Creeping up to Thomas' door, Jimmy lightly knocked, and walked in. He had to question Thomas on what was in the box, and even though it was none of his business, and he promised himself he wouldn't interfere, the question had been playing on his mind all day.

Empty?

Jimmy was certain Thomas would be inside his room. Dinner had just finished, so for both a footman and an under-butler, there wasn't much work to do until going to bed. And he wasn't in the courtyard either having previously checked.

Where the hell is he?

Jimmy was just about to leave when curiosity got the better of him. Yes, he could try and get information out of Thomas by speaking, but with him still in denial about anything being wrong, he could get far more material on the matter doing a bit of sifting through his stuff.

I mean, it's not like I'm going to mess up the place...

Jimmy thought, looking at the unusual wreckage of the room. It instantly struck him as strange that the place was in a state as it was always so tidy and organised.

Closing the door softly, already feeling nervous and a little guilty, he walked over to the desk. It was littered with scraps of paper; discarded letters covered with scribbles, and used, torn open envelopes.

Why the hell does he not just use the letter opener? What could possibly be so important that he would rip open a letter?

Despite his worry, a small smile played on his face as he remembered a particular conversation.

What a hypocrite! I remember when he said, and I quote, that 'people who tear open letters instead of using the letter knife are improper savages who deserve to go to a hell designated for those who have no conduct'. Admittedly, he was somewhat drunk on stolen wine at the time, but still.

Jimmy laughed lightly under his breath as he relived the moment, remembering the happiness in Thomas' drunken, care free smile.

Need to get Thomas drunk more often...

Suddenly his eye caught sight of something more readable. A telegram! But the space for who it was addressed to was left blank.

Well that's convenient.

Picking up the small rectangular piece of card, he began to read:

'Please can you telegram me at Downton Abbey on when you are next free to see me. I have a few things I need to discuss with you in private.

Much obliged,
Thomas barrow

P.s. Sorry if it's inconvenient, but may I request that you don't leave your message with Carson as I don't want talk.'

Jimmy felt his heart freeze and his breath seize up at the words written on the page. His writing was scrawled hurriedly at a slightly slanted, appearing unprofessional, much unlike Thomas.

So it's a letter to someone who's okay with messy writing?

Placing the letter on the chair for safe keeping, Jimmy quickly ran his hands through the piles of paper, searching for anything to help with this ever growing mystery.

Retrieving a fully written letter from under a pile of scraps, he lifted it up to read. Sadly, on first glance it didn't make much sense, and was probably from one of Thomas' valeting friends in London, directly replying to whatever Thomas had previously said. This friend could be anything or anyone, leaving the context of the person writing unpredictable and unknown. As far as Thomas' 'friends' went, this guy could be anything from servant to hitman.
After all, he knew full well that Thomas would write with anyone who was willing to correspond, just to avoid the embarrassment of receiving no mail.

But knowing Thomas, this friend would be young, badly behaved, self-serving and most likely homosexual. Much like his younger self really.

1st February 1921

Thomas,

well I don't know what to suggest to that, and I'm sorry I cant be of more help. What can I say, as lower classes we can never really be of much use to a friend even if we want to be! Its rotten luck you finding yourself in this situation, but you just got to deal with the facts and try to continue on as normal.

My only word of advice would be, in answer to your previous question, make sure he doesn't find out! Well, at least not until he needs to know. And by then it's too late for him. You're making the right decision Thom, believe me.

You just gotta stick around until you can stick around no longer.

I'm sorry you've found yourself in a delicate situation, but for now though its goodbye. I salute you corporal, and will remember our army days fondly! If you've moved on by the time I write you again, may I just say it was nice knowing you. You were always good for a laugh, and if a mate can't do that, then what good is he?

Your friend,
James Green

Jimmy was speechless. What did it all mean? He shuffled through the rest but couldn't find anything, so decided to finish on the desk and arrange it how it was before. With a sudden feeling of nausea, he stepped away and tried to re-gather his thoughts. Glancing down he looked at the fire place. It was full of ashes and...paper?

Stepping forward and bending down he inspected the fired remains of papered coal ash more closely. There were a few bits of paper which hadn't burnt fully, but there was nothing readable left on any of the sheets. The feeling of sickness increased as he wondered what was on the letters that was so bad they had to be destroyed.

Why would Thomas burn his letters?

What is this huge secret?

Was that guy referring to me in the letter?

Am I a part of this and I don't even know it?

This must be why I couldn't find anything readable... He's burnt everything!

Possible secret pyromaniac?

At the moment I think I'd rather that be the real reason he's acting weird as I fear the truth is worse...

Wait a minute? What's that…?

Box!

Whilst crouching down, Jimmy could see under the desk, and looking around the room, his gaze met the small cardboard box Thomas was holding the other day. Reaching, he pulled it out and held it in his hands, taking a deep breath before peeling it open to reveal...

Nothing?

He's taken whatever was inside out! Where the buggery bollocks has he put it...whatever it is.

So obsessed with the mystery of the letters and the box, Jimmy didn't realise he had been in the room for quite some time. But soon enough time caught up with him, and before long he became painfully aware of how his five minute snoop around the room had turned into over an hour of rustling through Thomas' belongings.

The door swung open.