I woke up the morning of Mr. Matthew's burial with a knot in my stomach. Much like I had felt the morning after that night over a year ago, I didn't want to face Mr. Barrow, but my feelings were much different now than they had been then. I was still confused, but unlike last year, I wasn't angry. I was terribly afraid.
Afraid, because despite all my best efforts, I could no longer deny the truth I'd been avoiding: I was attracted to Mr. Barrow in a way I had never dreamed was possible. Remembering his strong arms supporting me during my asthma attack made me weak-kneed. In his arms, I felt safe, protected and loved. And without him, I felt lost and incomplete.
Last night, the dream that had evaded my memory several nights ago had returned, and this time, it didn't fade after I woke up. The dream was simple: Mr. Barrow and I were walking hand and hand through a golden field, talking, laughing and embracing. The dream told me what I had not yet been able to admit to myself: I loved Mr. Barrow. I hadn't been out of my mind when I wrote the letter, but instead, I had been suppressing my true feelings since then, out of sheer terror.
Two men? Unthinkable. I shuddered to think how close I had come last night to succumbing to my overwhelming desire for Mr. Barrow's touch. I knew something had to be done, and I laid plans to take care of this problem once and for all. During breakfast, I asked Mr. Carson permission to stop in and see Dr. Clarkson after the burial.
"For my lungs, you see," I added quickly as the older man frowned. "I'm afraid I'm getting ill."
It was no lie, but my lungs were not the real reason I wanted to see the doctor.
"Very well, James," Mr. Carson conceded. "I suppose Alfred, Mr. Barrow and I can manage the luncheon following the service, but Mr. Barrow must be on the five o'clock train with His Lordship, so I expect you back well before then."
"I shouldn't be long," I agreed before going about my morning duties.
The service and burial were depressing, to say the least, and I felt genuine sympathy for the entire family as they grieved for Mr. Matthew. My stomach flipped when I glimpsed Mr. Barrow, eyes red and teary, paying his respects, but I made sure to avoid the under butler. Dr. Clarkson was among those paying their respects, and I sought him out as the family began making their way to the cars to take them back to Downton.
"I wonder if you might spare a few minutes for a consultation," I said in a low voice. "It's somewhat urgent."
"Certainly I can," Dr. Clarkson agreed. "I've seen you at Downton, of course, but I'm afraid your name escapes me."
"It's James Kent, Doctor," I replied as we began the short walk from the church to Downton Cottage Hospital. "First footman."
"And what is troubling you, James?" the doctor inquired.
"I'm afraid it's of a private nature," I replied, cheeks burning, and the doctor had the good grace not to press the issue.
Moments later, in the examination room, my heart raced as I wondered where to begin.
"All in your good time, James," the doctor said. "In the meanwhile, may I begin a basic health examination?"
I nodded and Dr. Clarkson began checking my reflexes and listening to my heart. He frowned.
"Your heart rate is elevated and your lungs sound congested," the doctor informed me. "But that was not, I take it, the purpose of your visit here?"
"No," I answered. "But I've had a flare-up of my asthma recently, though it hasn't bothered me since I was a child. Our second footman recently had a chest cold and I fear he may have passed it on to me."
"I see," Dr. Clarkson responded. "Well, it's not a cause for great concern, although I would advise you to take care that it does not worsen."
I nodded.
"And now, since I find I have rather a busy schedule this afternoon, I think we must get to the heart of your private health concern," the doctor continued.
This was the moment of truth, and I had no choice but to plunge in with both feet.
"I find I'm dealing with unwanted urges," I managed to say. "Unnatural urges."
My heart broke as I said the difficult words. Were my feelings really unwanted? No, they weren't. I loved the way I felt when I was with Mr. Barrow, and it went far beyond the physical lust that I felt for him. But everything I had ever been taught pointed to the same conclusion: Such feelings would surely lead to disaster. Just look at the case of the playwright Oscar Wilde, who served two years' hard labor for the supposed crime of taking a male lover.
