The door slammed against his elbow and the tea sloshed over the newspaper, onto his shoes, and finally onto the floor.
"Can't you be careful, you clumsy oaf?" Thomas exclaimed.
"I'm sorry," William said politely.
"You'll be sorry when I'm finished with you. Look at this!"
"Leave him alone," Bates intervened.
"Anna, Lady Sybil is back from Ripon. She's in her room," William relayed the message to her. Anna thanked him and immediately set off.
"Why does she waste her precious time on politics?" O'Brien wondered.
"Hear, hear," Thomas agreed, taking a sip of his cup to finish off the remaining tea.
"Oh, aren't you for women's rights, Thomas?" Bates asked amusedly.
"And what's it to you?"
"You have a daughter," and he fixed his gaze on the girl who was kneeling on a chair, scribbling with wax crayons on a blank paper, "Isn't it in your interest that Emma gets more rights one day?" The little girl looked up from her painting. At first, she looked at the older man opposite her, then glanced behind her, where the dark-haired man immediately averted his gaze.
"So what?" Thomas said.
"I know you're not for property rights. I believe that could interest some people," Bates chuckled.
"Who will tell them? You?" and he threw the newspaper onto the table. Emma flinched. There was a certain tension in the air, which caused the two-year-old child to unnoticedly slip under the table. She crawled away on all fours. Meanwhile, Bates' eyes sparkled triumphantly, which raised Thomas' concern that the valet would follow through with his threat, but then the gong sounded. Thomas sighed. It was time to prepare and serve dinner for the upstairs. In an instant, the servants' hall was empty.
"Thomas," called Mrs. Hughes after the upstairs dinner, "if I may ask, where is your daughter?"
"She's drawing in the servants' hall."
"I'm afraid not."
O'Brien put on a sly grin. "I warned you. Children only cause problems."
He found her curled up like a hedgehog in the linen basket. The child lay peacefully in the basket, and as soon as he touched her, she stretched out. "Daddy's here, my little dwarf," he spoke softly and lifted the child into his arms. She nestled her head comfortably on his shoulder. Holding her tiny hand in his, he stroked her back with his finger. "Did you play hide-and-seek with someone?" he wondered. If so, that someone certainly didn't try hard to find the child.
"Me tired," she spoke.
"I'll put you to bed soon, but first I have to settle something, and then you're probably still hungry, huh? You haven't eaten dinner yet, have you?" and the child confirmed his suspicion with a shake of her head.
"Are you telling me you saw him take the cellar key?" Carson asked and paced back and forth in his office. It was all taking too long for the little girl. So she wriggled a little in Thomas' arms, but he made no attempt to put her down on the ground. She was infinitely tired and hungry.
Unable to express her will quietly, the young girl decided to resort to the option of screaming, yet once again the adults ignored the little child. She merely shifted from one side of her father to the other, and he had probably hoped in vain that changing the carrying position would finally calm the child down.
"Not directly. But I saw him with it, and the key was swinging on the hook. I just wondered if you noticed that some wine bottles were missing?" he continued with his story. Carson's face said it all, and Thomas was sure that Bates' dismissal was only a matter of time.
"You should take care of your child," was all Carson said.
A few days later, he listened to O'Brien while enjoying a cigarette and watching the girl explore and play in the corner of his eye. Emma climbed into one of the supplier crates. It was a wonder the child hadn't accidentally been taken away by the food supplier.
"And if I disappear, you're next," she said threateningly.
Thomas slowly exhaled the smoke and looked at the maid unimpressed. "Well, so what... screw it," he said absentmindedly. His gaze returned to the little whirlwind. Lady Grantham would never kick the young foundling to the curb, at least not without a decent severance payment. Both Lady Grantham and Lady Sybil had taken an extraordinary liking to the girl, and he could use this to his advantage.
"There's a war coming," Thomas added, looking back at O'Brien. "And a war means changes. We should make plans."
"What does that mean?"
"Let me put it this way, I don't want to be just a servant anymore, but I also don't want to get killed in the war," he said, tossing his cigarette away.
On his way inside, he picked up the child from the supplier crate. Emma whined a little, "No, Daddy. Play," but when she realized it was futile, she gave in. With her head resting on his shoulder, he carried her inside.
Thomas left her with Mrs. Bird in the kitchen, as usual, when he had work to do. He picked up his child a little later, sighing. Emma had blocked Mrs. Bird's path so stupidly that the chef spilled the contents of the tart over the child's head. Only a bath would help transform the child back into a clean state.
"Anna, do you think you could bathe her?" Thomas asked hopefully.
"I can, but I won't. I have many tasks to complete," Anna replied.
"Just look at the child. She urgently needs a bath," he said, pointing to his daughter, whose hand he held tightly. A mixture of egg, flour, sugar, and butter was sticking to her skin and hair.
"Why don't you bathe her?" Anna suggested.
"Wouldn't a woman be more suitable?"
"Emma is two years old, Thomas. I doubt she cares who sees her naked."
Thomas's face turned slightly red. But it was no use. No matter which maid he asked, they all gave him the same answer that they had a lot to do.
So there he stood in the bathroom, letting pleasant warm water fill the tub while the two-year-old whirlwind ran around the freestanding tub.
Thomas caught her easily and held her firmly while removing her shoes, dress, tights, and underwear. Dressing and undressing adults was much easier than that of a playfully active and jumping toddler. With the clothing finally aside, he lifted the child into the tub. Barely touching the water's surface, Emma began to splash the water around. That's probably why the female staff no longer wanted to bathe the child. Not only was the floor covered in water in seconds, but so was he.
