Earlier on that morning
The rain hammered on the ground in the yard outside the back door at Downton, strong enough to send vibrations through the floor in the servants hall where Richard sat drinking down warm tea, wishing for the rain to ease up, even just a little so he could get back to the shop in time for opening. He'd joined Thomas for breakfast, walking up with him when the wind had begun to pick up as dawn broke earlier, somewhere behind heavy dark grey clouds. In hindsight he should have stayed at the shop. Bursts of wind threw lashing rain at the small windows, as though they were in the bowels of some ship caught up in a wild tempest at sea. The rain was enough to turn heads of the other servants at the table, even Thomas who'd been flicking through a handful of envelopes delivered by the postman, luckily before the weather took a turn for the worst.
Richard, sat one seat down from Thomas at the head of the table, watched his partner over the brim of his cup. Even after five and a half years, even though they saw each other every day and all the time, Richard still found himself captured by Thomas's striking profile. He liked him like this: relaxed yet occupied, comfortable with others around him. A sight frown on his forehead, one of content concentration, full lips ever so slightly parted, pale skin though a slight tint of pink in his cheeks from the warmth of the tea he'd just finished. Richard lowered his cup, still observing, admiring. Thomas must have felt it for he turned his head a fraction, their eyes meeting for a second before Richard looked back down at his plate. If anyone else noticed their small exchange, they didn't comment on it.
"Another for you here Stephen," Thomas said, reaching forward to pass an envelope down to the footman at the other end of the table. "Oh, and another. You're popular today."
Richard took the envelopes from Thomas to hand them further down the table, letting his fingers deliberately linger on Thomas's as he took them. "There you go Stephen."
"Thanks Mr Ellis," the footman replied. "One's from my sister, the other from my parents. It's my birthday, you see. I didn't think they'd get anything here on time."
"You kept that one quiet Stephen," the housemaid and kitchen maid, Charlotte remarked. "You never said last year either."
Stephen shrugged in a shy manner. "I don't like to make a fuss, and I wouldn't want anyone to feel bad if they couldn't get me anything."
"Well happy birthday Stephen," Richard spoke out. "Shame the weather isn't better for it," he added as another gust threw rain at the window, the back door rattling out down the hallway.
"I have the latter half of today free so maybe it will be better then and anyway—" Stephen pulled a bank note out from the card he'd just opened. "My parents sent me this, so that makes up for it."
"Ooh, how much?" Charlotte enquired.
"One pound. My mum said my sister contributed also."
"That's good of her, what will you spend it on?" Mrs Hughes asked.
"I'll save it for now. Something will come up and I'll need it then."
A howl of wind interrupted the pleasant conversation. Richard turned to look at the window again. Even though sunrise had been over an hour ago, the room was still dark enough to warrant the lights to be on.
"You're not walking back in that Richard," Thomas warned, seemingly reading his thoughts.
"I'm not enthralled by the idea Mr Barrow, but Mr Webster will wonder where I've gotten too."
"Telephone him from here, tell him you'll be there when the rain eases up." Thomas leaned towards him. "I'm not having you get wet through before the day's even began." He spoke with a firmness, but Richard could see it was a cover up to hide his soft worry for his welfare. Ever since his breakdown last year that had left Thomas to resort to getting him out of Downton to recover, Thomas had stepped up on gestures designed to take care of him. Richard was sure that Thomas asked how he was most every day. "Come with me to my office when the bells start going off, you can call from there."
Richard smiled and feigned an interest in searching for something in his trouser pocket so his hand could find a way to squeeze Thomas's thigh in thanks. The pink blush in Thomas's face grew a touch deeper in response.
Thomas continued causally flicking through the post, passing envelopes down the table to their recipients, putting aside those that concerned Downton in a pile next to him. He seemed happy, working though the light task at breakfast, that was until he reached the last envelope. Thomas scowled at the letter-sized envelope, lips pursed together though a slow intake of breath in, then out. "Not again," he muttered, so quietly that only Richard, and perhaps Mrs Hughes, who sat opposite, could have heard. Without even opening it, Thomas tore the envelope down the middle, loud enough to turn heads. Richard stopped mid mouthful, narrowing his eyes at the butler. It wasn't the first time Thomas had reacted that way to post in the past week. "Junk mail," Thomas explained. "Not worth bothering with."
