CHAPTER 3

Thomas had been sleeping deeply when voices in the corridor roused him. The day at Downton had begun. Servants were moving about, shoes sounded loudly against polished floorboards, doors opened and closed. Thomas groaned and turned over slowly, still aware of the sharp pain radiating from his ribs. He pulled the blanket over his head and tried to go back to sleep.

"Are you awake?" Jimmy's voice called softly from the doorway.

"Not even the dead could sleep through this racket," Thomas said, pushing the blanket back and rubbing his eyes sleepily. He sat up carefully, yawned, stretched and rubbed his eyes again, then raked his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair, making it more messy than it already was.

"I'm about to go down, but Mr. Branson is out inspecting the pastures and said he would eat in the village, so I'm not needed in the dining room this morning. I can bring you up some breakfast. What would you like?"

"I could get used to being waited on hand and foot," Thomas said, scraping his hair back and yawning again. He asked for some toast and tea, and just as Jimmy turned to leave he called after him, "Ask Mrs. Patmore if she can spare a cup of Epsom Salts too."

After Jimmy left, Thomas pulled himself out of bed and made his way slowly to the small bathroom attached to his room. One of the nicest perks of being promoted to under-butler was moving to a bigger room with a private bathroom. There were only two other attic rooms with private facilities. Mr. Carson had one, Mrs. Hughes the other. He brushed his teeth and filled a basin with warm water to shave. It wasn't easy to scrape a razor around the cuts without opening them up again, but he did a good enough job. By the time he was finished Jimmy was back with his breakfast tray.

"I said toast, but Mrs. Patmore had a better idea," Jimmy grinned as he waited for Thomas to get back into bed before he put the tray on his lap. As well as a steaming pot of tea and toast there was a plate of bacon, eggs and sausages. On the corner of the tray was a cup of fine white crystals.

"What's that for?" Jimmy asked, pointing to the Epsom Salts.

"The bath," Thomas replied, speaking through a mouth full of food. He hadn't realized how hungry he was, and a good night's sleep had eased his aching muscles so he was able to eat by himself.

"What does it do?"

"Helps the body heal," Thomas said, putting another forkful of food in his mouth. "We used it at the hospital during the war."

"Would you like me to run a bath for you?" Jimmy asked picking up the cup and disappearing into the tiny en-suite bathroom before Thomas could answer. "How much of the salt should I put in?" he called out over the sound of running water.

"All of it," Thomas called back.

He had finished eating by the time the bath was full and he padded barefoot into the bathroom. Jimmy was folding a fresh towel over the rail next to the bathtub. Thomas tried to pull his shirt over his head but felt a sharp pain shoot up his side and dropped his arms with loud gasp. Before he could stop him, Jimmy had hold of the hem of his shirt and was tugging it upwards. Between them, one arm at a time they managed to get it off without causing Thomas too much discomfort.

Jimmy was shocked to see how badly injured Thomas' torso was. His chest had an angry red graze across it and his ribs were terribly bruised. On the side of his stomach, low down near his hip was a big red mark that looked like the imprint of a shoe. He had been kicked as well as punched. Jimmy tried not to stare.

"I think I can manage from here," Thomas said, his fingers hooked into the waistband of his pyjama bottoms ready to pull them down, but waiting for Jimmy leave the room.

"Will you be able to get into the tub?" Jimmy asked. "I can help you Mr. Barrow, it's alright, I'm not shy."

"Well I am," Thomas said, shoving him towards the door.

The truth was, he didn't trust his body to behave itself with Jimmy standing so close to him, and heaven forbid, touching him to help him into the bathtub, especially once all his clothes were off.

Thomas closed the door but not all the way. The open few inches were just enough for Jimmy to see into the mirror. The rest of the room was reflected there. He didn't want to look but he couldn't help it, his eyes were mesmerised by the sight of Thomas peeling his pyjama bottoms off. His skin was pale and unblemished except for the bruises and cuts. Years of treading miles of corridors and climbing hundreds of stairs every day for most of his life had given Thomas a firm, toned physique.

