Hey guys! I know this chapter has been a little longer in coming than most – but like I said, school's back, and duty calls!
So, this chapter... I could say, in some parts, that it's a little more light-hearted than my previous instalments. However, don't let the rodents fool you; very important, story-line stuff going on in this one! So I hope you enjoy it!
Sparki: I own nothing!
Peering from beneath the brim of his cap, Thomas watched as Jameson rushed across the field, desperately chasing Brampton. The gelding, however, had no intention of making the lad's job easy. The young footman stumbled after the beast, bucket and brush in one hand. The other hand, already smudged from several failed lunges, Jameson held stretched before him, grasping for the horse's halter. With a sigh, Thomas lowered his cap once more.
"How long until he figures out to put down the bucket, do you reckon?"
Thomas lifted his cap once more. James was perched upon the wooden fence, one hand gripping the nearest post. The other rested uncomfortably close to Thomas' shoulder. For a moment, he considered shifting, ever so slightly, to his left. However, he soon decided it would not be worth the trouble, as James - who had recently discovered a sort of sick pleasure in irritating Thomas - would only follow. Refusing to look up, Thomas once more turned his gaze upon the unfortunate third footman.
"Well, how long have you got before you'll be missed?" he murmured, peering at the wrist watch he didn't wear. "You can wait and see."
"Should we tell him?" Alfred, always the kind soul, was watching Jameson with a look of sympathy in his big eyes. Before Thomas could reply, James gave a hoot of laughter.
"Why on earth would we do that?" he exclaimed, as though it were the most ridiculous notion ever uttered. Both Thomas and Alfred looked away from James, who continued to chuckle. Despite himself, Thomas felt the sudden urge to push James from the fence. However, if he was injured, they'd be one footman down, and neither Mrs. Hughes or Alfred - would thank him for that.
Still, the thought was tempting.
Before he did something he would later regret, Thomas pulled himself nimbly up and over the splintering fence. He glanced once more at Jameson.
"Jameson!" he called. At the sound of his name, the lad stopped. He stood, panting in the middle of the paddock.
"Yes, Mr. Barrow?" he gasped, one hand up, shielding his eyes from the morning's sunlight.
"Put down the bucket," Thomas advised, before starting up the gentle hill. After a moment, he heard footfalls behind. Turning, he saw Alfred jogging to catch up with him. At Thomas' questioning gaze, the younger man gave a wan smile.
"You didn't think I wanted to spend the rest of me morning with him, did you?" he asked, the uncharacteristic smirk in his voice poorly disguised. As they walked, Thomas frowned.
"And what's James done now, then?" he inquired, his hands buried deep within the pockets of his jacket. Alfred followed suit, hiding his own hands from the morning's chill.
"It's not what he's done," the footmen replied, looking somewhat bemused. "It's more what he ain't done."
"And what's that?" Thomas asked.
"Spoke," Alfred replied. The under butler's frown deepened. Beside him, Alfred sighed.
"He's hardly uttered a sound all week," the man explained, scoffing his shoes through the dewy grass. "And when he does open his mouth, he's shooting to kill! He is, I tell you!" Alfred was visibly perplexed. Thomas looked down.
"His bark's worse than his bite," the older man lied. Alfred, however, pushed the subject no further.
They continued up the hill, walking in a comfortable silence.
All the while, Thomas forced himself not to glance back.
Jimmy watched the two, as they meandered up the dewy hillside. He gazed after Thomas, willing the man to turn back, even if it was to yell at him.
But he didn't. He just kept walking.
They were talking, it seemed. Easily, and unguarded. Thomas was listening to Alfred, an amused smile alight on his handsome face.
Sitting alone upon the rickety fence, Jimmy felt a coil of jealousy, tight and unpleasant, begin to wrap itself around his throat. He brought a hand to his neck, willing the unease to dissipate.
"I don't care," he muttered to himself, with a confidence he knew that he didn't actually possess. "Thomas can bugger whoever he bloody well likes!"
But Jimmy did care.
And as he turned back to Jameson, his eyes following the lad's pathetic attempts to restrain the horse, he realized just how much.
"Mr. Barrow!" Anna brushed Thomas' arm, as he hurried by down the corridor, headed for Carson's lair. He glanced down at the ladies' maid, and frowned, somewhat annoyed at the interruption.
"Yes?"
Anna sighed. "Mr. Carson was looking for you," she told him, shifting the folded linens within her arms. Thomas nodded. "I was just on my way to his office," he informed the woman. "Now, if you'll excuse me-,"
"He needs you to find Alfred," Anna continued. "His Lordship is having a guest this evening. That means an extra place at the table, and better-than-best service." Thomas bit his tongue, and nodded. He made to move past her, but Anna stopped him once more.
