Thank you, Simin and Ginafisch, for your lovely and motivating comments.
The next day, when the sweet smell of Christmas was in the wind, immingling with the numbing cold air of the dawning day, Andy, after cleaning and returning boots of the family members and the upper servants, crept sleepily downstairs, still unsure if yesterday's event was real or only a trick of his mind.
As he entered the greyish servant's hall near the kitchen, where his nightmare might still be waiting, he felt immediately that something wasn't right. His eyes, tired and light-sensitive, scanned the room, hopped from face to face, before they stopped on the empty chair next to Mrs Hughes.
'Where is Mr Barrow?' he asked in confusion as Thomas's feverish face, Pale and with bloodshot eyes, appeared in his mind's eye and forced him to accept that yesterday's event was indeed real.
'Good morning to you, too, Andrew,' said Mr Carson peevishly, 'Mr Barrow reported in sick this morning but that should not be your concern. Even though I can't approve of his absence one day before Christmas Eve, it seems like this is an early opportunity to see how we can maintain the high standards of Downton Abbey without an under-butler.'
'What does that mean, Mr Carson? He can't be sacked just because he's sick.' Andy's hands trembled as he reached for his chair. With a swift movement, he pulled it up from under the table and sat down next to the only hall boy at the end of the table.
'I didn't say that, Andrew, but as it is well-known, Downton Abbey has to reduce its staff. This is an inevitable measure, but nothing is decided yet, even though some members of the staff are more needed than others, and an under-butler simply is a superfluous position, don't you agree?'
Andy nodded, not in agreement but in comprehension. He was indeed aware that time had been changing the world and affecting the Abbey, but he'd never thought that Mr Barrow's position was compromised. Lost in thoughts, he ate his breakfast (two slices of bread-and-butter and a cup of tea) in silence while the others conducted conversations.
Mr and Mrs Bates were talking about their cottage. It was an ongoing debate about whether they needed an extra room or not. Mr Mosley and Ms Baxter, on the other side, were whispering in gentle tones, but a smile, which could be seen by turns on each of their faces, bespoke that they were in complete agreement and happy with their current situation. For a moment Andy eyed Thomas's empty chair, which, in the faint rays of the morning sun, served as an unrecognised monument to servant's abundance in a time of inevitable change, before he looked at Mr Carson, who was reading the newspaper, and then at Mrs Hughes who was eating her porridge. As he was staring at them, his mind occupied with proceeding what was happening around him, his heart picked up its courage and let him speak without being muted by prejudice and interference.
'Mr Carson,' Andy asked after short moment, finishing his meal, 'may I bring Mr Barrow his breakfast on a tray? He won't be too sick to eat, will he?' The voices around him became suddenly low, and concerned eyes darted from Mr Carson to Andy. The unwanted attention from the other members of the staff made him uncomfortable and he began to wonder if he'd done something wrong.
'Thank you, Andrew, but this won't be necessary. Young Arthur will bring a tray to him right after breakfast.' The hall boy nodded eagerly. 'Furthermore, I think, that, as a footman, it's not your task to serve an under-butler. So stay away from his room and attend to your tasks as the second footman of Downton Abbey.'
'Yes, Mr Carson,' said Andy and stood up, preparing the table before he started to clean the silverware. One by one the servants resumed to their work: Mr Mosley, under the observant eyes of Mr Carson, was laying the breakfast table for the family, Mr and Mrs Bates and Ms Baxter, on the other side, were assisting to wash and dress the family. Andy, however, had to remain downstairs, polishing the silver and keeping the front door bell in sight.
As a matter of fact, the mindless task of polishing silverware didn't help him to get Mr Barrow out of his head. Quite the contrary, since it was Mr Barrow who had taught him to clean it effectively and accurately. Andy paused for a moment and closed his eyes. He tried to picture Mr Barrow: dark hair with greying temples, steel-grey attentive eyes. Once, he'd been standing behind him, looking over his shoulders and checking his work. The memory was accompanied by the smell of cigarettes and castor oil, and a smile which, when Andy though about it, had been honest in its intension but forged in its performance.
The younger man sighed and returned to his work. He was aware that Mr Barrow had always been kind and indulgent to him, and yet, last night, the older man had admitted his lies and illicit actions without delay. 'Bygone lies,' Andy mumbled absentmindedly, remembering what his father had used to say: 'Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.' He reached for another silver spoon and began polishing once again, his left leg was bouncing up and down.
Lying and stealing was one thing, but being attracted to men was another. In his young life, Andy had never encountered a homosexual, and so he was astonished that nearly every member of the staff knew about Mr Barrow. Did Lord Grantham know? Probably since Mr Carson wouldn't withhold such information. Andy grabbed another spoon. Something didn't fit. If Mr Barrow had been such a monster like he'd been described by the others, than why was he still employed? Or imprisoned? Andy let go of the silver spoon and the polishing cloth and cupped his chin in his right hand as a soft-footed shadow caught his attention.
From the corner of his eyes, he could see Arthur, the hall boy, who was unusually tall for one so young, with dark eyes and hairs, and yet fair skin and a kind but insecure smile. He was handed a tray by one of the kitchen maids, and Andy was sure that he saw a teapot and cup as well as some bread, cheese and some sweets, probably given secretly by Daisy, on it. As the boy went upstairs, carrying the tray while being tensed up in concentration. Andy's thoughts were tumbling. Why was the boy allowed to go upstairs, when he wasn't? What was the difference between him and all the others?
Unconsciously, he took another silver spoon and tightened his grip around it as though he was afraid of drowning in the current circumstances. In the end, he didn't drown nor did his thoughts stop and so time had gone by and the others reappeared slowly. As Andy observed the faces which had caused so much confusion and pain, a tranquil mood had come over him and a decision had been made: He had to talk to Thomas, and with sweating palms and cold fingertips he continued to polish the remaining silverware.