Everything about Thomas, from his strong thighs and well defined arms to the square cut of his jaw was masculine. Even his hands were strong and manly. Everything about him defied Jimmy's idea of what a man of Thomas' persuasion should be like. He'd come across homosexual men before at Lady Anstruther's. She often surrounded herself with a coterie of theatre 'luvvies', arty types and poets, but they'd all fluttered about mincing and flouncing. They'd been reed-thin with sun-starved complexions and long, limp-wristed limbs that they draped lethargically over the drawing room furniture. They were effeminate in everything from their dress to their mannerisms. They spoke in slow, lazy drawls, emphasising a point with a dramatic roll of the eyes or a wafting wave of a hand.

There was nothing of those men in Thomas. He seemed to exude testosterone where they gave off only perfumed femininity. They had made Jimmy feel uncomfortable and he'd always found himself lowering his eyes as he served tea and drinks. But Thomas was having the opposite effect on him. He couldn't seem to pull his eyes away. The lines and planes of Thomas' body drew him. Through the reflection in the mirror Jimmy studied the shape of his arms, the long, shapely line of his thighs, and the swell of his buttocks.

But it was the glimpse he caught of the front of Thomas' body as he carefully lowered himself into the hot water that made Jimmy's cheeks flush with colour. At his previous job Jimmy would often join the other male servants when they went sneaking out to skinny dip in the lake on the estate. He'd stolen quick, admiring glances at their bodies but none of the men were a touch on Thomas. Thomas was magnificent. Judging by the other men Jimmy had seen, Thomas was big down there, and before he could stop himself, Jimmy wondered what he would look like when he was aroused. He closed his eyes to stop the image, but it was already there in his mind and he blushed.

He left Thomas to soak and relax while he took the breakfast tray back downstairs, then he cleaned a pair of Tom Branson's shoes to pass the time and went back upstairs to find Thomas still in the bathtub working a lather of soap through his hair. The bathwater was milky with soap suds, enough to protect Thomas' modesty, so he allowed Jimmy to pick up the jug from the basin and help rinse the soap from his hair. Jimmy found a clean pair of pyjamas in Thomas' dresser and brought them to him, then he closed the bathroom door to give Thomas the privacy to get out of the bath and dry himself.

When Thomas came back into the bedroom he was dressed and rubbing the towel vigorously over his hair, before combing his fingers through it.

"I feel like one of the living again," he announced with a smile as he pulled an armchair closer to the one Jimmy was sitting in and lowered himself into it. "Make yourself useful and hang that up for me," he said tossing the towel at Jimmy, who draped it over the back of the desk chair next to him.

When Jimmy turned back, Thomas was leaning back in his armchair, his head resting on the back of it, his eyes closed and his hands resting on his thighs. He hadn't put his glove back on after his bath and Jimmy got a good look the untidy star-shaped scar where the bullet went through this hand in the war. The wound had been clean through his palm and he thought Thomas had been lucky not to have lost any fingers or even the use of his hand entirely. The scar was very noticeable and ugly, but it wasn't repulsive to look at and he wondered why Thomas always wanted to keep it hidden.

"Did it hurt?" he asked.

"What?"

"This," Jimmy reached out and touched the scar with the tip of his finger.

"Like the blazes," Thomas said, pulling his hand away.

"Does it trouble you now?"

"Only when the weather changes," he seemed troubled when he said it, his eyes downcast with a distant look on his face as if he was remembering things he had long wanted to forget.

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "May I ask you something?"

"Go on," Thomas reached for a pack of cigarettes, took one out and lit it.

"The other day at the fair when you followed me..."

Not this again, thought Thomas. He didn't understand why Jimmy wouldn't let it go. He knew the young man felt badly about it but Thomas would have taken the beating, and so much more, if it meant protecting Jimmy from harm. As it was, he was already thinking about the attack as the price he'd had to pay to regain Jimmy's trust and respect. They'd spent more time together in friendship over the past two days than they had in the past year. If he hadn't been so badly beaten Jimmy wouldn't be sitting with him now. He'd still be launching hostile words at Thomas across the dinner table instead of helping him to eat and wash. He accepted the cuts and bruises as punishment for the torment he'd caused Jimmy. He would gladly have suffered them over and over again if it meant he could get up each day and look forward to just one smile from the lovely footman. He knew that Jimmy had never asked for it, and probably hated it, but Thomas missed those precious moments so long ago when he'd been able to put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder or give his neck a secret caress. And now here they were, and it was Jimmy who was offering his hand in friendship, it was Jimmy's fingers that lingered too long on his arm, and Jimmy's lips that had brushed against his mouth last night. Thomas felt like he was living a dream and he was afraid of waking up to find it wasn't true.

