"Oh, hello Emma," Mrs. Crawley smiled weakly as she saw the girl stroll past her house.

"Hello Mrs. Crawley," Emma greeted politely.

"Are you on your way home? How was school?" the older lady attempted to initiate a conversation.

Emma nodded, "It was alright. I'm getting better at needlework."

"That's good to hear," she tried to smile cheerfully, but Emma knew full well that Mrs. Crawley still mourned her son.

Emma had overheard a conversation between her father and Jimmy—after admitting she could have been in Mister Matthew's car—and during that conversation, Thomas admitted he would never cope with the loss of his only child in his lifetime.

Thomas stood with Jimmy in the backyard. The cigarettes glowed in their mouths.

"Chin up, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said, "Emma didn't get in."

"But she almost did," Thomas replied, letting the smoke slowly escape from his mouth, "I nearly lost my daughter that day."

"Life still goes on," Jimmy shrugged, "Lord Grantham seems to have gotten over the loss of Lady Sybil quite well. So, you would get over it too – everyone does."

Thomas shook his head, "It's not the same. If my child were to die before me, then I'm no longer a father," Thomas came to the sad realization. There would be no little dwarf calling him 'Daddy.'

"I'd just be nothing," he sadly concluded.

"You're still the under-butler," Jimmy said encouragingly.

But for Thomas, that didn't matter. The thoughts of potentially losing his child filled him with indescribable pain. He couldn't even imagine the suffering Lady and Lord Grantham or Mrs. Crawley must have endured through the loss of their children.

"You don't understand. You don't have a child. The loss of your own and only child is the worst thing that can happen."

"Wouldn't you like to come in? I have cake, and I can make us some tea," Mrs. Crawley offered, completely pulling Emma out of her thoughts. If Emma learned one thing, it was that one should not refuse such invitations. Especially not when the person extending them was so full of grief. "Very gladly," she agreed.

Mrs. Crawley came in with a tray, upon which the teapot gently steamed. She set it down carefully and smiled kindly at Emma, yet there was a shadow of sorrow in her eyes. "Please, have a seat," she said gently, gesturing to the chair opposite. Emma followed her invitation and sat down as Mrs. Crawley poured the tea. The warm steam rose, filling the room with a soothing herbal scent.

Mrs. Crawley handed Emma a cup and sat across from her. "I hope the tea suits your taste," she said with a slight smile. Emma took a sip and tasted the comforting blend of Earl Grey and lavender. "It's delicious, thank you very much," she replied politely, trying to lighten the somber mood.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their tea before Mrs. Crawley broke the silence. "The servants tends to gossip," she began, taking another sip of her tea before continuing, "They say it was you," pausing briefly, "I certainly don't want to reopen wounds, but I need to know," she took a deep breath, "What were his last words? How was he..." she trailed off.

Emma set her cup back on the table. "I... um," Emma stuttered, feeling overwhelmed by the question, "Mister Matthew spoke very proudly of his son – George – he was very happy and talked about introducing his son to everyone personally."

"Little George," Mrs. Crawley sighed, "Has he grown a lot? I rarely see him."

"Yes, he has," Emma smiled. She really needed to check on Master George and Miss Sybbie again. Lately, she had been visiting the nursery less frequently.

The next day, Emma entered the nursery with a light knock. Master George was in Nanny West's arms, happily playing with a rattle, while Miss Sybbie sat crying in the crib. Emma noticed the icy stares from the new nanny – Nanny West – directed at her.

"Who are you?" the nanny's sharp voice rang out, accompanied by a suspicious glare.

"I'm Emma," the girl replied, "Emma Barrow. I live here."

The nanny raised an eyebrow, "Certainly not up here."

Emma shook her head and explained, "No, but with the servants. My father is the under-butler, Mister Barrow."

"What are you doing up here then?" the nanny asked sternly.

"I wanted to visit Miss Sybbie and Master George," Emma explained with a hint of hope in her voice.

Nanny West twisted her lips into an exaggerated grin. "Then I would ask you to refrain from such visits."

Confused, Emma furrowed her brow. "Why?"

