Note: This chapter is Chris centric. It would have been the final scene to the previous chapter but became too big.

Stacks of newly delivered books littered the table near the front of Ellis and Webster Books. The early afternoon winter sun shone through the large windows warming the wooden floor and Chris's legs as he arranged the new stock onto the shelves. Wilde, having returned from his morning visit to Downton Abbey, lay stretched out in the middle of the floor. The cat lifted his head as Chris bent to stroke him, the soft black fur warm from absorbing the sun's heat. "Well you can lay around all day. I, however, have work to do." Chris smirked once more in Wilde's direction before sorting books into piles of the same title. He stacked them ten or so high, leaving little towers all over the table and some on the raised ledge at the window they used for displays. He stood back, hands on hips and surveyed his task, positioning himself so the sun warmed his injured leg. The cold aggravated the injury given to him during his time in prison. Only a handful knew of its true origins, only those he trusted. To everyone else, it was easier to say it was a war wound.

The murmur of Richard's voice on the other side of the wall in their small office, had been audible for a while now. He was on the telephone to Thomas. Chris could always tell without having to hear his actual words. Richard spoke to Thomas in a way that was reserved for him. Whatever they were talking about was more than just soft, carefully disguised words though, Chris was sure of that and curious to know what drama had unfolded at Downton this time.

The muffled voice of Richard ended. A chair scraped back and the door opened before Richard appeared in the shop.

"You two seemed to have a lot to discuss?" Chris asked, hoping Richard would take the hint. "Larry alright?" Richard had filled Chris in about the situation with Larry as soon as he arrived in the morning. Whilst he wholeheartedly hoped Larry and Sebastian could move on together from Larry's stupidity, he hadn't felt surprised in a way. Larry was a flirt, it was in his nature. His ambition and determination was admirable, but Chris had wondered if Larry knew when to stop.

"Yeah, no different from earlier anyway. Thomas called to let me know that Mrs Hughes and Charlotte have found out about Larry's secret stay at Downton."

"Ah. That didn't last long did it?"

"No, but neither of them will say anything. Thomas persuaded Mrs Hughes, without spilling too many details, to turn a blind eye to Larry's visit."

"Suppose it was a bit much to ask, wasn't it? Keeping him hidden with so many people around."

Richard leaned back against the counter, next to the cash register. "Could have been worse."

Chis nodded. "Yeah, you're right about that." He picked up a handful of books and continued slotting them into the correct places on the shelf.

"Need a hand?"

"I'm alright Richard, thanks. Unless you've got nothing else to do." His lip twitched into a teasing grin. "We can't have you sitting around twiddling your thumbs now can we?"

"No chance of that. There's always something to be getting on with around here." Richard stood up again and lifted the hinged section of the counter, pushing open the door that separated the shop from the kitchen. "I'll be around the back if you need me," he called out over his shoulder.

Left once more with only Wilde for company, Chris continued his work. Not long later, a woman pushing a pram crossed the street and approached the shop. Chris hung back, allowing the woman to browse the window display from the outside before she opened the door. The bell above the door rang a few times as she attempted to push the pram and open the door at the same time.

Chris glanced towards the kitchen door. He considered calling Richard – he was better at playing the chivalrous gentleman than he was. He stepped down from the kick stool he had been standing on, leg twinging and approached the door. "Need a hand?"

"Oh yes thank you," she said with an exasperated sigh. "My husband is normally around to help me, but browsing shops on the street bores him so he left us to it today."

Chris pushed the door back with one foot behind him far enough so it stayed open. "If I lift the front can you...?"

"Yes," the woman answered, catching onto his meaning. "Though if it's too much trouble I can leave it outside and carry him."

Chris only now looked down at the sleeping baby boy in his mother's pram, snuggled up under many blankets to keep out the winter chill. "That will only wake him." Chris smirked, finding himself relaxing even after such a short exchange. "I don't know about him, but if I were all cosy like that, then I'd be offended if I was dragged out of bed into the cold."

