A/N I: I'm now jumping ahead in time to after season 5. Unfortunately, this no longer aligns perfectly with cannon. Remember I wrote the outline of this story between seasons 3 and 4, so some characters introduced since will not feature, even though they probably should. Still no spoilers for seasons 4-5; although some things that I wrote into the story did happen on TV, most of them happened on a wildly different timetable than Julian's. I hope that doesn't turn anyone off.
A/N II: Sorry for the long delay in updates. I always swore I would finish a story before I began to post, and this is why. I had some serious RL get in the way. RL still getting in the way, to be honest, and will probably continue. I am still here. The second part of this chapter is still not done, but I don't think I'll be changing any of this first part- I was hoping if I waited until after the season 5 finale I could change any minor details that did not align to canon, but, that didn't work out so well for me.
Spring, 1926 (part I)
Thomas observed Sybbie and Georgie running and playing in the distance as he stepped out for his smoke break. The cousins had grown up close, half- orphans, half-aristocrats. They shared a governess now, the chauffer's daughter getting the same education as the future Earl of Grantham.
The world was changing. Actually, the world had changed, and Downton was finally trying to catch up. With the chauffer managing the estate for the past several years, the business model had been transformed into something that might just sustain itself well into the 20th century and throughout the life of young George. Branson and the Earl took young Master George out on their rounds throughout the estate so George could absorb and learn without being lectured. In turn, Lady Mary happily took Sybbie with her on calls throughout the county. That way, the focus was on Sybbie, and not Mary's rich widow status and moldable young son.
The remainder of the time, both children were learning Latin, French, arithmetic, history, and all loads of other subjects from the governess. Already young Miss Branson could recite and play piano with the best ladies of the land. How uncomfortable her father looked at each subsequent event! And yet how proud her grandparents were.
Lady Mary and the Earl and Countess sang the praises of the governess, Miss Harriet. Downstairs, she was tolerated at best. Miss Harriet made Thomas reminisce fondly about the days of the parade of incompetent, lazy nannies flirting shamelessly with the chauffer or Thomas himself. Miss Harriet was instead bad tempered, self-righteous and Lord Almighty, she did not refuse the rod with those children.
Thomas had experienced his fair share of the rod during his childhood as well. He could have done without. The abuse had made him cold, indifferent. It was the cause of everything he was that he didn't like.
Spare the rod and spoil the child, is what Carson had said when Thomas had reported the intensity of Miss Harriet's discipline techniques. Thomas had begun to protest, but Carson waved him off. Thomas had tried Mrs. Hughes, who had sympathized.
By the end of the week Mrs. Hughes reported that she had approached Lady Mary, who sternly reminded Mrs. Hughes about Miss Harriet's reputation and credentials, and her long list of former students who turned out to be the finest members of society.
Mrs. Hughes had then approached Tom. He timidly replied that both children seemed to be learning a lot from the governess and furthermore, he knew very little about what children needed from a governess, since he of course never had one, being largely self-taught. Mrs. Hughes did report that "Mr. Branson" had looked very pensive after the fact and Thomas had noticed that recently the chauffer had taken a less passive interest in his daughter's education. Thomas had even overheard some muttering after one of Georgie's readings of Calvin- "MY daughter shouldn't be learning that heresy," or something along those lines.
Thomas took a long, beautiful drag from his cigarette and smiled at Georgie and Sybbie inviting the neighborhood children to join their game. This was undoubtedly what Mr. Crawley and Nurse Crawley would have been proud of in seeing their children, not painting accomplishments or Latin poetry readings.
Thomas put out his cigarette and turned to go back inside when he heard a faint whimper coming from the direction where the children were playing. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Sybbie on the ground, her cousin and the other children unawares halfway across the field.
"Barrow!" she cried between her wails. Thomas rushed quickly to the child's side and squatted beside her. Her knee was cut and bleeding and her whole left side seemed to be covered in dirt. Again he called upon his years at the convalescent home to assess her injuries. There was nothing severe, but her ankle was jetted out at an odd angle, and Thomas doubted she would be able to stand or walk on it.
"There, there, Miss Branson. It will be all right. I shall fetch Dr. Clarkson at once-"
"NO!" Sybbie screeched louder. "You! Make it better, Barrow!"
"Well, Miss Branson, I don't know-" Thomas had an idea. "I DO happen to have just the right medicine for a scrapped knee….." He pulled out a hard candy from his pocket and offered it to her.
"THAT's not medicine, that's candy, Barrow!" the little girl protested.
"Miss Branson, I am shocked! As you very well know, I was a medic with your dear mother during the Great War. I think I know what is candy and what is medicine. And this, my dear Miss Branson, is definitely highly effective, cutting edge ankle medicine. If it looks or tastes like candy it is merely a coincidence."
Sybbie looked dubious, but look the candy and put it in her mouth. Her wailing turned to soft sobbing, but she continued to look at Barrow with suspicion.
"Very good, Miss Branson, thank you." Thomas knew Miss Sybil still had to be looked at by the doctor. He couldn't tell if she had twisted or broken her ankle. "Now I shall fetch Dr. Clarkson."
"NO! YOU! You have medicine, Barrow! You fix me! Stay here! I'm scared, Barrow!" Sybbie's cries increased again and she reached for Thomas' arm to keep him from leaving.
The child legitimately looked frightened, Thomas thought. He couldn't leave her alone in this state, but she needed the doctor. There was no way Sybbie could get to the main house on her own legpower. Thomas was at a loss when Sybbie's tears cleared slightly again and she called, "Georgie! Georgie!"