"You can be sure? You don't want to open it to check?" Mr Bates queried.
"Nope. I don't need to. I know there's nothing inside worth my time or effort to read Mr Bates, thank you," Thomas answered with a tightness to his voice that warned everyone else to leave the subject alone.
Richard reckoned that warning extended to him also. He watched Thomas again. He didn't look worried: Richard knew the signs Thomas showed when he tried to pretend he wasn't worried or scared. Richard took comfort in that at least, but something in that letter, or who had sent it, angered him.
Thomas stood, chair scraping backwards on the stone floor, prompting the rest of the table to stand. "They'll start any moment." He nodded to the bell board. "May as well get on with it all now." He gathered the envelopes in the neat pile into one hand, and took torn pieces of the one remaining onto the other. "Richard," he said, prompting Richard to follow him.
"Thank you for breakfast," he said to everyone, as he slung his coat over his arm and followed Thomas to his office. Thomas, with one flick of his wrist, threw the torn envelope into the fireplace.
Once the door was closed behind them Richard loosened the boundaries between them both. Thomas dropped the envelopes, some brown, some white, onto his desk and handed him the telephone receiver without saying a word. "You're keen to get rid of me?" Richard half-teased.
"No. Sorry." Thomas pinched his eyes shut for a second. "I'm not in the mood for unsolicited mail, that's all. Seems to be more and more from sources I don't want anything to do with."
"Don't stress over it. I'll go if you need to get on with things." Richard mulled over Thomas's words, since they sounded almost cryptic. It could just be nonsense post, adverts and offers from businesses he'd have no interest in, trying to pull him in and win him over. Richard received the same at the shop and they were irritating, but hardly worth getting angry over. Was Thomas talking about something else? Pushing him for an answer if he was in a mood was pointless. Richard decided to leave it, and hoped that since their trust in each other had survived many trials recently, that Thomas would confide in him when he was ready or able.
"No, stay." Thomas reached for his hand, took the telephone receiver from him and placed it back on the stand. His hand drew over Richard's arm and then down over his waist. "I let things get to me too much."
"You're only human." Richard drew closer, running his hand up to Thomas's shoulder, rubbing his fingers in a soothing circular motion, as he felt Thomas's tension dissipate.
Thomas lent in to kiss him, their lips meeting with a gentle touch, a lingering invitation to continue that Richard accepted, as he moved closer their chests touching, hearts beats mingling, kiss deepening as Richard inhaled the inviting scent of warm toast that lingered on Thomas from earlier. They only parted for breath, foreheads pressed together, Thomas's nose tickling his. "You know what?" Thomas began.
"What?"
"I'm not so eager for the rain to end."
"My thoughts exactly," Richard agreed. He smiled into Thomas's kiss again, though they parted as a gentle knock on the door parted them.
Thomas took a moment to compose himself. "Enter."
Daniel Jones, the butcher's son and Stephen's boyfriend, opened the door. "Mr Barrow...oh hello Mr Ellis, sorry to interrupt," he sniggered.
"We were just...talking," Thomas told him, though Richard could see Daniel saw straight through that.
"Right, err...is Stephen around?"
Thomas looked at the clock on the wall. "Hopefully he should be in the silver room by now."
Daniel rubbed the back of his neck, below his dampened hair. "So he's free?"
Richard smirked at Thomas, who tried not to do the same back. "No, he's working, but since you're here already, go on." Thomas remained stern, but Richard saw his eyes sparkle.
"Thanks Mr Barrow."
"But not for long, and don't hold him up. I need him to help me upstairs in the breakfast room shortly," Thomas called out as the eager young man left.
After Daniel had gone, Thomas shook his head and smiled. "Was I like that once?"
"If you were anything like me then yes. You're good to let them have their fun."
"I'd be a hypocrite if I did not and anyway, Stephen deserves better than what I got at his age." Thomas frowned, a distant look in his eyes.
...