His cigarette hung from his lips, the smoke rising in front of his face making his eyes narrow and his brow crease. He didn't speak, instead he just watched Jimmy through the spiral of smoke. Then with his fingers clamped around it he sucked a mouthful of calming nicotine from it, and slowly blew the smoke out through slightly parted lips. Jimmy's eyes were fixed on the burning tip of the cigarette as Thomas returned it to his mouth and drew on it again. This time he held the smoke in longer then turned to flick the ash into an ashtray on the table next to him and exhaled. The burn in his lungs felt good. Something in Jimmy's voice, the way he had asked the question gave Thomas an ominous feeling.

"You've asked me that already, and I've told you why," he said, sucking in another lungful of smoke and blowing it out. His hands were starting to tremble as he lifted the cigarette back to his mouth. He clamped it between his lips and clasped his hands in his lap to keep them steady.

Jimmy watched him closely, his face unreadable but his eyes telling Thomas that he was not satisfied with the answer.

"But why exactly did you follow me? On the off chance that I'd get mugged and you could leap in like a mad fool and save me? What were the chances?" Jimmy stared at Thomas, his eyes pleading for the truth. "You had no way of knowing anything would happen to me, so why did you follow me? You knew I was a bit drunk, did you think I'd be too fuzzy-headed to resist your advances? Maybe I wouldn't remember it the next day?"

"I am not a monster." Thomas said the words calmly and slowly but there was an edge of ice in his voice, the cigarette still between his lips, bobbed as he spoke.

"Then why?"

There was more to this than the simple question Jimmy was asking, there was something he was trying to say. Years of observing people and learning to read their tell-tale signs had taught Thomas that. Jimmy was going to make his point in a roundabout way, but he still didn't seem sure that he could trust Thomas completely, and the only way Thomas knew how to make him do that was to give him the honest answers he wanted to hear.

"Because I'm fond of you Jimmy. You were drunk, you were flashing your winnings about, you were drawing attention to yourself."

Thomas took a last long drag on his cigarette, then he stubbed it out and blew the smoke out, tilting his head upwards so it didn't go in Jimmy's face. Then he leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and looked straight into Jimmy's clear blue eyes.

Thomas took a deep breath and continued. "And I thought we might be able to talk without the others around. I thought as you were very tipsy you might not be so hostile, you might let your guard down just long enough to hear what I wanted to tell you."

"What did you want to say to me?" Jimmy's voice was rough with emotion.

"That I'm not an evil person. That I'm sorry for what happened that night, that I hadn't meant to harm you or offend you. That if I hadn't been led to believe you felt the same way, I would never have come into your room and kissed you. I'll not lie to you Jimmy, I was drawn to you from the moment I saw you. I still am. I feel badly for the way things turned out. I looked for the signs, I wanted to believe they were there... I wanted to believe that there was something between us. That's why I followed you, I wanted to talk to you, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am, that I'd meant no harm by it, I was acting out of hope, and I made a mistake. That's God's honest truth Jimmy, that's all I wanted from you."

Jimmy's eyes were glistening and he blinked them rapidly. "When you came into my room that night, what did you want from me?"

"To kiss you..."

"If Alfred hadn't been there and I'd kissed you back what would have happened?"

Thomas shook his head slowly. "I don't know, I can't give you an answer to that because it didn't turn out that way."

"But if it had, imagine if it did?"

"I'd have been a very happy man." Thomas' eyes clouded over when he said it, as if he'd had a fleeting glimpse of something wonderful and then lost it again.

"What would you have done then?"

"I don't know. Kissed you again I suppose."

"Would you have got into my bed with me?"

"Maybe."

Not satisfied with Thomas' answer, Jimmy pressed him again

"Would you have?" .

"Yes."

"Would you have had sex with me?"

The question was blunt and Thomas was a bit taken aback, but he answered it truthfully.

"Probably not that night, no."

"But you wanted to?"

"Eventually, yes."

They both fell silent as the words hung in the air between them. Thomas' gaze dropped and he stared at the floor. After a while he cleared his throat but his voice was still hoarse when he spoke.

"I'd not have had sex with you, I'd have made love to you... there's a difference." He still looked at the floorboards unable to meet Jimmy's eyes.