The woman chuckled and smiled up at him from under her hat. "Hmm, you are right I think." A strange sensation fluttered in Chris's chest. If a man had looked at him that way, then he'd know why his heart flickered like a flame in the wind, but he'd never felt that for a woman before. He couldn't explain it, only that he could swear he'd seen a smile like that somewhere before.

"Erm...shall we?"

"Yes, sorry. Ready?"

"Yes. Got it." Chris and the woman lifted the heavy old fashioned pram into the shop over the step, placing it down inside near Wilde who stretched and moved aside reluctantly. Chris's leg twinged again. He bit his lip as he tried to hide a grimace.

"You alright?" The woman asked, taking off her hat and smoothing over her hair with one hand. She must have been a few years younger than him, four or five maybe, with chestnut brown hair and fair skin. "Did I hit you with it?"

"No, no. You're fine. It's an old injury...from the war. I'll be fine." Chris averted his gaze, fearing he'd been looking at her for longer than what is strictly polite. "I'll leave you to it. Feel free to look around. Let me know if you need anything."

"One thing?"

"Yes?"

"Which one are you?"

"What?"

"Sorry, I mean Ellis or Webster?"

"Oh right." Chris rubbed the back of his neck, his skin hot under his hand. "Mr Webster."

"Thought so."

"Yes." He cleared his throat. It was the woman's turn to look at him intently. "Right, I'd best get on."

The woman looked away. "Yes, I'll have a wonder. Thank you for your help Mr Webster."

The woman left her baby sleeping in the sun of the shop window as she sauntered over to the far side of the shop. Chris watched her, as he returned to sorting the new stock on the opposite side of the shop. She behaved as most other customers with time to kill did. She looked at each shelf in turn, running her finger over the spines of books, pulling the occasional copy out, flicking through the pages, studying the back cover. On the face of it there was nothing that separated her from any other customer, and yet something bothered him about her. It was not the child – she was not the first mother to bring her baby into the store, and not the first to ask for help with the step – in fact, Richard and him had discussed making the shop more accessible so those with young families or those who were elderly would not be put off from visiting.

One other possibility occurred to him, that brought colour to his cheeks. Chris touched his face, and upon feeling the heat, promptly turned his back to where the woman was, and made an unnecessary fuss of tidying a shelf he'd tidied earlier. What if she fancied him? He did not want that, far too difficult to explain why he wasn't interested. Chris shook his head. He was being ridiculous – she was married, she had mentioned her husband. Didn't mean she couldn't look elsewhere though did it? It was only human nature. How did she guess his name? Fifty-fifty chance perhaps? Either way he wished more and more that Richard had been out front and not him.

"Excuse me?" the woman called to him.

"Yes?"

"Sorry, do you have a cooking section?"

Whilst internally repeating to himself to just be professional, Chris walked over. "You're not too far away. It's this area here, though it depends on what you're specifically looking for?"

"Cakes and pies, sweet not savoury that is. There's a recipe of my mother's that I tried the other day, which she gave me, but there were a few adaptations I'd like to try. My brother liked to bake. Apple pies were his favourite, I fear he was better than me at all that. I can never manage to make something work in the kitchen without a recipe."

"Oh, I... well um... this one should do." Chris pulled out the book that came into his mind first, passing her comment off as mere coincidence. He can't have been the only boy who baked apple pies in the whole world.

The woman opened the book, leaning it on an empty part of the shelf and carefully browsed over the pages. Her left hand fiddled with her earlobe as she frowned in concentration. Chris felt sick with nerves: his sister had a terrible habit of doing that – their mother had scolded her for it enough. "This one is for apple and blackberry. It's close enough I think. My brother used to drop loganberries, when they could be found, into the pan as they stewed."

Chris gawped, his body flushing hot then cold in a matter of seconds. "What?" he croaked.

"Sorry. I overshare, it's a bad habit."

"No, no it's fine. Only conversation."

"Do you mind if I have a longer look at this?"

"Sure. You could sit down over there," Chris offered, burying every strange experience so far as deep as possible, as he pointed to the small seating area near the window.