The nanny sighed and began to explain her opinion. "I owe you no explanation. You are neither a member of the upper class nor part of the nannies or the other servants. A filthy bastard like you from the lowest class should never play with socially superior children."

Emma looked at her incredulously, "What? But..."

"There's no 'but'," Nanny West said sternly, "You are not their friend and you never will be."

With a heavy heart, Emma left the nursery.

Emma entered one of the storage rooms with a heavy sigh, where her father was inspecting and polishing the silverware. "I can't stand Nanny West," she sighed heavily, sinking into a chair, while her father looked at her with a questioning gaze. "She's rude and insulting. She's like Mrs. O'Brien: a child-hater," she explained.

Thomas turned to his daughter. "That bad?" he inquired, his brow slightly furrowed. He hadn't met the new nanny yet, and Emma's words piqued his curiosity.

"Worse," Emma replied with a resigned tone. "I'm not allowed to visit Miss Sybbie and Master George anymore because I'm a child of the lowest class." Frustration was clearly evident in her voice.

"That's quite a bold claim," Thomas responded, setting the silverware aside carefully before turning to his daughter. "Are you sure Nanny West said that?"

Emma nodded firmly. "Yes, she did! She called me a filthy bastard."

Thomas pondered what he could do to teach Nanny West a lesson, when Emma continued with a pleading tone, "I don't think Nanny West likes Miss Sybbie either. You have to do something, Dad!"

Thomas's expression hardened as he listened to Emma's words. He felt a surge of protectiveness towards his daughter and a growing concern for the well-being of Miss Sybbie and Master George. He knew he couldn't let such mistreatment of his daughter and the children under his care go unaddressed, "I'll first make my own assessment of this Nanny West, and then I'll come up with something, I promise," Thomas said.

Few days later Emma waited at the fully set breakfast table for the servants to arrive and for Mr. Carson to open breakfast.

"Have you heard the latest news?" Thomas asked eagerly. Emma looked at him curiously. The day had just begun.

"Mrs. O'Brien is gone," he announced with a cheerful smile.

"Really? Gone for good? She's never coming back?"

"Gone and done for," Thomas beamed.

Those were indeed good news. Never again would she have to endure being provoked or insulted by the nasty maid. She was tired of being the 'stupid ungrateful brat'. No matter how many times her father, Mrs. Hughes, or Mr. Carson tried to teach the old silly witch a lesson, Mrs. O'Brien had treated her badly until yesterday.

Emma couldn't help but smile when she heard that Mrs. O'Brien was finally gone. The constant teasing and condescending remarks had increasingly burdened her over the years. She often felt like the target of Mrs. O'Brien's malicious schemes. Finally, that thorn had been removed from her daily life.

Flashback 1913

"Playing Super-Daddy?" O'Brien smirked mischievously as she saw Thomas come into the backyard. The little girl holding his hand, attempting to toddle slowly beside him. It was one of her first attempts at walking, and if Thomas didn't firmly grasp the child's hand, she would immediately lose her balance and fall.

"Doesn't Mrs. Hughes have any time?" She didn't wait for Thomas to answer but asked amusedly, "So you're you teaching her to walk after all?" After all, just a few days ago, that servant had claimed he wasn't in a hurry to teach the child to walk.

"I'm constantly carrying something," grumbled Thomas, "Trays filled with delicacies, which those upstairs never eat anyway... Even I get tired at the end of the day, and then this little dwarf comes around the corner wanting to be carried around the clock, turning night into day. And if it were up to her, she'd play pony riding all day."

Emma's eyes lit up at the mention of the game. "Daddy," the girl spoke excitedly. Thomas paid her no attention. Instead, he fumbled for his cigarette with one hand, which he had Mrs. O'Brien light for him. After all, he was holding onto the toddler with the other hand. But just as he was about to put the cigarette in his mouth, the child tumbled to the ground. He felt her hand grow heavier, and before he knew it, the child let go of his hand. Immediately, the wailing began.

