I was surprised to realize how much I had enjoyed spending the day working alongside Mr. Barrow. With him being under butler, he was in a position of authority over me and our paths didn't often directly cross. Today I'd discovered how fun it was to laugh and joke as we worked side by side, and not once all day had I been bothered by my friend's unnatural attraction to me.

I was also relieved to have gotten my secret about Lady Anstruther off my chest. Mr. Barrow had been a kind listening ear, and I was glad that he now knew for once and for all that I was interested in women.

Now we sat reading in the servants' hall in companionable silence, finishing up cups of coffee. Miss O'Brien had been working on some mending, and she finally rose to leave.

"I suppose I'll leave the two of you alone, then."

Something in Miss O'Brien's tone of voice worried me. I always felt uneasy around the lady's maid, and although Mr. Barrow had never given me all the details, I now knew that she was responsible for making him think I was interested in him in THAT way. Why she had done it, I didn't know – maybe I would ask Mr. Barrow about it sometime.

I'd never forget her words to me last year, when she was encouraging me to report Mr. Barrow's kiss to Mr. Carson:

"If you say nothing, people will start to believe you weren't disgusted at all."

Those words had bothered me more than I could understand. They filled me with horror, at the idea of everyone looking at me the way they looked at Mr. Barrow. But the words also filled me with an uneasiness I couldn't explain. Tonight, her insinuation about the two of us being left alone together reminded me of what she'd said last year, and I guessed she'd noticed my new camaraderie with Mr. Barrow.

I noticed Mr. Barrow shooting Miss O'Brien a look of intense dislike as she departed, and I shifted awkwardly in my chair, not knowing what to say next. I was about to excuse myself and head upstairs to bed when I noticed Mr. Barrow looking very odd. He appeared breathless and nervous, and he had pulled a piece of paper from his pocket that he was twisting anxiously.

"Jimmy," he began slowly. "There's something I need to show you…and ask you."

Curious, I waited for my friend to continue. He looked as if he were about to pass out, and I felt my own lungs constrict. I hadn't quite gotten over my asthma attack earlier in the day, and it was a bit harder than normal to breathe.

Mr. Barrow unfolded the piece of paper and placed it on the table in front of me.

"Jimmy, please don't be angry if you didn't, but I have to know if you wrote this," he said, and there was fear and pleading in his eyes. I scanned the paper and saw a familiar script, reading simply, "I love you, Mr. Barrow. –J."

The handwriting was my own.

Confusion and disbelief crashed through my being, and the whole room seemed to be spinning and buzzing. I tried to breathe, but my airway was so constricted that I could only choke and gasp in panic. I stood up, knocking my chair over, and as my vision grew hazy I felt Mr. Barrow's strong arms around me, supporting my weight and preventing me from collapsing.

"You need to breathe steam," I heard Mr. Barrow's voice, as if in a dream, and allowed him to half guide, half carry me to the kitchen, where he turned on the kettle. I felt his gentle hands smoothing back my hair and supporting me as I breathed in the steam, feeling my airway relax and gratefully gulping air.

"My God, Jimmy, are you all right?" Mr. Barrow's voice was husky with emotion.

"I think so," I managed to say shakily. "Thanks to your quick thinking. I haven't had to breathe steam since I was little. How did you know what to do?"

"Don't forget I trained for the medical corps," my friend answered. I saw then that his hands were shaking and his usually neat hair was falling over his forehead in disarray.

Then my stomach constricted as I remembered what had thrown me into such a panic that it had triggered my attack.

"The letter…" was all I could manage.

"Let's get you up to your room and we'll talk about it," Mr. Barrow suggested. "Here, put your arm around my shoulders."

Now was no time to worry about appearances. I gratefully allowed my friend to support my weight as we slowly made our way up the flights of stairs to the servants' quarters in the attic. Mr. Barrow opened my bedroom door and helped me lie down. He seemed to cast around, looking for a chair, and finding none, hesitantly sat on the bed beside me.

"Mr. Barrow, I'm terribly confused," I said hoarsely, barely more than a whisper. "It's my handwriting, but I didn't write it. I mean…I don't think I did."

"What do you mean, you don't think?" my friend wanted to know.

"It looks a bit familiar, but it's like trying to remember a dream. I feel as though I saw someone else write it, long ago," I answered, trying and failing to convey the emotions swirling in my mind. I truly felt as though I were going insane, and worse yet, tears were beginning to spill down my cheeks.

Mr. Barrow was pale. "Do you mean you think you saw someone writing the note to trick me?" he whispered.

"No," I cried miserably. "I mean, I feel as though I watched MYSELF write it, but until tonight I had no memory of it. I don't know what I'm saying; I don't know anything anymore."

"Oh, Jimmy," Mr. Barrow breathed. "Do you know how afraid I was to show you this note? Do you know how long I believed it was really written by Miss O'Brien?"

He put a hand on my shoulder and I shook it off.

"Don't," I snapped, panic washing over me. I needed time to process what was happening here. "I don't even know my own mind right now, Mr. Barrow. For all I know, YOU wrote the note. After all, I addressed that letter for you; you know what my writing looks like."

I regretted the foolish words immediately. Mr. Barrow flinched like I had hit him and drew back.

"What the hell kind of sense does that make, Jimmy?" he asked angrily. "Forge a note that's meant to be from you, and try to convince YOU that you yourself wrote it? For Christ's sake, think it through!"

"I'm sorry," I muttered, turning to face the wall. "I know the only explanation is that I wrote it. I just don't understand how."

Mr. Barrow was silent for a moment before speaking.

"You told me earlier that you do things in your sleep," he offered. "Things you don't remember later. Maybe that's how it happened."

