Hello! I'm back with a new chapter! Sorry this one took so long; for those who don't know, I was away. Hope you all enjoy it!

Sparki: I own nothing!


"What do you think, Mr. Barrow?"

Thomas looked up from his novel. James was studying him, an expectant gleam in his larger-than-most eyes. Of course, Thomas had not heard the footman's query. However, he had responded, and supposed he could no longer back out. With a sigh, Thomas lowered the book.

"I'm sorry, James," he murmured. "What do I think about what?" James smiled at him.

"About Mr. Branson," the young man replied, and Thomas felt his stomach twist. "Do you think he'll be alright, then?" Thomas let the book down upon the table. He hadn't bothered to mark his page, but the under-butler no longer felt like reading.

"I think it's none of your business, James," he muttered after a moment. James blinked, confused, and Thomas looked away. He knew James was still watching him, waiting for him to speak, but Thomas could not bring himself to look at the man. He prayed silently that Alfred would intervene, and catch James' attention with a comment or jest. But the taller footman sat in his own chair, eyes closed, his chest rising gently, and falling just the same. Thomas supposed he should reprimand Alfred for sleeping on the job, but he hadn't the interest to do so. And so, the silence stretched.

Thomas reclaimed his book, and busied himself staring blankly at the blackened print. The story may as well have been in Greek, or a language just as foreign, for it suddenly seemed little more that rot to Thomas. He heard James, scratching awkwardly at the wood of the table. His nail scraped back and forth, back and forth, without ceasing. Thomas contemplated throwing the book at him.

"Mr. Barrow, I-,"

"James! There you are!" Mrs. Hughes hurried purposefully into the kitchen. Both men looked up; however, the housekeeper's eyes immediately flew to Alfred's lolling head. She narrowed her eyes.

"Alfred!" she barked, and the ginger jumped into consciousness. Somewhat dazed, he glanced around, confused. When he finally met Mrs. Hughes' gaze, Thomas watched as what little colour he possessed drained from his face.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, pinning the footman with a scolding glare. Alfred visibly gulped, looking sheepish. There was no point in lying. With a sigh, he hung his head.

"I fell asleep. Mrs. Hughes," he admitted quietly. Thomas felt a pang of sympathy for the younger man. He rose to his feet, and offered Mrs. Hughes a smile. To his surprise, the woman returned the gesture.

"Mr. Hughes," Thomas began smoothly, "Alfred had my permission to rest his eyes. He's done all his work for the moment, and he's still getting over that nasty little cold from last week." James' eyes widened at his superior's blatant disregard for the truth, but said nothing.

"Well, alright," Mrs. Hughes sighed, obviously losing interest in Alfred's plight. "It's James that I'm after, anyway." She turned to the fair-haired footman. "You're needed outside," she informed him. "His Lordship's guest has arrived. Mr. Jonathan Higgs. You're to take his luggage, and escort him to his room. The usual." She gave a nod. "Off you go."

But James didn't move. He stared at Mrs. Hughes, his features unnaturally pale.

"What's he doing here?" he asked, his voice tight. Mrs. Hughes' raised her brows at the man's impertinence.

"If you must know, James," she replied, clearly unimpressed, "Mr. Higgs will be acting as His Lordship's financial agent as we wait for Mr. Branson to recover." As the words 'financial agent' left the housekeeper's lips, James' blanched. Thomas thought he might be sick, right there in the servant's hall. As all watched on, James climbed shakily to his feet.

"R-Right away, Mrs. Hughes," he stammered, before literally tearing from the room. Thomas and Alfred stared after him, footman concerned, under butler confused. Mrs. Hughes gave a sigh, and turned to Thomas.

"Mr. Barrow," she began quietly, "keep an eye on him." Thomas gave a muted nod.


It was later that day, and Thomas caught his first glimpse of the financial agent.

