The clammer of chaos greeted Phyllis Baxter as she entered Downton's kitchens near midday. Preparations for a large lunch time gathering of the local clergy, including the village's vicar, were underway and by her reckoning, only just on time. The large table in the centre of the room held what they could forgive her for thinking to be literally hundreds of dainty looking sandwiches, each with various fillings, all cut neatly into the same shape. Daisy and Charlotte were working something like a production line, with Charlotte preparing fillings and Daisy arranging the sandwiches onto several oval-shaped silver trays that Stephen upstairs would take for luncheon – a time that was rapidly approaching.
"Has anyone seen Mr Barrow?" she near shouted over the chaotic humdrum of clattering dishes, Mrs Patmore barking orders whilst attending to trays of delicate pastries, and the hurried tapping of the rushed footsteps from all three of them.
"He stopped by to check all was going to schedule, not that it is going to that now," Daisy shouted back. "Haven't seen him since."
"If you see him," Mrs Patmore said, pointing a spoon towards her, "tell him we need all hands on deck if we are to get this done by one! That includes him and all!"
Stephen appeared at the door. "I could lend a hand."
"Good." Charlotte threw an apron towards him. "Put that on and cut those up," she ordered, pointing to an enormous pile of salad vegetables.
Stephen hesitated with the apron.
"You'll need it. God forbid you get tomato stains on your livery. Mr Barrow will fly through the roof!" Mrs Patmore said with an exasperated wave of her hands. Stephen did the wise thing and obeyed.
"I doubt Mr Barrow will mind, since he's not even here," Daisy said. "How can we lose the butler?"
"He's probably caught up with something," Charlotte said in a kindlier tone.
Stephen, taking time to tie his apron, pulled Phyllis aside by her elbow. "I saw him not twenty minutes ago going outside." He lowered his voice, so he was barely audible about the kitchen noise. "He had a pack of cigarettes with him. Is he okay, Miss Baxter?"
Whether Thomas was okay was exactly what Phyllis hoped to determine by finding him. "I hope so Stephen."
"He's been acting odd for a while now, not yesterday, though. He was in a brilliant mood yesterday when he came back from his half day. Skipping church might be why, but Richard is probably more the reason." Stephen paused, tying the apron strings. "Maybe he's not keen on serving lunch to a load of stuck up—"
"Stephen," Phyllis chided, though part of her couldn't help but agree with his observation of Her Ladyship's lunch guests.
"Wouldn't explain the past few weeks, though. I wonder if it's got something to do with all those letters he's been getting—"
"Stephen, are you going to help or stand gossiping instead?" Charlotte asked.
"Sorry." He straightened out the apron over his front. "Might be worth asking about those, if you find him."
Phyllis left the kitchen and headed to the back door, leaving the chaotic kitchen behind her – she'd help later if needed. Once outside, she saw Thomas in his usual spot, leaning against the wall with one foot on it, almost balanced. He didn't turn his head at the sound of the door closing, nor her shoes on the cobbles as she approached. Either he was ignoring her, or he was far away with his thoughts. Stephen had been right: Thomas yesterday had a glow about him, a relaxed posture and character that made everyone else's lives easier on a Sunday afternoon. She had noticed both his and Richard's absence from church yesterday morning and kept her guesses why to herself. It did Thomas good to take time to spend time with Richard as a couple.
Today, though, Thomas had a distinct feeling about him: his fingers clasped the half-smoked cigarette, his free hand gripping the packet with unnecessary force. Just the fact that he was smoking alone raised her levels of concern. "Mr Barrow," she called out.
No answer. Thomas only took another drag.
"It's getting busy in the kitchen; they need several extra pairs of hands."
"Right." Thomas looked ahead of himself.
"You're needed, Thomas," she urged, keeping a cautious tone as though he could snap at any moment.
"Good."
Phyllis sighed. "I know you're not exactly thrilled about the guests today, Thomas, but—"
Thomas huffed, this time acknowledging her. "That's an understatement.
"If it puts you in a bad mood, then that's okay. Stephen isn't happy either."
"I suppose not. He's likely got similar reasons to me." Thomas's eyes spoke of a bitterness hidden behind blue-grey pools that struggled to remain below the surface. "It would be interesting if they were to know why I spent my morning yesterday away from hearing their droning vicar chide us sinners some more, as though our lives couldn't be miserable enough."
Phyllis winced inwardly. It was bad.
"Or more likely, how I spent it, in bed with my lover enjoying giving and receiving such pleasures that they would condemn me for my sinfulness," he spat, glaring down at the ground as he threw the cigarette into a puddle at his feet. He faced her again, held his head high and steady. "I don't feel shame in a thing we did."
Phyllis knew she was blushing out of awkwardness. She knew Thomas and Richard, like Stephen and Daniel, shared intimate moments, but Thomas rarely spoke so directly about them. "Nor should you, Thomas, but you mustn't let them get to you. They don't know who you are, and it's best kept that way."