Of course. Why hadn't I thought of my sleep walking? Once, as a child, I'd apparently crept into the kitchen and eaten an entire pie that my mother had just baked that day. A stomachache in the morning, and the evidence of the empty pie plate, were the only clues that I was the culprit. I'd honestly had no memory of the incident.

And another time, Lady Anstruther had informed me that I had kept her up half the night with "confessions," as she put it. She wouldn't discuss what I had said, but apparently I had bared my soul to my then-lover and remembered nothing of it the next morning.

So I had written the note in my sleep – that explained everything. I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd had no idea what I was doing. Of course I didn't love Mr. Barrow; I was attracted to women. Didn't Lady Anstruther prove that?

"I must have been feverish or something," I offered lamely, and I saw disappointment in the under butler's blue eyes. Those eyes that I couldn't seem to stop staring into for some reason. "If I were like you, wouldn't I know it?"

"Only you know the answer to that, Jimmy," Mr. Barrow said softly.

I was at a loss for words. My heart pounded and I was still finding it a bit hard to breathe. What's more, I wasn't entirely sure the asthma was the only reason.

"Have you always known you…desired men?" I asked uncomfortably.

"As far back as I can remember, yes," Mr. Barrow answered. "Long before I understood it was something most people consider to be repulsive. I've always known that attraction to men was a part of who I am."

"But how do you know?" I persisted. "Did you ever try kissing a woman…the way you kissed me?"

Mr. Barrow smiled. "I never felt the need. I've never been in any doubt about who I am. But from what I understand, it isn't that easy for everyone like me. My… a man I used to know, a man like me, but a gentleman, told me what it was like at boarding school. He said there were lots of young men who were very conflicted. They thought they liked women, but the truth was that they had deeply suppressed their true feelings, because of pressure from church and family."

"Well, the church happens to be right," I said tightly. "It's written very plainly in the Bible. When a man lies with a man, it's an abomination."

"So I've heard," Mr. Barrow sighed, and he looked tired and defeated. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"I want to know what in the bloody hell is happening to me," I half laughed, half sobbed. "This has got to be the strangest conversation I've ever had, Mr. Barrow, and I don't know where to turn."

"You have to search your heart, Jimmy," Mr. Barrow said simply. "Our friendship is the best thing that's happened to me in many years, and I don't want this note to come between us. I'm prepared for the possibility that you didn't know what you were doing when you wrote it."

Relief washed over me. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. I didn't want to think about the note, or my confusion, or the reality that Mr. Barrow had without a doubt become the most important person in my life. I nodded, taking a deep breath that ended with an audible wheeze.

"I don't like the sound of that," my friend said. "Do you have any medicine you can take before you go to sleep?"

"There's some chest liniment in that drawer," I said, pointing. "I normally only have to use it when I have a chest cold, which come to think of it, might be what I'm coming down with. Alfred was coughing yesterday, and my asthma normally doesn't bother me this much."

Mr. Barrow retrieved the bottle and uncapped it. I unbuttoned my shirt, uncomfortably aware that the under butler was probably enjoying the sight. I removed my undershirt and nodded when Mr. Barrow murmured, "Shall I?"

I was fully capable of applying the liniment myself, and I was quite sure Mr. Barrow knew it.

I closed my eyes, jumping slightly as the cold mixture touched my skin for the first time. Mr. Barrow's hands applied light pressure as they massaged the medicine into my chest, and I immediately felt relief. It was easier to breathe, but my breath quickened inexplicably.

"Is that better?" Mr. Barrow whispered, and I suddenly found it was hard to speak.

"A bit more, please," I managed to say, not wanting the feeling of my friend's hands on my chest to end. Mr. Barrow's hands continued massaging, and I felt his fingertips brush against my nipple.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, misinterpreting my gasp, which to my horror was a gasp of pleasure. I felt blood rushing to my groin, and in a matter of seconds, my erection now strained against my trousers.

Desperately, I tried to rationalize what was happening. It was my body responding to touch, nothing more. It had been far too long, and a young man had needs. But I'd never felt this way with Lady Anstruther.

"My God, don't stop," I heard myself moaning. I heard Mr. Barrow's breath quicken and his hands moved lower, caressing my stomach and making me shudder. When I felt gentle hands stroking my hardness through my trousers, I thought I would pass out. It was wrong, so wrong, and I knew it. It was heaven on earth, but it would send me to hell.

"Jimmy," Mr. Barrow panted. "How I love you." I felt his weight shifting as he moved closer, preparing to kiss me.

And in an instant, I was transported back to the night he'd kissed me in my sleep. Irrationally, I was sure that Alfred would come bursting through the door any second. I pushed Mr. Barrow away roughly, hating myself as I did it.

"I can't do it," I said as confusion and pain washed over his face. "It's sinful and it's not natural."

"Don't, Jimmy," Mr. Barrow begged. "We don't have to do this ever if you don't want; just please don't push me away again. I can't bear it."

"I need time to think," I answered. "Please just go."

He went, without looking back, and I felt hollow inside. What had I done? I was terrified, but I didn't want to lose this friendship.

I shivered, then touched my chest, which was still slippery with liniment. I rubbed the nasty smelling stuff in, closing my eyes and reliving the past few minutes. I was hard and throbbing again as I remembered Mr. Barrow's gentle touch.

Desperately, I tried to visualize Lady Anstruther as I unbuttoned my trousers and began stroking myself. But as the pleasure built, my mind was filled only with the image of a man with dark hair, blue eyes, and muscular, yet gentle arms. My climax ripped through me and I could only gasp out one word as I came:

"Thomas!"

But I was all alone.