It was a dark starless night, a week or ten days later. There had been several such nights since Thomas had brought the parcel to Mrs Patmore and every time he'd lost himself in the emptiness of the black sky. It was the same emptiness he felt inside himself; a condition, which was accompanied by a frightening coldness spreading all through his whole body as though it wanted to take possession of him. His body was merely a shell, in the best case a tool for the aristocracy, but it wasn't his anymore. He had lost himself somewhere in the past.

Before the night could completely devour him, he averted his gaze and turned his back on the small window in his chamber. The cold wood of the window frame pressed into his back and made him shiver. It was late at night, nearly two o'clock in the morning, but he couldn't fall asleep, wherefore he'd decided to have a cigarette. Thick smoke had wandered from his lips to the sky and the familiar smell of cheap cigarettes had helped him to relax his tense muscles, and yet his mind was still alert and his ears eager to detect even the quietest noise.

Every now and then he heard squeaking noises of doors being opened, followed by footsteps to the lavatory. After the last footsteps had retreated to their room, Thomas stood up and opened his own door silently. His feet were only in thick woollen socks as he tiptoed through the cold corridor in the direction of the staircase. A small white candle in a silver candlestick, which Thomas carried in his right hand, illuminated the dark corridor and painted the grey walls in orange light. He moved light-footedly, leaving those stairs out which creaked, and soon arrived at the basement.

He went to the kitchen, his candlelight reflected from the copper pots painting orange dots on the walls, and helped himself to one of the wine bottles Mrs Patmore used for cooking.

The bottle was already half empty, and as Thomas lifted the cork, putting the candle on the table first, he smelt the familiar scent of wine. The sweat odour stimulated the saliva production in his mouth and with the carelessness of the youth he drank right from the bottle. Therefore, under the spell of wine, he didn't hear the steady footsteps approaching him.

'What are you doing? Thomas winced and spilled some wine on the floor as he turned around in order to hide the bottle behind his back. The voice was followed by a light and finally by a face. Andy was standing with a candle in his left hand in the doorframe. The dim light of the candle blurred his facial contour with the dark of the night. His eyes, however, which reflected the low flame stood out and gazed knowingly at the under-butler.

'For heaven's sake, Andy,' said Thomas, eyes widened in surprise. 'You gave me quite a fright. What are you doing down here in the middle of the night?'

'I saw a light,' began the footman, his voice a mere whisper, 'Right through some door cracks, and after the light didn't return to its room, I decided to go and check if everything's alright. At first, I didn't know where to go, but then I saw the light in the stairwell again; faint but still visible, and I, I simply followed.' Andy came closer and as he stopped, both candle flames banded together, driving away the shadows which had afore lingered on their faces.

'So, what are you doing here, Mr Barrow,' inquired Andy, his eyes darted from Thomas's face to his hands, one of them was still behind his back.

'I did the same,' said Thomas, 'I thought, I've heard something, but everything's indeed alright. So go back to bed, Andy.' The under-butler showed him a smile, pressing his thin lips onto each other. On a closer look, however, one might have seen that the purpose of this smile was to hide his trembling lips since the unexpected closeness of the footman flustered him.

'No,' said Andy, with a furrowed brow, 'I won't go. Something is not right. What are you hiding?'

'I'm not hiding anything. But if you ask me, what I'm holding in my right hand then I can tell you that this is one of Mrs Patmore's wine bottles.' With an elegant gesture, Thomas put the bottle on the table. The red wine danced for a moment in the shadow of the night, before it also adjusted to the overwhelming silence.

'So, they're right,' concluded the footman, 'You're a liar and a thief.'

'Says who?' Andy shrugged his shoulder.

'Some of the others. They've warned me; said you were a bad influence.'

'And you've believed them. After all the things I've done for you.' Thomas sneered and seated himself on one of the kitchen chairs, his long legs entwined with the chair legs. 'Do you remember Mrs Denker and how I saved you? Or how you eagerly listened to my advice in the beginning?' Andy nodded in agreement, but his eyes were still fixed on the bottle of wine.

'So let me just ask one question:' Thomas continued, 'What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?'

'What?' cried Andy, clasping his hands over his head, his eyes wide in astonishment. 'What do you mean? I've never treated you disrespectfully. I, I-'

'You what? You've just treated me how I've deserved to be treated because I'm a thief and a liar?' Thomas laughed coldly. 'You could have asked me, Andy, and I'd have told you everything, but you've chosen to keep out of my way. From one day to the next, you've treated me differently, avoided me. And I? I've just got so cold and angry.' Thomas eyes were empty as he looked up. 'I won't deny that I did steal and that I did lie, but that was nearly ten years ago. How much longer must I suffer from my past mistakes? Every mistake of the others is easily forgiven, but not mine. No! I still am the liar and the thief.' He reached for the bottle and drank. The wine had got warm from the nearby candle light, but warmth was exactly what he needed.

After he'd put the bottle back on the table, he looked at the younger footman, who was still standing, lost and misguided, in the middle of the kitchen.

'There is more to it, isn't it?' said Thomas with artificial amusement, 'Oh yes. Your face is showing it. Your lovely, lovely face – it is so communicative. Even though, you don't speak with me anymore, I can see troubles, but also happiness, on your face.'

Thomas stood up and circled around the table. Not a single sound was heard as he raised his hands but the noticeable tenseness, which hovered in mid-air, prevented him from placing them on the soft skin of the younger man.

'Mr Barrow-,' whispered Andy in an attempt to explain himself, but he wasn't heard.

The under-butler growled and lowered his hands.

'Hush!' said he, 'Don't speak. You've already said enough. Don't look at me like this. Do you think I didn't see how you flinched as I came near you? I saw and now I know. I know what they've told you. They said, I was a liar, a thief and a foul creature, didn't they? Oh, yes. I can see it now. How blind must I have been not to see it earlier? And you agree with them, don't you? You also can't wait for the day they'll come and get me. Life imprisonment – that's the only thing I deserve, because I'm foul and damaged. But I can tell you, I didn't choose to be who I am and yet I have to live in fear.' Thomas paused; his lips and throat were dry, but the roaring of his blood in his ears urged him to continue. 'Is that a tear in your eye, Andy? What a waste! Don't cry for me, please, don't do it. I'm already lost - a creature of the night, unable to live among others. I am, Andy, a homosexual. They were right. I loved Jimmy like I've never loved a man before, but – and now listen carefully – I've learnt my lesson and I'd have never touched or hassled you. I can, indeed control myself. I won't jump on you like a bitch on heat. Do you understand that? Thank God, because I'd rather die than see you unhappy. The only thing I've ever wanted was your friendship. What a foolish wish to have. Nobody can be friends with a homosexual, a thief, a liar.' Thomas shook his head and reached slowly for the wine again. With three great gulps and closed eyes, he emptied the bottle and put it back on the table.

'What have I done?' Thomas whispered, 'What have I said?' He looked at Andy, who was watching him with wide eyes and a trembling lower lip. 'Forget what I've said. I'm a fool, a love-obsessed fool.' He took his candlestick, the red light merged with the red blotches on his face. 'Maybe all of this was a dream. Or am I delirious? I'm not feeling well, Andy. I'll go back to bed. I think you should do the same. It is really cold in the kitchen.'

Andy didn't dare to speak, and like a Greek statue, he observed silently how the flames broke off as Thomas trotted back to the attic.