"Margaret, there is no need for anything like that," Thomas said, knowing his words were of little value. "Nothing you can say will hurt me." He kept his head high, expression carefully neutral, and kept the knowledge that he'd just lied to her, and himself, a deep secret.

"Really? You're sure Thomas?"

Mr Bates, always an unusual but unexpectedly welcome ally, stepped forward. "There is no need to say anything you may regret," he said, speaking to Margaret. "It may be grief doing the talking, not you."

"No." Margaret shook her head slowly. "It isn't grief. Only words that are long overdue in being spoken." Her attention, led by a malicious sneer, returned to Thomas. "Do you all know who your butler is?"

"Margaret, think about what you are doing," Phyllis urged. "He's still your brother."

"Well, you're no better. We were friends once, but I could not associate with someone who has spent years in prison for thievery."

Phyllis opened her mouth to speak, but hung her head instead, cheeks flushed. Thomas clenched his fist as fury threatened within him. "Say it then. If it makes you feel better, say it!"

For a moment, Margaret hesitated, and Thomas wondered if she'd reconsider. The moment passed in a blink of an eye. "Thomas is a queer. He's sinned, I reckon, many times in the way those sorts do. He defies the way nature was intended by God and he's not a man fit to lead you all."

No one spoke. No one looked at him. Only his sister held her gaze, which he fought hard not to look away from for the fear he'd appear shameful or weak. She didn't have as much power as she thought, but no matter the facts or logic, it brought back words echoed over time through several decades from a time where he'd thought he was alone in being different, that there was something wrong with him. He couldn't help but admit that her words had wounded him, even though he fought to resist the feeling.

"I think you've said enough," Mrs Hughes said, breaking the silence. "If you have nothing of importance to say to Mr Barrow them, I suggest you leave."

"You're not shocked?" Margaret asked, her disbelief in her voice genuine. She looked around at the other faces in the servant's hall. Thomas felt it then – a glimmer of smugness mixed with relief that his friends had not forsaken him. "What I've just told you – and you say nothing?"

"Sorry, sister." Thomas pressed his lips into a thin smile. "You can't use this against me here. There isn't a single person in this room who doesn't already know what you're saying. True, not all of them liked the notion at first, and sometimes I wonder if some still don't, but no one will betray me as they are with me, not you."

"No doubt you have other queers here, then? Why else would no one stand up against evil?"

At the back of the room, Stephen shuffled on his feet and looked to the floor. Thomas had to ignore his unease, not wishing to draw attention to the younger man.

"Hardly evil, I think madam," Mr Bates said. "Your brother can be a pain, and we've not always got on, but he's far from that. He's a decent man and good at his job."

"Now, do you have anything important to discuss with me, or did you come all this way to embarrass yourself?" Thomas said to her.

Margaret, flushed in her defeat, took a deep breath to compose herself before she spoke. "I'll speak in your office."

"Wise decision." Since he had the upper hand, Thomas couldn't resist mocking her. As he showed Margaret to his office, Phyllis shot him a look of warning.

"So, what's this all really about?" he asked, once they were alone and he'd taken his time to sit at his desk, not waiting for her to sit first.

"You know perfectly well what. I've sent various letters, none of with you replied too. Thomas, it is your duty to be at the funeral. You abandoned us once; you will not do so again."

Thomas gawped at her. He couldn't be hearing her right. "I abandoned you? Do you hear yourself?"

"You left. The shop would have gone to you, as you were being trained to inherit – as his only son – but that was made impossible because of your ... actions with David."

Thomas clasped his hands together on the desk. Fingernails pinched at his skin. "I left because our father forced me to. He would have his own son arrested, so if I don't feel inclined to play the dutiful son and show any ounce of loyalty to him or any of my so-called family, then you'll have to forgive me. I reckon the only reason you, and I suspect mother, have been so persistent is because you don't want to be shown up by me, which is funny really because that will happen, whether or not I am there. I suppose you don't want the awkwardness of explaining why I am not present, and you find that the least uncomfortable of the two options, am I right?"

"People would expect you to be there."

"Thought so."

"What about Phyllis or David? Have you invited either of them?"

Margaret tutted. "Absolutely not. Neither would find much welcome. You both ran away together. Did it not work out then? Did young love not bloom as you naively thought it would, little brother?"