"I…see," Dr. Clarkson said slowly. "While I suspect I know what you are saying, you will need to be more specific."
"Feelings for men," I whispered, although the truth was that it was one particular man. "The sorts of feelings other men have about women."
"Sexual inversion," the doctor answered, and his manner was matter-of-fact. "A more common affliction than many realize."
"Are you disgusted?" I dared to ask.
"I am a medical doctor, James," Dr. Clarkson answered. "Mr. Travis may well have a thing or two to say about this particular problem, but I do not. My job is to help you."
I breathed a sigh of relief.
"So there is something that can be done?" I asked, half relieved and half disappointed. The thought of no longer feeling the way I now did about Mr. Barrow made me feel curiously empty, even while the thought also gave me hope.
"That is a difficult question to answer," the doctor said. "There are treatments, yes, but I'm not convinced of their effectiveness."
"Tell me more, please," I pleaded as images of the lovely dream faded, replaced by images of angry mobs and eternal hellfire. I couldn't get the words of my parents and vicar out of my mind – sexual perversion was an unforgivable sin.
The doctor withdrew a pamphlet from his desk drawer and gave it to me.
"I am acquainted with a physician in London who performs what he calls 'shock therapy' for patients with sexual disorders," Dr. Clarkson explained. "But I must warn you that it is not pleasant – nor do I see any conclusive proof that it works."
"I'm willing to try," I said eagerly. "Can you help me get an appointment?"
"If you're certain this is what you want, James," the doctor said seriously. "I don't need to tell you that this type of abnormal sexual behavior is a criminal offense in England, but I understand it is at least tolerated abroad, in France, for example."
To think I almost ended up in France with Lady Anstruther, I mused, although my dalliances with the good lady seemed a lifetime away. But then, I never would have met Mr. Barrow, which was a sobering thought. Oh, God, what was I even thinking? Meeting Mr. Barrow was the entire problem I was trying to correct.
"Yes, it is what I want," I said quietly but firmly.
"Then I shall telephone Dr. Spencer at once to set up an appointment," Dr. Clarkson answered.
Half an hour later, I was bicycling back to Downton, a slip of paper in my pocket confirming my appointment with Dr. Spencer for the following day. I was surprised to be seen so quickly, but Dr. Clarkson was an old acquaintance of the London doctor, who had an opening so soon due to a cancellation.
My only problem would be getting away, although tomorrow was already my half day off. I would need to be on the early train to London, and even so I wouldn't be back until after dinner, in all likelihood. I knew Mr. Carson wouldn't approve of the extra time, especially with Mr. Bates already out of town, and Mr. Barrow leaving for London this afternoon with His Lordship.
Back at Downton, I knocked at the butler's pantry door and found Mr. Carson and Mr. Barrow going over household inventory lists.
"Ah, James, you've returned," Mr. Carson noted, while Mr. Barrow met my eyes for one agonizing moment before returning to his figures. My breath quickened and my stomach tightened. Face to face, it was even harder to deny the feelings that now overpowered me. Mr. Barrow's deep blue eyes, his very presence, made my head spin. I was thankful for Mr. Carson's presence to keep me in check.
"Yes, Mr. Carson, and I have a favor to ask," I began. "Dr. Clarkson thinks I need to see a specialist in London, and there's an opening for an appointment tomorrow."
I saw Mr. Barrow's sharp intake of breath, and an expression of such tender concern spread across his face that it made me want to weep. Why did our love have to be so misplaced, so unnatural? Why couldn't things be different?
"Nothing serious, I hope?" Mr. Carson asked, interrupting my thoughts.
"I hope not, Mr. Carson," I answered, feeling guilty that I was deliberately allowing the senior butler to believe it was my lungs that required the specialist.
"Well, I can hardly stand in the way of your health," the older man conceded. "We shall have to make do without you tomorrow."