Daniel crept down the long hallway, until he reached a room that was filled with shining silverware that he reckoned, if added together, could feed the whole village for a year or more. Hidden amongst the shelves, he spotted him. He hadn't told Stephen he'd come and see him, but it was his birthday and he deserved a surprise. He hadn't been fooled by Mr Barrow's insistence that he and Mr Ellis had been 'just talking', not for a second. They could trust each other, but Mr Barrow had always been more cautious, habit probably.
Daniel pushed the ajar door open further, inch by inch so it didn't squeak or groan and ruin things. He stepped forward, the package in his pocket rustled with a single step so he clasped it tight, willing it to be silent. Stephen was bent over something, rubbing it with a cloth, his back turned. Daniel took this as his moment to pounce. With a swift moment he wrapped his arms around Stephen's waist. "Hello you," he whispered, simultaneously.
"Ahh!" Stephen jumped, the spoon in his hand clattering onto the table.
Daniel leaned his head close to the edge of Stephen's. "Surprise."
Having recovered Stephen turned around in his embrace, blushing like a beetroot. "What are you doing here? Thought we weren't meeting 'til later?"
"I couldn't let you go the whole day working without a little birthday surprise, and what better surprise than me!"
Stephen rolled his eyes. "Sure. You should be thankful it was only a spoon I dropped." Stephen put down the cloth he was still holding and pushed a clump of damp hair from Daniel's forehead. "You didn't walk up in that out there did you?"
"I would for you, but no. The van's outside."
"Your father know you've taken that?"
Daniel shrugged mischievously. "Not exactly, but I'm dropping by the station to pick up some things arriving on the next train so I have an alibi." Some chatter outside down the hallway caught his attention, as much as he enjoyed the banter, he didn't have long. "I got you something." Only now did he fish out the package.
Stephen took the package, a brown paper bag folded over at the top a couple of times and parted it open. The sweet scent wafted out obscuring the smell of polish that hung in the room immediately around them both. He peered into the bag, looked up at Daniel then back into the bag again, a frown that changed in no time to a curious smile. "Sweets? I'm twenty two Daniel, not twelve."
"I knew you'd say that, but I wanted to get you something that meant something that only the two of us could understand."
"I don't follow."
"Think back two weeks or so, to the last time we had an evening alone. It was freezing, and I was longing for that hotel room we spent a night in last year. We talked a lot, huddled under blankets in the hay loft of that barn Mr Tomlinson doesn't seem to use."
A smile of realisation spread across Stephen's face. "And we talked about the things we missed about being children. I listed my favourite sweets from the sweet shop every child in the neighbourhood back home would go to." Stephen dipped his hand into the bag and rummaged through biting his lip, trying not to let his smile beam too much. "Sherbets: the small ones, oh and the big ones. Mmm, pear drops." He grinned as he popped a few green sweets into his mouth. "What else? Oh, humbugs, fudge, toffee too?"
"I couldn't decide between the two so I got both."
"Mint imperials, chocolate?"
"Yeah, I bought a bar and broke it up and added it. There's also those rhubarb and custard ones that you, for some reason, think are heavenly."
"Ooh yes." Stephen rummaged some more until he found the pink and yellow hard boiled sweets. "And Daniel they are good, whatever you say."
"So, do you like it?"
"I love it, thank you." Stephen gave him a quick kiss, then offered him the bag. "Go on."
Daniel took some fudge and a cube of chocolate, and popped them into his mouth at once. "The shop keeper," he mumbled as he chewed. "She kept giving me strange looks as I asked her for this and that."
"Hmm, I bet she did. I'll bring these along later and we can share them then."
"Looking forward to it," Daniel hummed as they embraced, taking their time with exchanged kisses.
The door creaked behind him.
"Stephen."
They jumped apart. "Mr Barrow, didn't see you there." Daniel felt his cheeks burning. "You shouldn't creep up on us like that."
Mr Barrow raised an eyebrow, straightened up and sighed. "And you shouldn't leave the door open. Anyway, if you two can bear to be parted for a few hours, Stephen I need you upstairs."
"Yes Mr Barrow," Stephen said, scrunching the paper bag up.
"Daniel, are you heading back to the village?"
"On my way to the station, yes, why?"
"Mr Ellis would appreciate a lift if you can? It's not as bad out there but he'll still need to change after walking back in the rain."