"Well, obviously! I'm well aware of that."
"I know, but just do your job, and don't let them get to you." She took a step closer and put a gentle hand on his forearm. "You can rant to me about them later... let it all out safely?"
Thomas pocketed his lighter and groaned into his hands. "I'm grateful, Phyllis, and sorry if I made you feel awkward. I am annoyed about serving several members of the clergy a fancy luncheon, but that's not why I'm out here smoking these." He tossed the cigarette packet onto the nearby bench. "It's something else." Thomas fiddled with his hands, Phyllis seeing that he was debating with himself whether he should continue. "I suppose you've all noticed I've been getting lots of letters recently?"
"We have." Phyllis kept her response neutral. Thomas was not the man to open about much. He was better than he used to be, but still found it difficult to make himself vulnerable.
"No doubt everyone has theories?"
"Some."
"What? I'd like to hear them."
"Well...money troubles were one, some thought..."
"Yes?"
"Some thought you were getting messages from a secret admirer," she admitted. "I never believed that one for a second."
"I'd suspect that, if it were me. Not true though, impossible even."
"I know. Some wonder if it's something to do with your family?"
Thomas's body stiffened. "Nail on the head, Miss Baxter. Oh, whatever, I may as well tell you, Richard knows. I've been getting letters from Margaret."
"Margaret?" she repeated in disbelief. Thomas's older sister, and her former best friend, whom neither of them had heard from for years.
"Yeah. She wrote to me initially to tell me that our father passed away."
"Your father died? Thomas, I'm sorry. You should have said. You didn't need to hide that."
Thomas shrugged. "It's fine. I've been dead to him for ages anyway, so what difference does it make?"
Phyllis found herself unable to find the right words to answer being shocked by his coldness.
"She kept sending them when I didn't reply, I suppose. Yes, I was ignoring her. Why should I do her the curtesy of a reply when she ignored me pleas for help years ago? I needed her, and she turned her back on me. She wants me to come to the funeral."
"You haven't answered because you don't want to go?"
"That makes me sound like a bad person, but yes. Richard is trying to persuade me to go. He thinks it would be good for me, but the thing is I feel no sadness, grief, or sense of loss. I feel nothing. I'm just empty, void of emotion. My father was the prime culprit for turning me out, for making David and I run away when we were too young to know what to do."
"Maybe she wants you there... for support?" Phyllis doubted her own words as soon as she spoke them.
"As if! More likely that she'd rather have me there as the black sheep of the family than to have to find a reason to explain why I wasn't there. I'm not going Phyllis; they are my past. My home, my family is here." He stomped his foot to illustrate his point.
"I understand that. Margaret cut all ties with me, probably because of the time I spent in prison. I know going would be hard for so many reasons, but you only have one chance to say goodbye, or at least get some feelings long buried off your chest, Thomas." She squeezed his arm before returning inside. "Give it a little more thought if you can?"
She left, so Thomas didn't feel pressured to give a reply.
"Phyllis!" he called from behind her. "Tell Mrs Patmore I'll be along to help shortly."
...
"I'm sorry for overreacting yesterday," Chris said suddenly to David as they sat on a memorial bench in a quiet part of the churchyard. He held half an uneaten sandwich in his hand, poking out the top of a small brown paper bag to avoid getting greasy fingers from the butter.
David had popped by the shop at noon, bearing gifts of a packed lunch and the invitation to join him. It had been out of David's way by a few miles, though he'd claimed he'd had things to do in the village, anyway. Chris had been happy to accept, if only to smooth over any grievances between them that had remained unspoken since the day before.
"I don't blame you. We agreed I'd stay away, and I forced your hand by showing up like I did. I should say sorry, not you."
A pair of woodpigeons waddled along the verge of the paved path in front of them, pecking and occasionally warbling to each other. "What you said was right. I've been holding back with moving things forward with Helen. I'm in my comfort zone and I like it the way it is. It's easier this way."
"She never has to find out."
Chris's head snapped round to look at him. "What? No. She must know. I refuse to be a coward."
"I won't judge you."
"I know you won't, but if we stayed as it is now, with her thinking you're only a friend and a neighbour, then everything in the future would be a lie. It's been a lie for long enough."
"I know," David said, looking ahead of him.
Chris still felt uneasy. David hadn't met his eye. "What is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Something is up. Was it last night? Was I wrong to come you? Did you not want it?"
David took his hand without hesitation, despite being out in the open. "No. I never thought after we argued that you'd come by, let alone stay the night. I enjoyed being with you." He looked with sincerity into Chris's eyes. "As I always do," he added, lowering his voice.
"Then what?"