"Thank you, Mr. Carson," I said with relief, as Mr. Barrow put down his pen and made his way to the door.
"I'd best be off," he said, addressing Mr. Carson and avoiding my eyes. "I've already taken out the cases and I'll see if His Lordship is ready to leave for the station."
"Safe travels, Mr. Barrow," I dared to say, and my friend met my eyes again, seeming to search my face for answers. "And you as well, James," he responded before disappearing. I wondered dully what it would be like the next time I saw my friend the under butler. Would the shock treatment work? Would I look upon him with indifference, as I looked upon Alfred or Ivy now? Only time would tell.
The next day found me sitting nervously in the examination room of Dr. Ronald Spencer, wondering what awaited me.
"Mr. Kent," Dr. Spencer said gravely, looking deep into my eyes and making me feel uneasy. "Before we continue, I want to be sure that you are wholly committed to changing your ways."
Was I wholly committed? I wanted to be, and I figured that was more or less the same thing.
"I am, Dr. Spencer," I answered. "I want to be normal, like other men."
"And so you shall be, if you are willing to let the treatment work," the doctor said. "Many of my former patients are now married, I am happy to say. Do you wish to marry?"
The question took me aback. I had never really considered marriage – I honestly could not picture myself with a wife. There was only person I could imagine wanting to spend every day with – and spending my life with Mr. Barrow was out of the question.
"Maybe one day, sir," I finally responded.
The doctor laughed. "All in good time. Now, let us proceed. Remove your trousers, please, and lie back on the examination table."
Reluctantly I did so, and felt something cold and metallic closing over my genitals. I winced and Dr. Spencer frowned.
"You must buck up, my man. This isn't going to be pleasant. I am going to show you a series of photographs, and when I detect arousal, I will send an electric shock to your penis."
The doctor began by showing me photographs of naked women and women and men kissing and engaging in far more intimate activities. I willed myself to become aroused, to prove to the doctor and myself that I was capable. But the pictures did nothing. After several photographs, I saw Dr. Spencer make a notation on his notepad. He then reached for another pile of photographs.
As I viewed the first one, which showed a young man with a striking resemblance to Mr. Barrow, I couldn't help admiring his sculpted physique. I felt blood pumping to my groin and prayed that I could hide my arousal. But the next photograph showed men kissing and touching each other, and I was taken back to the previous night, when Mr. Barrow had touched me so intimately. Oh, God, there was no hiding it now. My penis was fully hard and throbbing and I feared what would come next.
Nothing could have prepared me for the shock and pain that swept through my body as Dr. Spencer pushed a button and delivered an electrical current to my genitals. I cried out and the doctor looked at me with thinly disguised contempt.
"We've only just begun," he said in a detached voice, and so began the worst hour of my life. I waded through it in a haze of pain, enduring one shock after another, sure that I would never recover. As Dr. Spencer continued to show photographs and increase the intensity of the shocks, I found myself wishing I could die. Finally, the doctor removed the device and set it aside.
"How do you feel?" he asked me. "If the treatment has been successful, the thought of the male body will now repulse and disgust you."
Nothing about my feelings had changed, other than a strong dislike for this "doctor." What had Dr. Clarkson gotten me into? But for some reason, stubbornness I suppose, I could not bring myself to lie and end this miserable excuse for medical treatment.
"I feel no different, sir," I answered boldly, and Dr. Spencer's face twisted.
"Then I think it is time for phase two," he announced.
A wave of fear washed over me. What was phase two? Something told me it would be worse than phase one, which terrified me. What was I doing here? I feared this had been a colossal mistake. But despite my misgivings, I nodded mutely as the doctor led me into a room with a reclining chair placed in front of a sink, not unlike the setup at a barber shop.
The doctor indicated that I should sit in the chair, which he adjusted so that my head was positioned directly below the spigot. Before I knew what was happening, the doctor had strapped me into the chair so that I could not move. It was then that I realized with utter panic and horror what was to happen next.