Thomas pivoted and saw the boy running about 20 feet away. "Master George," Thomas could not dare to raise his voice at the heir of Downton, but he did stand and between the two of them, they caught Georgie's attention.
"Sybbie?" the concerned boy walked over cautiously as if he were afraid of what he would see. "What is wrong, Sybbie?"
Sybbie's chin trembled and tears slowly fell down. Georgie turned to Thomas. "Barrow, I insist on knowing! What is wrong with my cousin?"
"I don't know, Master George. We need to fetch your Grandpa Clarkson straight away." Thomas weighed the options. Georgie would be unable to stop Sybbie if, stubborn girl, she decided to try to walk. It would be better if Thomas himself stayed and distracted Miss Sybil while Georgie ran to the big house to alert someone to contact Dr. Clarkson. "Master George, I need you to run as fast as you can to the house and have Mr. Carson or someone in your family telephone your Grandpa Clarkson right away. We'll stay right here. Your cousin can't move."
Georgie stood and turned towards the house, then turned around, "Is Sybbie going to die?" he asked Thomas.
"Of course not!" Thomas protested immediately. "I just need to stay here and make sure your cousin doesn't try to walk. Her ankle may be broken or sprained."
Georgie looked doubtfully at Thomas, then at Sybbie, then turned and ran-quite fast, Thomas noted- towards the house.
Thomas turned his attention back to Sybbie. "Tell me a story, Barrow!"
A story. Yes, that would be a good distraction. If Thomas knew any stories. "You've heard all my stories, Miss Branson, and I promise you, they are not nearly the caliber of Mr. Carson's."
Sybbie glared at him, chin trembling.
"Right. Um, allright," Thomas thought fast. "Once upon a time at Downton Abbey, there lived an evil footman."
"No, Barrow! There are no evil footman at Downton!"
"Of course not, Miss Branson! But this is a story." Sybbie looked somewhat pacified, so Thomas continued. "The evil footman plotted and pranked with the mean old ladies maid-"
Sybbie cut him off , "Mrs. Bates isn't mean or old!"
Barrow patiently explained again, "This is a story, Miss Branson," at least the girl was distracted and not crying. "The evil footman and bitter maid plotted against Mr. Bates! The evil footman tripped Mr. Bates in front of the entire house when a very important guest came to visit. Eventually, Mr. Bates was going to leave. He was in the car with all of his suitcases-"
"Oh no!" Sybbie exclaimed, enraptured in the story that included people she knew.
"When! At the last moment, your grandpapa ran for the car and demanded that Mr. Bates get out and continue working."
Sybbie giggled, injury forgotten. "Another Barrow!"
Thomas began again, "Once upon a time in London, your Aunt Mary-"
"No, Barrow! Evil footman story!" Sybbie demanded.
What have I gotten myself into? Thomas wondered. There weren't a lot of "evil footman stories" that would be appropriate for young Sybil. Or that he would want to share anyway.
"Once upon a time at Downton Abbey, there lived an evil footman. He stole something very valuable from your grandpapa, and then made it look like Mr. Bates had taken it instead."
"Why did the evil footman hate Mr. Bates so much?"
Damn kids. They get right to the heart of the matter, don't they? "Well, Miss Branson, that is hard to say," Thomas paused, "I think the evil footman resented Mr. Bates because he thought Mr. Bates had taken the job that he should have gotten."
"The evil footman was jealous?"
"That's right, I suppose. He thought he was too good, too important, to be a footman, or a servant at all really."
Sybbie responded thoughtfully, "My papa was a servant once. He was a chaw-show—"
"The chauffer. Yes, that's right Miss Branson. Shall I finish the story?" Sybbie nodded eagerly. "Mr. Bates was too clever and returned it to your grandpapa's room."
"The evil footman never got caught?"
"Nope."
"Mr. Bates was really nice to him."
"I suppose he was. Oh, look, here comes your cousin with Dr. Clarkson." Thank God, Thomas thought.
Thomas was up reading the paper in the servants' hall when Carson came in that night after the rest of the servants had gone to bed.
"I was just checking in on Miss Branson." Carson informed Thomas.
"Oh? Is everything all right?" Thomas was confident she would be all right. She was a tough girl.
"Of course. She just has to stay off her feet for a couple of days as the doctor ordered. Clarkson will be here in the morning to check on her again."
Thomas nodded and turned his attention back to the newspaper, thinking this was the end of the conversation.
"She wanted me to tell her a story about an evil footman."
Thomas now appeared very interested in his paper. "What story did you tell her, Mr. Carson?"
"I told her there are no evil footmen at Downton Abbey," Carson paused, peering at the younger man, "And never have been."
Thomas turned the page.
Carson continued, "You know what she said?"
Thomas flipped the paper down far enough to make brief eye contact with his boss. "What did Miss Branson say, Mr. Carson?"
"She said, 'There are no evil footman, Carson, but there's an evil governess.'"
"I wonder who that might be," Thomas mused, feigning disinterest.
Carson slammed his palms against the table. "We're talking about the health and well-being of the children."
"I thought if you spare the rod you'll spoil the child," Thomas said wryly.
"Not all of Miss Branson's scars are from her tumble this afternoon," was Carson's only reply.
Thomas stayed silent, biting his tongue.
Carson sighed, defeated. "You always have a plan, Mr. Barrow, what's your plan?"
Thomas raised his eyebrows yet higher, "Are you suggesting an alliance, Mr. Carson?"
"I'll do whatever in my power to keep those children safe," Carson said firmly.
Thomas nodded. "I do have a plan, but we'll need a little help."
