Chapter 3: An Ending

It must have started longer ago than Thomas imagined, but to him, it started then. When Bragg had left him.

There had been an awful row, which Thomas knew had really begun several weeks before, when there had been no words, when there had been an awful silence between them, an awful void into which the worst of one another had been poured.

It was not long before what would have been his and Milo's wedding anniversary: since her death, Thomas had always kept it by going to her graveside and talking to her, telling her the news of the past year, telling her how much the grandchildren had been growing, and how she would so have loved to be there, helping them, watchig them grow.

Philip had not wanted to go, however, and had gone back to Manchester to undertake some work with his brother.

And had arrived back with a letter.

"How can you be sure they mean Milo?" Thomas, accusatory in defence, grabbed the letter from Philip's unresisting hand. He held it up to the old chauffeur's cottage window, where the evening sunlight penetrated the paper and looked over the typewritten words.

"...wish to enqure to the matter of the traitor who, under Rutherford, worked in relay tracking at the estate of the Earl of Grantham..."

"Who else could it have been?" Philip Bragg flicked the lighter in his hand. The flame burst into life and he lit his own cigatette. "Relays? Earl of Grantham? Rutherford...?" Thomas turned, but Philip put the cigarette to his lips and took a quick drag before adding, "You live in the past every day of your life, repeating and repeating the things your late wife achieved in her short life, and now you deny this, frankly, bland routine query that has come from the National Trust?"

"Bland?" Thomas held the letter to him, as if shielding Milo's reputation with his arms.

"It is just a query into a person who lived here. If Master George Junior is keen on involving them to preserve the bulk of his estate, of course they are going to research people who have lived, and have visited - "

"Traitor?" Thomas interrupted his lover. "Milo was no traitor!" Philip Bragg grinned cattily behind his cigarette.

"I know you have a blind spot for her, my love, but, what else do you call it? She went to work for the Germans and gave them our secrets, helped them make their vile weapons." He dragged again and leaned one arm on the window sill, watching Thomas's discomfort develop into fury.

"I'll tell you how it was!" Thomas has snapped the words tore the letter in two, no matter that it was addressed to the Vice Chancellor of Manchester Universiry from the President of the National Trust. Master Georgie had hit upon the idea, borne of Haxby, to sell off some of the old servants' quarters to the Trust. It might make the industrial company think twice to pressing their legal claim. "She was a poor, mixed up girl, who grew into a loyal scientist, and had been compelled to work for the Nazis under blackmail. The SOE."

"The SO-what?" Philip laughed. Thomas said nothing for a moment, remembering giving his word to Thomson and the agent from MI5 all those years ago that he would not recount that ultra secret operation. "I care nothing for Milo, Thomas. It is you, who has caused me to pack: you will not commit."

"I - " Thomas was stung by guilt - there was a truth in his lover's words: Milo was always there, even though she had been dead for over twenty years. " - we can't marry. They've only just decriminalised it for us. In fifty years or so, when you and I are long gone, maybe two men can marry. Maybe two women too."

Bragg paused in the act of smoking his pipe as the realisation of the end of their relationship began to dawn on Thomas. It was then he noticed the two luggage cases by the back door.

"Do you know what my brother is going to tell them?" Thomas shook his head, slowly,

My brother, was at Munich when your saint of a wife was at Leipzig. He worked with Sommerfeld, as did Heisenberg - " Bragg held up a hand to stop Thomas from interrupting. It was a poorly kept secret that Werner Heisenberg was Ernest's biological father.

"Is that what he's going to say? Thomas remembered the scientists all sitting with Milo after she had gradiated, from Victoria, Manchester. Henry Bragg, Lawrence and Philip's father, was included then. "Laurie is going to tell them she worked with Sommerfeld?"

"Who didn't like her. Who thought she was very odd, and worried at her presence in the laboratory. Who was glad she left with Heisenberg."

"She - !" Thomas was angry and he put his cigarette to it, before throwing it into the grate. He leaned over with the lighter that Philip had given him for Christmas, thoughtfully sourced from "Barrow's" via Henry, and finished the job. But if he thought his lover was going to protest, Thomas would have to think again. Philip Bragg merely inhaled through his own cigarette.

"Frankly,I don't want family name associated with her," Philip scoffed. "I've made arrangements to go and stay with my brother. Cambridge. He moves at the end of the month. Will you forward anything on?"

"Philip - "

"It's no good, Thomas. I have loved you. I've gardened and groundskept here at Downton. It was wight for such a long time. But...she's always here...so is Ernest."

"Ernest is my...my son!" Thomas protested. But Philip shook his head.

"He is Milo's son. And she and Ernest Ashby, both were taught by my father, and now her son is." Bragg got to his feet, standing inches from Thomas, refusing to give ground. He could feel Thomas's breath on his neck. "It will not affect how he feels about Christopher, with his studies, with his dedication tpo your brother's shop. Larry will be leaving under the best of terms.. How about us?"

Thomas statrd at his lover's hand, feeling as if he wanted to both kiss him, and land a blow to his face.

"No, not now," Thomas Barrow told Philip Bragg. "Go, just go, I say, now!"

Once the door closed, and he had bolted it behiind his lover's retreating form, Thomas sat in the chair by the hearth, staring at the flames.