"No!" I cried, struggling against the restraints. "Let me go, you sick bastard!"
But the doctor merely smirked.
"You came here to rid yourself of perversion, Mr. Kent, and you signed a paper allowing me to perform any treatment necessary. I have decided that more drastic measures are indeed necessary, as you are proving to be a difficult case."
"Now," he continued. "Are you, or are you not, sexually attracted to the male body?"
"No, I am not," I answered, aware of how lame such a declaration was now.
"Liar," the doctor responded with chilling calmness, and turned on the water, which cascaded over my face. My heart raced as I tried to fight down my panic. I closed my eyes and held my breath as long as I could, but was finally forced to try to breathe. I sputtered and choked as my lungs filled with water, a terror I had never known before washing over me.
Just as I was sure I was going to drown, the water mercifully stopped and I coughed deeply, bringing up mouthfuls of water and spitting them out miserably.
"Now then," Dr. Spencer said, still maddeningly calm. "Let us try again. Do you look upon men with lust?"
"Yes," I whispered, ashamed to the core but unwilling to undergo the torture again. I honestly feared for my life, although at the moment ending my life altogether didn't sound like such a bad idea.
"We are now going to try an exercise," the doctor said. He turned on a phonograph and pleasant music filled the room as he once again began showing me the female photographs.
"I am teaching your brain to associate images of the female body with pleasantness, and images of the male body with pain and discomfort," Dr. Spencer explained. "I will now show you the photographs that aroused you a short time ago."
The doctor showed me several of the male photographs again, and my memories of the previous session were still so clear that I felt no arousal at all, only flashbacks of the intense pain. But it didn't matter, because the doctor was turning on the water again. Once more, I endured the agony of near-drowning, and the second time around, I coughed harder and deeper after the torture.
I was now openly sobbing and begging for mercy, but Dr. Spencer was deaf to my pleas. Again and again, the cycle continued as I thrashed and tried desperately to escape. It was the worst thing I had ever experienced in my life, and ironically, the only thing keeping me sane was the thought of seeing Mr. Barrow again. I prayed Dr. Spencer wouldn't be able to guess that his treatment had backfired completely. I now desired my friend more than ever.
At long last, Dr. Spencer turned the faucet off for the final time.
"I think we have made real progress today, Mr. Kent," the doctor said pleasantly as he unstrapped me from the chair and gave me a towel for my face and hair. "I am quite sure that your unnatural feelings will trouble you no more. And now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my office."
And he was gone without another word, not that I was in any condition to confront him. I was barely able to speak. The cycle of near-drowning had taken its toll, and my lungs rattled with each breath. My entire body ached as I dragged myself out the door and onto the bustling streets of London. I pulled from my pocket the slip of paper Mr. Carson had given me with the address of the family's home in London, just in case I missed my train back.
Wheezing, I hailed a cab and directed the driver to the address. I could only hope that His Lordship was still at his business meeting, and wouldn't see me in such a state. I stumbled to the front door and knocked, and the relief I felt when Mr. Barrow answered the door was overwhelming. His eyes widened as he took in my disheveled appearance.
Swaying on my feet, I croaked out the four words that I had denied for so long:
"I love you, Thomas."
Then everything went black.
A/N: The opinions in this chapter are not mine, but intended to reflect the opinions of the period. I did try to make Dr. Clarkson as sympathetic as could be believable for the era, when homosexuality was illegal and considered a mental illness. Sadly, the anti-gay shock treatment described is based in reality, and was being practiced here in the US as recently as the 70's and 80's at the Mormon university Brigham Young. (There are fascinating interviews about it on YouTube which I viewed as part of my research.) Thanks so much as always for reading and reviewing! Also, there are supposed to be page breaks in a couple of places, but I'm having issues with them, so I apologize!