"Emma," Thomas admonished, shaking his head, "Stop splashing with the water." But the child didn't comply with rules and obey. Emma now began to splash water in Thomas's direction. She smiled, "Me bathin'," she announced proudly, "Daddy wet."
"Yes," sighed Thomas, "Daddy is wet," and hung his livery on the hook on the door. Rolling up his sleeves, he now tried to lather the child with soap, which proved not to be easy since Emma didn't stay still for a second. Finally, he succeeded and fetched a small jug filled with water to spill over her head and wash off the shampoo.
"Splashin'," Emma declared joyfully and splashed with the water again.
"No, Emma. You need to be still for a moment," Thomas said, but the child began to turn in all directions. Thomas sighed and looked annoyed at the hands of his pocket watch. He had 20 minutes left to bathe and dress the child before he had to serve dinner upstairs. Actually, 20 minutes was quite a lot of free time, but with a toddler, not even an hour break was enough.
"Daddy look!" she demanded. Thomas watched as Emma blew the foam off her hand. He closed his eyes for a moment. Where did this child get the energy to be active around the clock?
"Very good, little dwarf" he praised unimpressed. "Can I wash off the foam now?" he asked hopefully. "It won't take long, and then I'll dry you off, and you can have a few cookies."
Emma pondered for a while before letting out a long sigh, which prompted Thomas to finally be able to wash his child's hair. Emma leaned her head back and covered her eyes with her hands as Thomas slowly spilled out the water.
"Daddy play," the child demanded as soon as Thomas had set the jug down beside him.
"Daddy has to work soon," he explained, taking the towel in hand and lifting Emma out of the tub to wrap her in it.
"Cookies!" she exclaimed joyfully, reaching out her hand expectantly.
"Soon, my little dwarf. First, we have to dry you off, get you dressed, and then I'll take you to Daisy."
Emma nodded her head as if she had understood the explanation. She stood patiently in front of her dad as he dried her off with the towel.
"Daddy, a-bit."
"What?"
"A-bit."
"Daddy has to hurry now. Daddy has to work," Thomas explained once again. He finally had the child ready, with only the tights missing. Emma quickly sat down on the floor. Thomas sighed, hoping that the child would only lift her feet briefly, but Emma preferred to put on her tights while sitting down.
"pickin' up A-bit," she repeated her urgent request.
"Oh, you mean your rabbit? Do you want to take your stuffed animal downstairs with you?"
Emma nodded eagerly. Thomas finished fastening her shoes, and seconds later, the freshly bathed toddler jumped up and ran straight into their shared bedroom.
"A-bit," she showed him her stuffed animal as she hugs him tightly to her chest.
"Rabbit. Emma, you have to emphasize the R. RAB-BIT," he explained.
There was soup for dinner. Well, except for Emma. Mrs. Bird prepared a well-balanced meal for the child with carrots, diced apples, and grapes, according to Mrs. Patmore's verbal instructions. Along with a cheese sandwich. And not to forget a warm fennel tea because Emma always drank the tea just before going to bed.
"What have you done with it? You silly goose!" Mrs. Bird asked irritably, "I knew it, that's why I said it was for upstairs," and banged her hand on the table. Not only Daisy was startled, but Emma also flinched. "Come on, tell me what's in it!"
"It only has water and a little soap in it," Daisy explained hesitantly.
"And did you put a little soap in the fish sauce too?"
"No, only mustard and aniseed," she answered hesitantly, while Mrs. Hughes suddenly stood up, "Why, Daisy? Why would you do something so foolish?" she shouted.
For the 2-year-old, the screaming and banging became too much, so she climbed off her chair - where she always sat on her knees because she was too small for the table - and onto her father's lap next to her. Making sure her plate and tea were still within reach. Thomas lightly held the child with one hand. Just in case Emma would tumble down.
"Mrs. Patmore was so afraid that they would like Mrs. Bird's cooking and not want her back," Daisy wept.
"Is that to be expected, when so much effort is made to make her well again?" Carson asked.
"I am so sorry," Daisy sniffed.
Emma, who didn't understand the whole spectacle, happily grabbed the carrot sticks. "Are you sharing your food with your daddy?" Thomas asked hopefully. The looks now shifted from Daisy to the little Barrow family and the plate of vegetables, fruits, and bread in front of them. Many of the servants would now give anything for a normal, simple meal for children. He received a head shake and an cute "My food" as an answer.
"But you don't even eat cheese sandwiches," he tried his luck again. The little hand quickly solved the problem: Emma removed the slice of cheese from the sandwich. Now she had a delicious buttered bread, which she quickly bit into before her father could claim the bread for himself.
"You're a cheeky little dwarf," Thomas sighed. Emma turned to him with her tongue sticking out.
"We urgently need to talk about her table manners," Carson's voice called through the room. "I allow Emma Grace to our meals, but she also has to follow the rules."
Emma now reached for the slice of cheese and held it out to her father. "Yours Daddy," she announced happily, "Me no cheeky."
It was Mrs. Bird who brought them all back to the actual problem. Daisy stood crying behind Bates. The old cook comforting placed her hands on Daisy's arms, "Come here, there are worse things than faithfulness. Dry your tears and get the beef stew I cooked for tomorrow, I assume you haven't had a chance to ruin it yet?"
"I was going to stir in some fig syrup, but I haven't done that yet."
Here and there a soft chuckle could be heard.
