Hey wonderful readers, waz up? This chapter will lead up to a very important confrontation – between Thomas and Jimmy. So read on!

Sparki: I own nothing!


"But Mole stood still a moment, held in thought. As one wakened suddenly from a beautiful dream, who struggles to recall it, but can recapture nothing but a dim sense of the beauty in it, the beauty! Till that, too, fades away in its turn, and the dreamer bitterly accepts the hard, cold waking and all its penalties."

"Sybbie! There you are!"

As Edith lowered herself onto the longue, Sybbie lowered her book. She was always glad to see her aunty; however, on this particular occasion, the little girl was loathed to stop reading. For it was such a wonderful story.

"What are you reading, then?" Edith asked, looking down at the well-worn book in her niece's hands. Sybbie smiled, and held up her treasure proudly. "The Wind in the Willows," she announced happily, and her smile widened when she saw Aunt Edith's face lit up by one of her own. "Was that a birthday gift?" she asked, and Sybbie nodded.

"Were you looking for me, Aunt Edith?" the girl asked. As she smiled up at her aunt, she carefully stroked the book's aging pages. They were just the right age, Sybbie had decided; not so old that they had smelled, but just old enough that they had begun to yellow around the edges. Sybbie loved The Wind in the Willows. It was the most wonderful birthday gift she had received.

"Well," Edith began, smiling down at the girl, "I was looking for you, because a little bird told me that fair is in town." At the mention of such an exotic event, Sybbie's eyes widened slightly.

"Can I go?" she asked.

"Would you like to go?"

Sybbie nodded desperately, and Edith chuckled. "Will you take me?" the little girl asked her aunt. To her immense disappointment, Edith shook her head.

"I can't," she sighed. "I'm afraid I have to go to London tomorrow." Sybbie lowered her gaze sadly.

"Oh," she muttered. "I forgot. Will George be going?" she asked, looking up once more. But again, Edith shook her head.

"You know he can't, Sybbie," she murmured apologetically. "He still has that horrid chest cold. Aunt Mary would never let him go running around the town after dark, and especially not in this weather." Sybbie slouched back against the lounge's soft upholstery, and gave a great sigh. "Will no one fun be going?" she moaned.

"Fraulein Michaels will take you." Sybbie shot her aunt a doubtful glance, and Edith grinned.

"I gather, then, that she is not anyone fun?" she ventured, and Sybbie frowned.

"No," the girl huffed. "She most certainly is not." With another sigh, Sybbie lifted her book once more. "Perhaps I'll just stay here," she murmured. "I'm happy here. At least it's warm inside." Edith frowned.

"But you love the cold," she pointed out. Sybbie peeked over her book.

"Yes," the girl admitted, "but what if I get a cold as well? Then, both of us will be sick." Edith sighed, and pushed a fair strand of hair back behind her ear. Her earring jingled quietly at the slight movement.

"Sybbie," Edith began, gently, "do you really think your father would want you sitting here, all by yourself?" Sybbie lowered her book, but refused to answer. Edith sighed once more, and placed a hand upon the little girl's shoulder.

"You can still have fun, you know?" she reminded her niece. "Your father would want you to have fun." With that, Edith rose gracefully to her feet. Sybbie watched her silently. Standing tall now, Edith smiled down at the girl.

"Sybil Branson," she proclaimed with mock-bravado that caused Sybbie to giggle. "You shall go to the fair." She gave the laughing child a wink. "And there's nothing you can do about it!"


"You got any fives?"

"Go fish."

As he watched Alfred reaching for yet another card, Thomas gave a heavy sigh. The footmen had been at it for hours; playing card game after card game, desperately trying to fill the evening's unnatural emptiness. Without Alfred, Thomas believed silence may have reigned that night. James, who had failed to utter even the smallest of syllables, seemed morbidly content to sit, and stare blankly at the wall. To Thomas' astonishment, Jameson had thus far managed to best Alfred at each and every game the pair had attempted; an odd occurrence, to be sure. Although, Thomas noted, Alfred didn't seem overly put out. It would appear that even being beaten at his own speciality was better than being made to suffer James' stony silence. Closing his eyes, Thomas brought the brimming tea cup to his lips.

"Good evening, all," Mrs. Hughes greeted the lot. Looking up from their card, Alfred and Jameson each gave the housekeeper a respectful nod. Anna offered a small smile, before returning to her work. As Thomas watched, the fair haired ladies' maid had successfully sewn her way through five individual gowns. From what the under butler could gather, she showed no signs of stopping.

With a weary sigh, Mrs. Hughes lowered herself into her usual place. Thomas smiled, before taking another sip of his steaming tea. The milky liquid was all at once too hot, and he rapidly lowered the cup. Alfred chuckled, and Thomas pretended not to notice.

"Mr. Hughes," the younger man began, "may I ask a favour?" The housekeeper turned to the footman. "You may," she permitted.

"Well, the fair's in town again, you see," he explained. "And we were wondering – meself, James and Jameson, that is – if we might nick down there for a few hours tomorrow evening?" Mrs. Hughes thought for a moment.

"Well, of course, I'd have to ask Mr. Carson," she sighed. "But I don't suppose you would be missed for a short while." She turned to Thomas. "Were you planning a visit, Mr. Barrow?" Lowering his tea, Thomas shook his head.

"No, Mrs. Hughes," he replied. "I'm afraid that the Thirsk fair is not my most favourite place in the world." Alfred placed his cards upon the table, and turned to Thomas.

"Come on, Mr. Barrow!" he urged. "We lot can't go if you don't! Carson-," He faltered as Mrs. Hughes cleared her throat indignantly, "Mr. Carson won't let us go alone. Not after... not after last time." Thomas winced at the memory – memories.

"Well, I'm not going." All looked up at James' muttered proclamation. Thomas smirked. "That might just be for the best," he agreed, and pretended not to notice the glare he received in return. Mrs. Hughes frowned.

"Why ever not, James?" she asked, confused. "It will be good for you all to get out and about. Besides," she added, smiling at her nephew, "you can help Jameson find his bearings." But James only shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes," she sighed, "but I think I'll sit this one out." Mrs. Hughes rose to her feet. She pinned James with a heavy gaze.

"This is ridiculous!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "You've been moping around here for days, looking like something that the cat dragged through the mud! What's the matter, James?" She studied the young man's forlorn expression. Thomas couldn't help but compare him to a pup that had recently been kicked. "This isn't like you."

At this, James shot up. Stiff and rigid, he glared defiantly at the housekeeper. "Perhaps it is like me!" he retorted, unflinching, even beneath Mrs. Hughes' startled gaze, and Alfred's warning glare. "How would you know what I'm like?" the footman demanded. Angrily, he swept his cold stare around the silenced table. "How would any of you know, eh?"

Anna abandoned her sewing, and peered worriedly at the man. "Jimmy," she tried, her voice gentle, "just calm down." But Jimmy jumped to his feet.

"No," he spat, shaking his head viciously. "I won't just calm down." Seething, he turned to Alfred. "And I'm not going to the bloody fair!"


Ooh, cliff-hanger! Calm down, Jimmy, just calm down -.- Please review, guys!