Hey wonderful people. Not much to say, so here's the chapter, and I hope you enjoy it.
Sparki: I own nothing!
Thomas did go to the Thirsk fair.
He didn't want to. He wanted to bury himself beneath the blankets of his bed, close his eyes, and pretend that the world had ceased to exist. But unfortunately for Thomas, James had beaten him to it.
When Thomas, bleary eyed and ready for the blissful relief he prayed that sleep would bring, stumbled into the darkened room, James didn't look up. He simply rolled over, and continued his steady, uninterrupted breathing. For countless minutes, Thomas stood alone in the doorway, at a loss.
"Are... are you going to the fair?" Even upon his own ears, Thomas found that his voice held an odd ring. His words sounded foreign, almost as though they had fallen from another's lips. They were met by a silence; unlike any Thomas had ever heard. It was an utter absence of sound, an emptiness that could only come from two as lost as they.
"No." There.
James would not be going to the fair. And so, Thomas would.
"Are you up for it then, Mr. Barrow?" Alfred asked, gesturing to the sign, advertising the fair's annual tug-o-war competition. Resolutely, Thomas shook his head.
"No thank you, Alfred," he replied, raising a brow at the tall footman. "Don't you remember what happened last year?" At this, Alfred let out an unguarded chuckle. Thomas frowned. "What d'you find so funny, I wonder?" he inquired, and Alfred's chuckling grew.
"Well, you 'ave to admit, Mr. Barrow," he smiled, "it were pretty funny." Thomas gave a huff, and continued down the makeshift street. In the late afternoon sunlight, the grass was a lush green; the kind of green that made one want to fall down, and roll across the soft carpet. All around him, the sights and sounds of the fair assaulted Thomas' senses, bringing with them a welcome giddiness. The joy of those who rushed by was almost enough to allow the under butler to forget his own sadness. Almost, but not quite. With a sigh, Thomas turned back to Alfred.
"I'm going to find myself a drink," he told the younger man. "Don't blow all your money before the hour's up." Alfred nodded. As Thomas watched, Daisy, freshly-picked flower in hand, waltzed up to the footman. Taking his hand in her own, she stood on the toes of her boots, stretching herself as tall as she could. Grinning, Alfred lowered his face to hers. Daisy giggled, and placed a tender kiss upon her beau's awaiting mouth. Chastened, Thomas turned away.
"Where are you off to, Mr. Barrow?" Jameson, a candied apple in hand, bounded up to the under butler. With his cap askew, his hair mussed, and his collar sticking up on one side, he looked a right riot. Despite himself, Thomas smiled.
"To find a drink," he replied. Jameson smiled back at the man. "Can I come with you?" he asked hopefully, before throwing a glance over his shoulder. "Alfred's a little... preoccupied." Thomas couldn't help but chuckle.
"I suppose I can manage the company," he sighed, and gestured for the lad to follow. Side by side, the two made their unhurried way across the fairground, Thomas scanning for the temporary cafe, and Jameson happily gaping at the spectacular array of chaos that surrounded him.
"I like it here," the boy decided, grinning as a clown, clad in rainbow-like rags scurried past the pair. "It's a lot better than where I came from, that's for sure." Thomas glanced down at him.
"And where was that?" he asked. Jameson gave his apple a lick before he answered. "London," he replied, and then twisted his face into a grimace. "I'm glad I came out here. So much cleaner, and a lot more space." Thomas smiled. He himself disliked the crowded streets of London immensely, and he had only visited the city on a handful of occasions. He could not imagine what it would be like to live in such a place.
Thomas liked Jameson. He was a kind lad; a bright lad. Unlike James, he held about him an openness, and a willingness to please others. As the boy blathered on about nothing at all, Thomas glanced around the crowded space. He found himself searching, scanning the faces for one in particular. But of course, he never found it. And Thomas wasn't sure whether that saddened, or pleased him.
When they at last reached the cafe, Thomas bought two drinks; a cider for Jameson, and a brandy for his own thirst. Sitting together, the two watched as they world rushed by. A group of little girl danced past, colourful ribbons woven through their flowing hair. A pair of young woman walked, arm in arm, along the stalls, pretending not to gaze at a group of lads who were pretending not to gawk at them. Thomas gave a laugh.
"Boo!"
Thomas leapt into the air. He felt two arms, small and slender, wrap themselves around his neck. He gave a small squeak of terror. Above the rapid thumping within his chest, he could hear Jameson laughing, along with another, far more familiar giggle. Slumping back in the wooden chair, he gave a great sigh, somewhat relieved at the identity of his attacker.
"What on earth was that?" he asked the girl, not bothering to glance up. Instead, he pulled the brim of his hat lower, hiding his eyes. He could still hear Sybil giggling.
"Did I scare you?" she asked, and Thomas couldn't hold back a snort. "Scare me?" he mused. "Oh, just a little, Miss Sybil." Peeking from beneath his hat, he smiled at the girl. Sybil grinned back.
Jameson was watching, wide-eyed. Thomas suddenly realised that such an easy interaction between one of the staff, and a member of the family, would appear quite odd to the average footman. Suddenly uncomfortable, Thomas cleared his throat.