"Thank you."

Chris rushed ahead of her, almost tripping over a box. "I'll just clear these away," he babbled, indicating to the stacks of books on the table and one chair. He hurried to move them aside, feeling more and more conscious of how strange he must be acting. It was as though he'd fallen asleep and woken in his dreams: none of it felt real. A book dropped to the floor at her feet, as Chris tried to balance too many in his arms. "Sorry," he said as she handed it back to him. "I'll get out of your way." He could feel her stare on his back as he bustled away, intent on putting the stock on the counter to deal with later after she'd left and then finding some excuse to stay around the back and let Richard deal with any sales.

"Chris! Do you have a minute?" Richard shouted from the office.

A sharp gasp came from the woman behind him. "Your name... your name is Chris Webster?" she asked in a whisper.

Chris stilled, frozen to the spot. He opened his mouth to answer, but found himself incapable of talking. With a glance over his shoulder, he pulled the rest of his body around. "Yes?"

She stood, her hand clasped over her mouth, the other on the top of the chair. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed with words that would make strict church goers glare. "Oh my god I don't believe it!"

"It's..." Chris swallowed hard. He had a feeling, one if he were honest he'd felt as soon as he saw her smile, and only one way to be sure. "Helen?"

She didn't answer. Instead, and in what seemed like no time at all, she had crossed the small distance between them and had pulled him into an embrace. Chris didn't dare move, and only when his lungs cried out for air did he allow himself to breathe, in which time he noticed a familiar scent of a perfume his— their mother used to wear.

"I'm right?" he asked, his arms rigid beside him and pinned down her hug. He felt her nod into his shoulder. His body responded then and he tentatively returned her embrace. Inside, his mind was in a whirl. One moment he'd been living a normal day under the understanding none of his family knew or cared where he was, and in the next he'd been reunited with his younger sister, whom he had not seen for over two decades. He pulled back, one of many questions rising to the surface. "You're pleased to see me?"

Helen stood back, cheeks flushed with emotion. "What? Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

The joy that had filled him as he had held her, gave way to worry, to doubt. "Because of when I left... why I left?" he asked, his heart thundering in his chest, faster than a galloping racehorse.

"I know mother and father weren't best pleased, but I don't hold that against you."

Her answer did nothing to calm his nerves. "You don't?" Hope rose within him.

"No. It was your decision, your life. I missed you and I didn't understand why at the time – I was too young then – but you have the right to make your own way in the world."

Chris frowned, her answer not adding up to what he expected her to say. "What do you mean?"

"You left because you wanted to get out of York, to seek further opportunities, better yourself. You didn't want to be pinned down by staying in the family business. They said you thought yourself too good for us to stay."

The hope he had, came shattering down, along with an awful realisation: she didn't know. She had no idea why he really left, that their parents had kicked him out at sixteen. They lied to her, probably because she was the youngest, and they never – not one of them, not even his older brother and sister – ever told her the truth. Chris tried to bury his anger. They probably never even talked about him. He was the uncomfortable subject, the shadow in the past, that they brushed under the carpet, to be forgotten about. He tried harder: he'd just been reunited with his sister, and she liked him. It would be selfish, but perhaps she need never know? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew that was impossible. But for now, he could go along with what she thought to be the truth, he deserved to have someone from his past look at him with kindness. "Sorry, this is all a bit of a shock. I'm glad you understand why I left, even though I'm sorry I did."

"Look, what's done is done Chris. The important thing is we're here now, the two of us" Helen's baby whimpered from his pram, waking from his slumber. "Or should I say, the three of us," she added, leaving Chris to tend to her child. Chris didn't move. "Come and see him Chris, he won't bite." Chris stepped over to the pram by the window, taking his time as though he was approaching a fearsome wild animal. It was all new – everything about the past half hour was new to him and he'd always thought of him being useless with children, but as soon as he gazed down at the child, sleeping again now he felt the coldness in his heart melt away. "Uncle Chris, meet your nephew, Chris," Helen whispered, beaming up at him as she leaned over the pram, allowing the baby to clasp hold of her finger with his tiny hand.