"Did you think you were in love with me?"

"Yes." Thomas' answer was so quiet that Jimmy almost didn't hear it. His hands shook as he lit another cigarette.

"Are you still?"

Thomas nodded, he didn't trust his voice to stay steady enough to speak.

He smoked the cigarette quickly, one puff after another, then stubbed it out and took another from the pack, but didn't light it, just twirled it around in his fingers.

"What drew you to me? What made you think I was like you?" Jimmy asked. His mouth was dry and he tried to lick his lips but it didn't help.

"You're beautiful," Thomas finally looked up at him. "You walked into the kitchen that first day and I thought I'd seen an angel."

"But what made you think that I was the same as you? You can't base it on looks alone, so what did you see in me that made you think I was different? Why did you come on to me and not Alfred?"

Thomas looked at him in mock shock, his mouth open and his eyes wide. "Alfred? Come on, really? Not even a blind man would..."

It lifted what had become a very heavy atmosphere and Jimmy's lips broke into a smile, but his eyes were still serious. "But there must have been something about me that made you think I would respond to you."

"Look if you're asking me if you gave me any signs that led me on, then no, you didn't. If you're worried that there's something about you that screams nancyboy, there isn't. I thought you were beautiful, but I also thought you were a real ladies man the way you charmed the girls. But O'Brien kept telling me otherwise. I told her she'd lost her mind, but she kept insisting, she kept telling me things she said she heard from Alfred. I started to doubt myself, to wonder if there was something I missed, something I didn't pick up on. So I tested her theory, I made little passes at you and when you didn't reject me outright, I began to hope for something more."

Thomas looked at Jimmy for a long time, waiting for him to say something, but he didn't. So Thomas continued.

"You've done nothing wrong Jimmy, it was my fault. I wanted so much to believe in something that wasn't ever there. I made a mistake, and I'm sorry that you've had to pay for it."

A small sound escaped from Jimmy's throat. He tried to choke it back but it was out before he could stop it. He blinked his eyes furiously as tears threatened to spill down his cheeks.

"I want to tell you something Mr. Barrow. May I?" his voice hitched and his body was trembling.

"It's Thomas," the under-butler said gently as he reached out and placed a hand on Jimmy's knee.

He wanted so much to hug him tightly and soothe his tears away, but the mood was tense, Jimmy was fragile and he, himself felt shattered. He pulled himself out of the chair and walked on stiff legs to his dresser. He pulled a bottle and a glass from the bottom drawer, then picked up a teacup from the bedside table. Sitting back in the chair he poured a tot of whiskey into the glass for Jimmy and a bigger one into the cup for himself. Jimmy took the drink with a shaking hand and swallowed it in one go. Thomas did the same and poured them another one each. Then he shifted forward and placed his hand back on Jimmy's leg.

"Tell me, I'm listening," he said gently.

The sudden rattle of the doorknob startled them both as Daisy came bursting into the room.

"I know I shouldn't be up here, but I had to tell you the news!" she almost shouted. It took her a second to register Jimmy sitting there with the glass still in his hand. "What are you doing here? Mr. Carson will have your hide if he finds out. Are you drinking?"

"There must be a reason you've troubled yourself to run all the way upstairs?" Thomas' voice was clear and calm, but his eyes were cautious, uncertain if he could trust Daisy not to go downstairs and blurt out what she'd seen.

Remembering what she'd sprinted all the way up to the attic to say, her face broke into a broad grin. "Lady Mary's had her baby! It's a boy!" she beamed.

"In Scotland?" Thomas asked.

"No here in the village. She's come back early and gone straight to Downton hospital. The whole family are coming back tomorrow. Mr. Carson is running around like a mad man, the house isn't ready and Mrs. Patmore hasn't got any food prepared. You'd better come down Jimmy, right away before Mr. Carson sees you're missing."

Thomas shooed her out and he and Jimmy sat staring at each other.

"A little boy," Jimmy said with wonder.

"Another spoilt Crawley needing to be waited on hand and foot," Thomas sighed.

All thoughts of their conversation were forgotten. Jimmy splashed water on his face and ran his fingers through his hair while Thomas rummaged through his coat pockets for a tin of peppermints. It was bad enough he'd kept Jimmy from his work all morning, but the last thing he needed was for Mr. Carson to smell alcohol on the young footman too.

To be continued….