"Where's Fraulein Michaels, then?" he asked. Sybil rolled her eyes, but made to answer all the same. Just as she opened her mouth, a frantic cry rang through the air.
"Sybil Branson!"
Sybil winced, and dived beneath Thomas' chair. Startled, he doubled over, glaring pointedly at the girl. "What are you doing?" he hissed. But Sybil simply buried her face within her arms. Thomas sat back up, just as Fraulein Michaels stumbled into view.
"Mr. Barrow!" she called desperately. "Have you see Miss Branson?" There was a moan from beneath Thomas' chair. Ignoring the furniture's protest, Thomas gave a nod.
"Yes, Miss Michael!" he called back. "In fact, she's under my chair!" Thomas then cried out in pain and a hard and carefully aimed blow collided with his shin. He winced, leaning down in the pretence of rubbing his injured leg. Instead, he smirked at the girl. Sybil glared at him, a look a betrayal in her dark eyes. But as the pain of her attack twisted his smug expression, the girl let slip a small smile. As he straightened up once again, the poor nanny had arrived at the table. Before she had a chance to apologize, or to scold her mischievous charge, she gave a great, heaving sneeze. Both Thomas and Jameson cringed; the outburst sounded painful.
"Are you quite alright, Miss Michaels?" Thomas inquired. Over his apple, Jameson added, "You don't look well, miss." With a sigh, the young woman shook her head.
"I'm afraid I've caught Master George's chest cold," she murmured, before sneezing again. "And this cold is doing nothing for my chest." As though to emphasize her point, Miss Michaels pulled her jacket tighter around her slender body. As the worn fabric clung to her form, Thomas caught Jameson, somewhat gawking, in the corner of his eye. However, as the woman was yet to notice, Thomas chose to ignore it.
"Perhaps you should take your leave," he suggested, but Miss Michaels immediately shook her head. "I can't," she sniffed. To Thomas' surprise, she smiled down at the head that peeked from beneath his chair, the warmth of affection glowing in her tired eyes. "I don't want to ruin the evening for Miss Sybil." At this, Jameson climbed to his feet.
"Mr. Barrow can look after Miss Sybil," he proclaimed, grinning giddily at the nanny. Thomas very nearly choked on his brandy. Placing the sloshing glass upon the table, he glared up at the footman. But the boy's attention was fixed on Miss Michaels. "He'll watch her for you," he assured the woman, before smiling down at the glowering under butler. "Won't you, Mr. Barrow?"
Thomas smirked. "Oh, yes, Miss Michaels," he agreed, with a false cheerfulness that earned him another whack from Sybil. "Jameson and I would be more than happy to watch Miss Branson for you." At the word 'Branson', Thomas' shin was assaulted once more. Despite both the eyes of Jameson and Miss Michaels resting curiously on him, Thomas peeked beneath his chair again. "I wasn't talking to you, Miss Sybil," he mumbled. "It doesn't count." Before she could argue, he sat back up, and smiled at the bemused woman. "You just go home, Miss Michaels. We'll bring Miss Branson home in an hour."
The young nanny looked unsure. Under normal circumstances, Thomas knew, the woman would not have even considered the notion. But she must have felt so terribly ill, for the under butler could see how close she was to agreeing.
"I'll be good, Fraulein Michael," Sybil, peering from beneath Thomas' chair, promised her nanny. The woman sighed, but another painful sneeze seemed to make up her mind. Reluctantly, she gave a small nod.
"One hour," she reminded Thomas. "Please, Mr. Barrow, no later." Thomas nodded his oath. "Not a moment longer," he assured her. With another sigh, Miss Michaels leaned down, and smiled at Sybil in exasperation.
"Be good, Miss," she huffed with a smirk. "If you won't listen to me, at least promise that you'll listen to Mr. Barrow." Sybil nodded. "I will," she giggled.
After he had stared at Miss Michaels' retreating back, Jameson leapt to his feet. "Well," he announced, "I think I'll go and find Alfred-," But Thomas grasped his jacket sleeve.
"Oh, no," he smirked up at the lad. "You have some money left, don't you, Jameson?" The boy nodded, and Thomas grinned devilishly. At the under butler's expression, Jameson realized his folly. "I think Miss Sybil would like something to eat." Thomas smiled at the girl. "Wouldn't you, Miss?" Sybil nodded, poking her tongue out at Jameson. With a sigh, he offered Thomas a penny. But both saw the lad's smile.
As the odd trio made their way through the winding rows of stalls and attractions, Sybil slipped her small hand into Thomas'. And for a moment, he felt warm inside.
He'll be back any moment. Don't you worry, Jimmy.
Still, the door remained shut. From where he lay upon his cot, Jimmy could hear no footsteps approaching the room; there were no muffled voices, fading up and down the hall. He sighed, and buried his face in his pillow.
He'll be back. Nothing bad ever happens at the fair.
But of course, Jimmy knew this to be a lie. He gave a great yawn.
Don't fall asleep.
Jimmy felt his body beginning to sink into the threadbare mattress.
Don't you dare. He'll back soon. And then you can talk to him, and tell him how sorry...
He felt his eyes beginning to slip shut.
Don't fall...
;) Please review, guys!