"Chris?" Chris croaked out. "He's called Chris? Why?"

"Our family couldn't work that one out either when I decided it, but since you've never been there, and I didn't know if my Chris would ever know you, I wanted there to be something of you for him, his uncle."

"Uncle?"

Helen gave him a deadpanned look. "Yes Chris. You're my brother, he's my child so you're his uncle, obviously."

"Right." Chris gulped, looking down at his nephew. He knew two things: he'd need a stiff drink or three later, and he'd have to find a way of telling David all about this. "Can I—?"

"Of course, but I'm not lifting him out of the pram, he takes an age to get back to sleep otherwise."

"Hello little Chris," Chris said to the half-asleep baby, who had both his tiny fists clenched up at either side of his head. "I hope...I hope we're going to get along when you're older." Chris smiled to himself before continuing. "Don't rush it though, okay? You've got a good deal here at the moment. I have to work this afternoon, you get to lie around all day. Not bad." Helen giggled from behind him, making him blush in embarrassment. "Sorry, I have no idea what to say or how to say it."

"It's fine, I hope he does get to know you, he's only six months old, but..."

"How long are you in Downton?" Chris blurted out.

"A few more days, but we don't live a tremendous distance away, not by car or train anyway. We should catch up properly sometime, when you're not in the middle of your working day."

"Yes. Yes, I'd like that. I don't want to take time out of your visit but—"

"Saturday?"

"Yes, um...hang on." Chris tore a piece of paper from the notepad he'd been using earlier and scribbled down his address, excitement pushing his worries aside. "Come along tomorrow, your husband can—"

Helen shook her head. "I think John will understand if it's just me and little Chris. I don't want to crowd you."

Chris smiled gratefully. "Thank you. I'll make sure I'm free." Helen put her hat back on and manoeuvred the pram towards the door that Chris opened yet again for her. "Oh hang on, you forgot the book."

"Leave it. Turns out I don't need it anymore, I can just ask you for the recipe tomorrow," she replied with a familar smile, before leaving.

The door closed leaving Chris alone in the shop once more, grinning to himself like an idiot. He turned around to see Richard emerge from the kitchen. "So what was that all about?" Richard asked.

"You didn't hear?"

"I heard some bits."

"My younger sister, Helen, just walked back into my life after two decades Richard, that's what." Chris sat heavily down in the nearest chair. "And I'm an uncle."

"I heard that part, named after you as well."

"I know. Who would have thought it?" Chris sighed into both his hands, covering his face. Richard squeezed him on the shoulder before leaving for the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass. "Whiskey?"

"Scotch," Richard corrected as sat down in the opposite chair. "Thomas and I have it in case of emergencies. I'm happy for you. I know how much you've missed them, even though you've never really spoken about that. Helen seems to like you."

"Yeah." Chris drank half the glass. "Yeah she does at the moment. Thing is, she has no idea about who I am, or why I left home so suddenly. Our parents lied, my siblings went along with it, she was only nine at the time I think – they probably wanted to protect her from it. She will know sometime, whether I tell her or if she finds out – either way she will know. When she does...well I doubt I'll be an uncle to her son anymore."

"She might surprise you."

"Doubt it. You know as well as I that most people turn against us." Chris finished the drink, but kept it clasped in his hand.

"Your best chance then is to let her get to know you. It's clear you can both get on well from what I overheard. Build on that Chris, don't rush into it," Richard advised, taking the glass from his hand. "Don't suppose I can have another?"

"After five you can. I won't have you intoxicated on the job Chris," Richard jested as he left.

Chris stared out the window, twisting his hands. He needed to tell David – he wouldn't keep this from him. He knew David would be happy for him and that, owing to his warm-hearted nature, he'd want to meet them as soon as possible. Telling David about today would be easy, but keeping him at arm's length whilst Helen was around would be harder for him to accept.