that?"

They were finally getting down to it now. "I was His Lordship's valet until you came along and took my job."

"It was never your job. You were only filling in temporarily."

Thomas didn't reply.

Bates continued accusingly, "You tried to get me sacked for stealing, first with the snuffbox and then with the wine."

"I knew Mr. Carson would see the wine was missing, and I'd end up getting the blame."

"You were to blame," John growled. "Why were you drinking so much anyway?"

"I was trying to forget," Thomas replied vaguely. It still hurt to think how casually the Duke had tossed him aside.

"But you kept it up even after you were promoted to underbutler and outranked me." He couldn't manage to keep the resentment out of his voice. "Why?"

"I was jealous. You had everything, and I had nothing. Your life was so easy."

Bates shook his head in disbelief. "Easy, you call it? I took a bullet in the leg in the South African war, and I'll never walk normally again. Before coming to Downton, I was convicted of theft and served time. Then I was falsely imprisoned for the murder of my first wife, not to mention the whole Mr. Green business. What part of that sounds easy to you?"

"You have Anna and your life together."

"Anna is the one good thing that ever happened to me."

"I'm sorry I've been unkind to her. She doesn't deserve it," Barrow admitted.

"No, she doesn't."

"I told you I'm a bastard."

"Yes, but you're also the man who took a beating to spare Jimmy, the one who rescued Lady Edith from the fire, and the one who paid off Andy's gambling debts. I think I saw who you really were the night you tried to hang yourself."

"I don't want to talk about that night," Thomas interjected quickly. He was still embarrassed about breaking down in front of the valet.

"You're a better man than you know, Mr. Barrow, or you could be anyway."

Thomas was unsure how to respond to that. "Why, Mr. Bates, that almost sounds like a compliment."

"It wouldn't kill us to be a little nicer to each other."

The younger man paused to consider. "No, I don't suppose it would." He grinned. "I'm going to miss all the bickering, though."

Bates let out a little laugh.

"Does this mean we're going to be friends now?" Thomas asked tentatively.

"Do you want to be friends?"

"Only if you invite me to the cottage for dinner." He imagined being welcomed inside for once, instead of always on the outside looking in.

Bates smiled. "We'll have you over as soon as you're back on your feet." He rose to leave. "Goodnight, Thomas."

"Goodnight—John."