"It's Mr. Higgs," she murmured, and Thomas felt his stomach give a twist. Anna frowned slightly. "Whatever the reason, you'd best warn Jimmy." Despite himself, Thomas gave a nod.
No longer needed by Carson, he turned, and wandered back down the hallway. He'd last seen Alfred talking with Ivy in the kitchen. But of course, when he poked his head through the doorway, the footman was nowhere to be seen. With a huff, Thomas made his unhurried way to the kitchen. Stepping into the room, it was alight with the promise off a grand dinner. Thomas paused for a moment, and allowed himself to bask in the wonderful scents of Mrs. Patmore's creations.
"Mr. Barrow?"
Thomas glanced around, and found Ivy, sharpened knife in hand, gazing up at his expectantly. "Did you need something?" the maid asked.
"Alfred, actually," Thomas replied. "Know where he's at?" Ivy nodded.
"He went to fetch Jimmy," she told the under butler, who let out a groan.
As Thomas stalked his way back down the hillside, he thought back to Anna's advice.
"You best warn Jimmy."
But what if I do, he wondered?
Perhaps, James would do something foolish. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. And Mr. Higgs, Thomas now knew, had taken far more from the footman than a simple tooth.
"I can't tell him," Thomas muttered beneath his breath. "It's not worth the risk."
Thomas found Alfred.
The footman was trudging once more up the slippery slope, followed closely by Jameson, and less enthusiastically by James. When Thomas reached them, he told Alfred that His Lordship was expecting a guest for dinner that evening, so he best be ready.
When Jameson asked who the guest was to be, Thomas replied, "I never asked."
Which, of course, was the truth.
"Stop!"
Startled, Thomas froze in his tracks. So abruptly did he stop moving, that James crashed into his back.
"Oi, watch it, will you?" the footman growled, moving to push past Thomas. But Mrs. Patmore's raised hand of warning and sharp glare stopped him.
"What is it?" Alfred asked. From where they stood, the men surveyed the kitchen. All seemed suspiciously ordinary, compared to the expression Mrs. Patmore wore. The cook stood before them, wooden spoon in one hand, and a canvas sack in the other. Jameson peeked over Alfred's shoulder, trying to gather what had caused the halt. "What's going on, then?" he asked. Thomas glanced at Mrs. Patmore.
"Daisy finally got to you then, Mrs. Patmore?" Thomas inquired, shooting an amiable smile at the cook's assistant. "Going to shove her in a sack, then?"
Mrs. Patmore was unimpressed. She scowled at Thomas.
"Rats!" she hissed. "And bloody big'ens at that!" Daisy, who wielded a hefty rolling pin, nodded in agreement. "Big as me face!" she offered. Thomas groaned.
"Blimey!" Alfred whistled.
"Not again!" James moaned.
"At least it ain't mice."
All eyes turned to Jameson, who shrugged, simply. "It's true," he continued. "Mice are 'arder to catch. And rats are cleaner."
Mrs. Patmore snorted. "I 'ighly doubt that, lad!" She turned to Thomas.
"Lads, you 'ave to 'elp us nick 'em all," Mrs. Patmore exclaimed, "before Mr. Carson finds out!" Alfred frowned. "Why would it matter if Mr. Carson found out?" he asked.
Mrs. Patmore scoffed. "Well, because 'e'd call for an inspection, 'o course!" Alfred looked at her blankly.
Mrs. Patmore rolled her eyes. "Well, I can't 'ave a lot 'o no-good, be-speckled health inspectors runnin' 'round me kitchen, now can I?" The cook spoke slowly, as though she were addressing a bunch of children, or, more likely, a bunch of dim-wits.
"It's 'ard enough when it's only you lot underfoot," Daisy added, throwing a pointed look at James and Alfred. Both footmen lowered their heads. The latter mumbled what may have been, "Sorry, love". James remained silent.
Shooting a weary glance at the footmen, Thomas gave a sigh. "Well then," he declared. "Can we really refuse a plea such as that, lad?" Alfred and Jameson shook their heads reluctantly – neither, it seemed, felt in the mood to chase rats. James, as the under butler had foreseen, retained his stony silence. Mrs. Patmore, however, looked about to burst with relief. She threw the sack unceremoniously at Thomas, who caught it in his good hand. Daisy offered him a rolling pin of his own, which the under butler accepted with some uncertainty.