Thomas sighed. O'Brien took Thomas's glowing cigarette back. Now he had two free hands to tend to the child. He knelt down, "Why did you let go of my hand?" Thomas asked, puzzled. Emma just looked at him with big, teary eyes, "And now?" he asked awkwardly.

"Just let her cry. It won't hurt any child," O'Brien advised.

Thomas ignored her words and spoke gently to his daughter, "Do you want to crawl or stand up and walk?"

The 15-month-old girl reached up her hands. Thomas pulled Emma up by her hands, but instead of picking her up, he pulled her up so that she stood on her own feet again. This can be quite frustrating when you'd rather be carried around all day.

"Daddy!" Emma whined, "Daddy, up!"

"You need to learn to walk," Thomas said. He had been trying to teach the child to walk for two weeks. When Dr. Clarkson visited for a check-up on Lady Grantham, the doctor hinted that it was high time for the child to start walking.

Emma shook her head as she whined in an indistinct baby talk.

"You know violence isn't always such a bad thing," O'Brien remarked, "She needs to learn that the world doesn't revolve around her. You have to set boundaries for her, Thomas."

"I won't harm my child," Thomas said firmly. "She shouldn't be afraid of me."

"Then she'll never respect you... a slap or a smack on the bottom has never harmed any child," she claimed.

"And where, may I ask, did you get all your knowledge about child-rearing?" Thomas asked with great skepticism.

"For generations, children have been raised like this," she shrugged.

"That doesn't mean it's right," said Thomas.

"It's right when the child doesn't know how to behave otherwise. This brat is ill-mannered."

Thomas felt the little Emma tugging at his trouser leg. The girl had calmed down by now but still stood beside him. One hand firmly in his. Thomas swung her up into his arms with a sweep. Emma nestled her head against Thomas's chest. Emma's realizations were: walking is dumb and painful. She loves to be carried around or crawl on all fours like dog Pharaoh.

For a brief moment, Thomas looked down at his daughter, as she pressed against him. Thumb in her mouth, and her eyes of tear-dried blue-gray. He would never consciously hurt this child. He would never let this child experience the same painful childhood he had.

"How lucky that my child behaves," Thomas retorted.

"Your child," she repeated his words, "She's a foundling and most likely even a bastard. What happened to your plan to keep the child only as a bargaining chip for a better and secure job position? In your plan, there was never any mention of nurturing the child."

"Plans can change. I know what's best for my child, O'Brien. I don't need advice on how generations before me abused their children."

O'Brien provocatively raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? And what's best for your little brat?"

Thomas looked at the happily girl in his arms. "Patience, trust, understanding," he replied firmly, "She should know that she can always count on me."

O'Brien rolled her eyes. "You'll see how long you'll keep that up. Children need discipline and clear boundaries. You spoil her too much."

Emma didn't seem to notice the discussion; she just clung to Thomas's shirt. Thomas knew it wouldn't be easy, but he was determined to keep his promise. He would never make Emma feel unloved or unprotected.

Emma's grip on Thomas's shirt tightened as she nestled closer to him, seeking comfort in his embrace. Thomas felt a surge of protectiveness and determination wash over him. No matter the challenges ahead, he vowed to shield Emma from any harm. Despite the frustration and exhaustion, seeing Emma's tiny face nestled against his chest filled him with a profound sense of joy and purpose.

"I'll spoil her as much as I damn well please," Thomas finally retorted.

Thomas set his daughter back on the ground and took her hand to practice a few steps together in the backyard. When she finally took a few uncertain steps on her own, cheers erupted: "How wonderful!" exclaimed Mrs. Hughes, who had come out of the house, "You're doing great, Emma!"

Thomas beamed proudly down at the little grinning girl. Emma clapped her hands and beamed with joy. Thomas felt warm inside as he saw how happy his child was.

"You see, little dwarf, you can walk."

Meanwhile, O'Brien watched the scene unfold with a skeptical expression. She remained unconvinced of Thomas's approach to parenting, but for now, she held her tongue. She wondered if there might be more to it after all. Whether the girl was truly just a foundling. But above all, she wondered how that brat could have captured the footman's heart. She was nothing more than a drooling germ-spreader, a waste of time and money.