"Sure, I'll drop him back," Daniel agreed. There had been some incident last year between Mr Barrow and Mr Ellis that had resulted in them both disappearing to London for a week. Since then, Daniel reckoned anyone with a brain could tell Mr Barrow had grown more attentive than usual over the book shop owner.
"Good. I'm going up now Stephen, and you'll be following me." Mr Barrow turned and strode out the room. His footsteps paused and then grew louder again as he returned a moment later. "What's that?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the paper bag.
"Birthday present Mr Barrow," Stephen answered.
"Hmm, nice." Mr Barrow's gaze fixed on it again, trying to remain neutral or uninterested. Daniel saw the twitch of his lip though. "Do I smell sherbet?"
"Want one?" Stephen offered.
"I shouldn't be allowing eating whilst working, especially here with countless things that could get fingerprints on them with one touch but..." The butler's eyes impishly sparkled. "I suppose one won't hurt."
…
Glistening gold drops of light rain illuminated by the thin yet dazzling strip of sun, that broke through a narrow gap in the clouds as it began to set, swirled in the breeze. David leaned contently against the wooden gate, his blonde frazzled and slightly damp hair brushing his forehead. Ahead of him lay the picturesque scene of a winter sunset over the fields and hills in the distance, grazing sheep in the foreground. He smiled and stretched one leg after the other. If someone had told him a year ago back in Liverpool that he'd be here, farming the Yorkshire countryside, he'd have told them they were mad.
"So, how long do you reckon?" Matthew Tomlinson, the farmer who'd been showing him the ropes with patience ever since he started working for him in September, asked.
"I'd say about two weeks, maybe three for some? I'm not sure why you're asking me though Matthew, I've never done this before."
"You've got to learn somehow, practical experience is the best way. And I think you're right, some of the ewes will give birth in a couple of weeks or so." Matthew, also leaning on the gate, looked down and smiled to himself, chuckling under his breath.
"What?" David gave him a curious glance.
"Your first lambing season will be an education. You will be fascinated as to how much you can achieve on only a few hours sleep. That's the problem with sheep David, they often need help."
"I don't doubt it." David had become accustomed to the early mornings and late nights that sometimes came with farm work. Even on those days where he could sleep in, he'd find himself up earlier than necessary. The cause though was more pleasurable; often those mornings he'd spent the entire night at Chris's cottage, in his bed and would only rise early in order to get to the farm in time.
Hector, Matthew's young sheep dog, sat on the wall next to them surveying the scene. It had taken a while, but he'd finally mastered the art of herding sheep, most of the time anyway. Hector turned away from the sheep to behind them and let off a loud bark followed by a growl. "Hector, no!" Matthew commanded. Hector was silent for a second, then barked again, proving his puppy instinct to disobey had not completely been tamed. The growl turned into an excited whine, accompanied by a wagging tail that grew faster as he recognised the man approaching them. Hector treated most people as his friend.
"Hello Hector," Chris said, ruffling the dog's head as it scuttled around his legs. "Calm as ever I see," he added, giving David a wry smile.
"You're early?" David noted, as Chris walked over to them, taking care to avoid the worst of the mud. His balance was not as good as most people, on account of his injured leg that was his permanent burden and one David tried to ease whenever he could.
"Richard and I shut the shop half an hour early."
"Slow day?" Matthew guessed.
"Not many want to venture out in the rain no," Chris confirmed. "Speaking of which, why are you two voluntarily standing out in it? We've had enough rain today with that storm to last the whole year I'd think."
David shrugged, and moved over for Chris to join them. "Therapeutic after a busy day I suppose."
"I never complain about the rain Chris. I've seen too many droughts for that, though I could do without the flooding at the bottom of the field. We had to fence that off. No good will come of it if the ewes get themselves stuck in that. I'd like better weather for when my daughter, Emily and my grandson, Alfie come to visit soon."
"I didn't know they were coming," David said.
"I only got the letter this morning. Her husband is away so she'd thought she'd take the opportunity to visit. Alfie is a typical five year old, and he loves the farm, especially Hector here." Hector looked up at Matthew at the mention of his name. "It would be best if he didn't get muddy and wet everyday he'd be here though."