"Are we playing cricket with them, then?" he queried. Daisy scowled. "Please, Mr. Barrow!" she muttered, swinging her own pin. "Dinner's in less than two hours!" Thomas nodded, and turned back to the footmen. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a dark flash of movement. Thomas spun back, rolling pin now clutched tightly in his grasp. All was still within the kitchen's corner. Thomas narrowed his pale eyes.
"Alright, lads," he hissed, taking a small step backwards. "Grab your weapons!" The footmen obeyed. Even James laid claim to a wooden spoon. Jameson, who stood by Alfred, a scuffed pan held before him, glanced around the kitchen, the eager gleam of excitement in his eyes. Thomas couldn't help but smirk.
"Do we'ave to kill them?" Alfred's voice was quiet. It was Daisy who answered.
"They won't get goin' if we don't," she muttered, and Thomas saw Alfred nod.
At that moment, Jameson chose to strike. With a cry that split his fellow man's ear, the lad leapt forward, swinging his pan with an air of vengeance. The targeted rodent squealed in fright, and before the boy could land a blow, darted beneath a near-by potato sack. Jameson huffed in frustration.
"What exactly do we do when we catch them?" All eyes turned to James. He stared back, blinking silently. After a moment, Mrs. Patmore shrugged.
"Let's just catch 'em first, shall we?"
"Alfred! On your left!" Daisy cried. "Your left!" The tall footman swung his copper pot. The satisfying clunk of rodent against implement rand throughout the kitchen. Despite himself, Jimmy chuckled.
"Nice shot, Alfred!" he congratulated the man. Alfred shot him a grin. Planted, wide-legged in the doorway, Jimmy scrutinized the dusty floor. It seemed suddenly alive with the scurrying bodies of rats. The black and brown bobs darted from cupboard to cupboard, burying themselves in sacks and behind crates. He might have felt ill, were it not for the thrill of the chase.
A sharp pain ran up his leg. Jimmy yelped, and spun around, just in time to see an especially large specimen run for cover. Inflamed, he gave chase.
Around the table he skirted, in pursuit of his attacker. He would not let another take this; no, this beast was his. He swung the hefty spoon, but its formidable form missed its scurrying mark. In one last, desperate attempt, Jimmy leapt at the disgusting creature. He felt himself slam against the cupboard. As he rolled painfully across the floor, he heard Daisy give a cry.
"Jimmy!" she screamed. "Watch the kipper!"
Above his head. Jimmy heard the dreaded rattle of falling crockery. He felt someone beside him, and when no trays or plates smashed upon the stone floor, the footman breathed a sigh of relief. His bliss, however, was interrupted by a dim dint by his ear. Jimmy glanced up, and found a tin rolling before his eyes. Brows furrowed, he reached for its circular body.
"Mr. Patmore?" he called. He heard the cook's uneven footfalls as she waddled over to where he lay.
"Yes?" Jimmy looked up, only to see that it was Thomas who had saved the kipper. Jimmy, tin in hand, shied away, and pulled himself to his feet. Thomas didn't even glance at the footman; he simply returned to his own rat chase. Pushing all though of the under butler from his mind, Jimmy turned to Mrs. Patmore. He held up the tin.
"Did you know that we had rat poison?" he asked. The cook nodded. But as Jimmy watched, a look of concern dawned upon her face. Stepping forward, she snatched the tin from his hand.
"Wash up, Jimmy!" she commanded in a tone that booked no argument. "Just look at yer 'and!" Jimmy did. When he glanced down, he saw that it was covered in a fine coat a pale, highly-lethal powder. Without another thought, he raced for the metal sink. Beneath the freezing yet of water, he cleansed his skin. The powder washed away easily, but Jimmy decided that his hand would not make contact with his mouth for the remainder of the evening.
Together, Mrs. Patmore, Daisy and Thomas, with the footmen's aid, managed to eliminate at least ten rats. By the time that dinner was but an hour away, the kitchen appeared to be rodent-free. Mrs. Patmore was relived; Thomas was exhausted. James and Alfred hurried to make themselves presentable, while Jameson hid the sullied weapons behind some old crates, where they would wait until Daisy found the time to wash them. The cook's assistant herself bustled about the kitchen, relaying Mrs. Patmore's instructions to Ivy, and beating batter for the night's meal.
In the afternoon's hullabaloo, no one thought to examine the bench where the rat poison had precariously perched. And so, no one thought to peer upon the tray of kipper, waiting to be sliced and diced and served. No one noticed the near-invisible dusting of a suspicious looking white powder upon the fishes' glinting scales.
The kippe was placed on the table, where it sat, waiting to be served.
Please review guys – I'd really like some feedback on this one!
