When it happens, it happens on a soft sweet morning late in spring. They're eating their breakfast together as usual, hands occasionally abandoning cups or forks in favor of touching a cheek, curling around a wrist. There is a knock from the front, and Elise leaves Sarah at the table with breakfast laid out neatly between them to answer the door; she returns a fifteen minutes later with Thomas trailing in her wake, too pale and strained around the eyes, and Sarah nearly chokes on her toast.
They interrogate him, of course, demand to know the whys and hows. He sits and eats from Sarah's plate (he wouldn't dare lay a hand on Mrs. Hughes' two eggs and two sausages, the idea itself nearly profane) and stares at the tabletop with shadow-ringed eyes. Sarah sees the red slash of a barely healed scar just near his hairline and draws a sharp breath, her stomach twisting. Elsie sees it too; she feels the older woman go still beside her, and a glance from the corner of her eye reveals hands that tremble, just a little, and lips pressed into a tight line.
Sarah knows where she's gone and throws aside the feelings of trepidation; she slides her arm around Elsie's waist and squeezes fiercely- Thomas' expression is a delight to behold, all wide eyes and slackened jaw. Sarah looks at him as though he's an idiot as Elsie fidgets beside her, uncomfortable with the position she's put them in but not pulling away, either.
"Come on then, Thomas. We haven't all morning."
Thomas hesitates, swallows down the rest of Sarah's cooling tea (bastard), and tells his tale. It begins with a strapping, golden boy with eyes like cobalt glass, and Sarah knows at once what's happened. The new footman was too beautiful, Thomas too lonesome. Despite having nearly thirty years and a stint in the trenches under his belt Thomas is still wet behind the ears, and can't read people half so well as Sarah or even Elsie can.
"He went to Carson, an' I was out by the end of the evenin' without a reference. I'm damned fortunate they didn't run for the constable." Thomas says, his voice dulled in defeat, and he looks at the women with something like resentment in his gaze. Instinctively, Elsie and Sarah press close together for reassurance, the slopes of their bodies meeting under layers of flannel nightdresses and care-worn dressing gowns. Their sort have it a little easier, if one defines 'easy' as being able to go unseen and unacknowledged for one's whole life; fact of the matter is that no one really keeps their eyes on the women of the world, much less lowly born women like Sarah O'Brien and Elsie Hughes. They can get away with more, in the long run.
"What are your plans?"
Elsie's voice is soft, not quite pitying but close enough. Thomas barks a bitter laugh and rakes his ruined hand through his hair. His eyes glitter in the light streaming through the window, something trembling on his eyelashes.
"Chuck myself in the nearest river, maybe? Find a sturdy tree branch?"
Sarah wants to hit him, partly for the fear in her own heart and partly for the little shudder his words send through Elsie's body. She settles for a glare and another arm around Elsie, holding her fast.
"That's a fine plan, after all the trouble you went to in gettin' here. Surely you've a reason for comin' to us."
Thomas only shakes his head and lets his shoulders hunch forward.
"I thought I'd find my feet again, but that's an idiot dream, isn't it? No one will hire a sod without a good reference."
The silence stretches like gossamer, and Elsie gently disengages Sarah's arms so that she might step forward. Her hand finds his shoulder.
"Not everyone."