"I suppose so," David agreed. He knew Matthew had a daughter, but never knew his grandson's name. The fact that the child shared the name of his late uncle, the uncle he never knew, was no coincidence.
"We should get back and make a start on dinner if we plan on eating before midnight," Matthew joked. "Come on Hector," he called, whistling to his dog who trotted up to him to walk by his side.
"How's your day been?" Chris asked David as Matthew and his dog walked on ahead of them, giving them space.
"A learning curve. I should warn you, I'll be exhausted in a few weeks after the lambs are born."
"I expected as much, but don't worry, I'll be content to watch you sleep." Chris smiled at him with affection, their hands brushed together, touching longer than any accidental move would suggest.
…
Thomas's office was comfortably silent later on in the evening. The torrential torrent of rain had stopped, leaving everything outside dripping, but a sweet smell hung anywhere near an open door or window. The clock hands ticked on their continuous journey, the crinkle of Richard's newspaper as he turned the page, sitting opposite Thomas at the desk, broke the silence. "We can go home soon, almost finished now."
Richard's eyes peaked over the top of the paper. "Alright." Thomas didn't need to see Richard's lips to know he was smiling.
Thomas had thought about the letter, the one of many sent to him over recent weeks. He knew deep down he was ignoring a problem that eventually he'd have to deal with and face head on, but his life was good right now. He didn't want any of them to come barging in and ruin it again, no matter what the cause. Keeping secrets from his colleagues at Downton he could handle: he'd gained a lot of practice over the years in that department, but keeping this one from Richard did bring a gnawing guilt to his mind. He should tell him, Richard will be wondering about why he tore it up so angrily, and he didn't think for a second that his partner would believe his lie of it being junk mail, even if he said he did. Richard would find out sometime, one way or another. Thomas hoped though, it wouldn't be soon. Not yet. He wanted everything to be perfect for a little while longer.
The door burst open. Stephen ran in, red faced and gasping, a look of horror on his face.
"Stephen what the bl— What on earth are you doing? Have you forgotten your ability to knock?" Thomas chided. A worry that he sounded too much like Mr Carson as he spoke, passed into his mind, though it was easily forgotten as he saw the worry in the young man's face. He and Richard exchanged a look, as though they both assumed the same thing. "Are you and Daniel okay? Did something happen? Did someone see you both?"
"What? No. No, he's back at home now. It's not that it's..." Stephen glanced at Richard.
"What is it Stephen?" Richard asked, in a calmer manner to Thomas.
"Someone is outside. In the yard. I don't know but he doesn't look good. Not sure if he's unconscious or...dead."
"Dead!" Thomas exclaimed. "What?" He and Richard jumped up simultaneously out of their chairs making for the door, following Stephen who had already left for the backyard. "Richard. Torch, bottom draw." Thomas pointed to the cabinet behind Richard.
The pair raced down the hallway after Stephen who was already outside. "I almost didn't see him."
Thomas squinted, seeing nothing but shadows at first until his eyes adjusted. The yard was only lit by the light outside the back door, and that only hindered his view by casting their own shadows into their line of sight. Crumpled on the ground, like a screwed up old rag, slumped against the damp brick wall, the outline of a man became clear. The three men took a couple of tentative steps closer.
Thomas gasped. Through Richard's torch light, came a person he'd come to know well over the past year. It was him, but at the same time it wasn't. This wasn't the man he knew, dirty, dishevelled and damp with rain. He looked weak. Pathetic.
Thomas exchanged a look with Richard, who was as mesmerised by shock as he was. Once more they were both thinking the same thing: something was badly wrong.
Richard made the first move, stepping forward ahead of Stephen and Thomas, shining his torch right in the face of the man they called a friend. "Larry?
Note: One pound in 1933 is roughly equivalent to £45 today (£45.79 in 1930) so that would make a pretty decent birthday present for a working class man, and would be the reason why other member's of Stephen's family contributed.
-Remember that donation of £500 Larry gave to the hospital to get Richard a private room and special treatment back in 'Dark Clouds and Silver Linings'? That would be equal to about £22,800 in 1932 (£22,892.70 in 1930)!
Source: . /currency-converter/