Jonathan Higgs was a huge man. Not in regards to his height; he barely made it to the under butler's shoulder. However, what he lacked in the vertical, he more than made up for in the horizontal. He was larger than Thomas, Alfred, James and Carson mashed together. Or so it seemed. Despite the agent's appearance, Thomas trusted Lord Grantham's judgement, and knew the man would not have been hired, would his services fail to meet His Lordship's towering standards. Seemingly oblivious to his own size, Mr. Higgs stood straight backed and confidently turned his nose up at any who passed. His small, beady blue eyes followed each and every movement the servants made, like a hawk following its dinner. It was unnerving, the maids said. When Ivy had brought her concern to the under butler, Thomas had promised her that, should the man so much as lay a finger of any of the women, he would personally see Mr. Higgs thrown flat on his back. At this, Ivy had giggled, and replied, "Whatever you say, Mr. Barrow."

Thomas disliked the man; he appeared pompous and arrogant, no different from most who streamed through Downton's halls. However, he could not for the life of him figure out what it was about Jonathan Higgs that had irked James so. Thomas wished it didn't concern him the way that it did, but he couldn't help his wonderings. The footman had seemed so shaken; almost as though he'd seen a ghost.

Later, James had stumbled back downstairs. Pale faced and silent, he'd spoken not a word to anyone as he made for his room. Despite himself, Thomas watched the hallway for a long while, silently hoping that James would come along smiling, and everything would be back to the way it should.

But it wasn't to be.


The next time Thomas saw James, under butler and footmen had been summoned to Carson's office. As they stood, side by side before the butler's unoccupied desk, Alfred was sweating bullets.

"Nothin' good never happened in Carson's lair," he mumbled, closing his eyes briefly. Thomas sighed. "Alfred, calm down," he urged the footman. "The new footman is arriving this afternoon, remember?" At this, Alfred's breathing slowed slightly. Thomas couldn't help but smirk. "I'm sure this is nothing more than an introduction."

Sure enough, Carson appeared moments later, followed closely by the staff's newest edition. When Thomas turned, he had to contain a chuckle of disbelief.

The lad stood beside Carson, short and spindly. He reminded Thomas vaguely of a stick insect. Clutching his single case tightly against his chest, the boy stared up at the three men. He blinked once, and then again, his green eyes nervous. Thomas offered a small smile; the footmen, however, remained stoic and quiet. The boy nodded briefly at Thomas. The small movement sent a shock of chocolate-brown hair falling across his forehead. Thomas frowned.

He couldn't be more than fifteen. Far too young for Carson's standards.

"Mr. Barrow." Carson's booming address shocked Thomas back to reality. He returned the butler's gaze. "Yes, Mr. Carson?"

"This is Jameson Bentley," Carson announced to the three. "He will begin his training as a footman immediately. Alfred, James," the butler turned to the older footmen, "you will continue to serve and attend dinner alone. Otherwise, Jameson is to accompany and assist you in your daily tasks." Thomas looked down at the boy once more. He smiled shyly at the under butler.

"Mr. Barrow." Thomas looked up. "He is under your supervision," Carson murmured, before turning for the door. Before he could change his mind, Thomas sprinted after the butler. In the corridor, he reached for the older man's arm.

"Mr. Carson," Thomas began when the butler turned back. "I don't mean to overstep my bounds, but isn't he...," Thomas lowered his voice, "a little young?"

He expected a reprimand, but Carson simply shook his head. "Keep an eye on him, Thomas," he told the under butler. With that, he walked away, and left Thomas alone in the corridor.

"Brilliant," he mumbled. "Two bloody footmen to shove me eye on."

Back in the office, the three footmen waited in an uncomfortable silence. When Thomas re-appeared, all three looked visibly relieved. He looked down at the boy.

"I'm Mr. Barrow," Thomas offered. "I'm Downton's under butler." Jameson nodded.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Barrow," he murmured. Thomas raised a brow at the boy's politeness. "This is Alfred," he continued, gesturing to the tall man. "He'll show you the ropes around the place." As Alfred nodded in greeting, James slid next to Thomas, his eyes livid.

"But I'm first footman!" he hissed. Amused at the younger man's vanity and discontentment, Thomas smirked.

"Yes," he shot back quietly, "but I don't trust you." James scowled, so darkly, that Thomas feared his eyes might turn to ink, before storming from the office. Thomas gazed after him, and shook his head. Alfred pretended not to notice his friend's antics. Jameson, however, showed no such discretion.

"Who was that?" the boy asked.

"James," Alfred replied, looking down at Jameson. "He's a little tired," the footman added. Jameson simply nodded.


;)