"We should have had this conversation last night before we ended up in bed. I thoroughly enjoyed what came after you pushed me up against the wall downstairs before I could say a word, but I think some things lay hanging between us. I reckon you came by to get a distraction?"
"Only partly," Chris blurted out. "Pride held me back from asking you to stay after Helen left, but I needed to be close to you. I hated leaving it like that. That's why I came to you."
"We could have taken our time." David smirked and inclined his head, so he drew nearer to Chris. "But I don't mind it quick sometimes. You gave no complaints from what I recall."
"No. I wanted to be with you." Chris's face heated at the memory. Amongst various other positions, he'd found himself on David's lap, his back to David's chest who had held him in an embrace of sorts as they moved together, his hand in Chris's hair, the other splayed across his chest over his heart. David had anchored his lips to Chris's neck, exhaling heavy breaths on his cheek, as Chris leaned back to meet him in a messy kiss.
Chris drew a deep breath in, then out, and took a bite of his sandwich to bring himself back to the present.
"Not that you could have said much. Half the time your mouth was f—" David snatched back his hand from Chris's and shuffled away as someone walked down the path towards them. "Afternoon," David greeted with perfect politeness, as though he hadn't just been talking about anything so scandalous or illegal.
Chris took a large deliberate bite of his sandwich, excusing him from any polite greetings as the person passed them by. "David," he hissed through his teeth after they'd gone.
"Sorry."
Chris grinned to himself, shaking his head. It was impossible for them to argue and fall out for long. "We're okay then?"
"Yeah." David tapped Chris on the knee.
Chris was about to cover David's hand with his own as they were before until a familiar face came into view.
"Chris! There you are. I've been looking for you," Helen exclaimed as she neared them. Chris promptly moved away from David again, stretching his arms in a deliberate move to cover his actions. "I'm glad to find you here. I came by the shop earlier, but Mr Ellis told me you like to take lunch out." She stopped in front of them, greeting them with a warm smile in her eyes from under her hat. "I'm not interrupting, am I? I don't wish to disturb your break."
"No, no, course not. David was just... passing."
"Nice to see you again, Mrs Hastings. I was passing, but I had some errands in the village to keep me here longer." David stood up to make way for her on the bench.
Helen waved him off. "Thank you, Mr Mortimer, but I can't stay. John is looking after Chris, and I did promise I wouldn't be long. I'll cut to the chase: we have an invitation for you. I should say before, though, that there's no pressure to accept and we won't mind if you refuse."
David stood again. "I'll leave you to talk."
"The invitation is for you both. I think Chris will need the help."
David raised an eyebrow in his curiosity but returned to sit back next to Chris, saying nothing.
"You see, John and I came to Downton to take a break, but we have had little of one since being here, if I'm honest."
"I suppose you didn't plan on finding your long-lost black sheep of a brother," Chris said before thinking.
"No, but you're not the cause, and I'm glad we met Chris. Don't doubt that," Helen said, catching on to Chris's cynical tone. "As much as our son is a blessing, he takes up all our time now. It will be easier when he grows up, I suppose, but we'd like a day to ourselves like it was before Chris was born. We were wondering if you Chris would like to look after you nephew for the day, and if you Mr Mortimer if you're able?"
Chris's mind jumped all over the place, much like his racing heart. David looked between him and Helen, a tentative smile that grew broader. "I-I... well..."
"It's fine if that's too much," Helen reassured.
"David, what do you think?" Chris asked.
"I think we could manage a day babysitting; Matthew won't mind if I need the time away from the farm for that purpose. But it's up to you."
"We're not exactly experienced, but... I think we can accept yes."
Helen clapped her hands together. "Great! How about the day after tomorrow – Wednesday? It will give us some time to get things sorted. And don't worry about getting anything. I'll bring it all with him."
A thought occurred to Chris that brought heat to his cheeks for an altogether more awkward reason. "Um... What about feeding?"
Helen rolled her eyes at Chris's embarrassment. "You can say the word, you know? I'll spare you just this once brother. He's starting on solids, but formula milk will be fine too. Like I said, I'll sort everything. I'm used to it by now."
"Okay... great." Chris coughed. David sniggered next to him.
"I'll let you both finish your lunch. I'll see you both on Wednesday then?"
"Yes, bye and thank you."
"Bye Chris."
After Helen had disappeared back down the path and out of sight, David blew out a long breath from puffed-out cheeks. "I didn't expect that."
"You are fine with doing this?" Chris asked, more to reassure himself than David.
"It will be fine. And you know something? I think we just took that next step you were hanging back on taking."
Chris tried to imagine what Wednesday would bring. Images of pushing his nephew in the pram down the lane, through the village – that would be a sight to get people talking – sitting out in the garden or even better with David in the privacy of his living room, the baby asleep between them. The images were idyllic, and he hoped realistic. David was right, though; this was the next step forward and he couldn't afford to mess it up.