Thomas jumped up out of his chair, hands flat on the desk. "Don't you mock me! Or him. David doesn't work at Downton Abbey," he said, measuring out his words carefully.

"Touched a nerve, did I?"

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose, as with reluctance he accepted what he knew was the only option to get rid of her. His pride cried out in protest; he hated the thought of giving into her bullying. "I'll be there."

"What?"

He fell back heavily into his chair. "You heard me."

Margaret narrowed her eyes at him. "Really?"

"Yes."

"I see ... good. Mother will be glad."

"Do you have anything else to say, or are we done here? I have a house to run."

"Yes, I imagine you must be very busy. You'd have to be for life would be empty otherwise, wouldn't it?"

"I'll show you out." Thomas stood and turned his back to her for a moment. He knew he should ignore her jibes, not rise to them, but that had never been his strong suit. "You may find this hard to believe with your narrow-minded, ignorant view of the world, Margaret, but I am happy here. I'm not sad, hidden, or lonely as you implied. One thing I can say is that I have friends. I have—" He held his tongue as Richard's name flew into his mind. "I don't find shame in who I am. Once, many years ago near where you stand, I stood and was called foul and many other things to my face by the man who sat at this desk before me. It is mine now. While I will be present at the funeral, I refuse to apologise or hang my head in shame, as you persistently tried to make me do earlier."

"Thomas—"

"No. Don't say more."

A quiet and familiar tap at the door halted their exchange. Richard cautiously peered around the edge of the door, and his face lit up with a loving smile – a welcome beauty amid the stains of his past. "Thomas—"

"Mr Ellis," Thomas coughed deliberately. "We were not expecting you."

Richard hadn't seen Margaret from his position behind an ajar door. His frown at Thomas' formality gave way in an instant to his well-polished professional smile. "I'm sorry, Mr Barrow. I wasn't aware you had visitors." He smoothly and convincingly added, "I will speak with you about his lordship's order tomorrow."

"Don't worry." He glanced at Margaret, who, like an owl watching a mouse, observed their exchange. "We're done here. I'll show you out, Margaret."

Thomas let her walk on ahead down towards the back door. "My sister," he whispered to Richard, "I'll tell you about it later."

With a nod of understanding, Richard's hand brushed his forearm.

"Something the matter?"

Thomas quickly withdrew his arm from Richard's grasp, but not quick enough to escape her notice.

"Nothing to concern you. Mr Ellis, can you wait here? I won't be a moment."

"So, who is that, then?" Margaret asked, as Thomas closed the door on them, so it was just the two of them in the cold, night filled yard.

"A friend."

"Really?"

"Here on business. We all get on well here."

"Seems so."

"Would you like me to walk you to the village? Since it is late?"

"I doubt you'll want to, so no."

An engine's rumble filled the track beyond the yard. A bang of the door echoed across towards them. The familiar whistle of the driver made Thomas' heart sink. Any other time, his reaction would have been the opposite.

It was the worst possible timing.

"Evening Tommy," David called out upon approaching the yard entrance. His figure remained hidden until his brisk steps took him closer to the dim yellow light of the lamp near the door. "I've got the wood from the farm, I know it's late, but I like to keep busy, you know ... it takes my mind off—" David halted, his previously relaxed posture stiffened as Margaret, who'd had her back to him, turned. David regarded her with a questioning stare. "I know you," he said, taking a step back.

"David." Margaret shook her head towards Thomas with a look of disapproval. "I should have known. No one calls Thomas that, only you ever did. Isn't it rather childish to do so still? And Thomas, it seems you're a liar and deviant."

"Don't you dare!" David closed the gap between himself and Margaret. He was a tall, broadly built man and towered over her, though Margaret didn't even flinch, despite him shouting to her face. "You have no right; didn't you do enough back home? Two decades of nothing, no contact with your own brother. Did you not remember how we all used to get on? Did you not care? Whatever brings you here, you aren't welcome, and Tommy doesn't need you."

Thomas exchanged a concerned glance with Richard. He reckoned they were thinking the same thing: his worry over Chris and Helen fuelled David's out of character behaviour. Yet Thomas had to remember that he was only one half of the victim in the pain endured over two decades ago, and David was that other half. If he'd built up bitterness over the years away from their childhood home, then Thomas wouldn't blame him for it.

"You know I never lied to you."

"You told me David wasn't at Downton," Thomas said to Margaret.

Thomas held his head level as he spoke. "If you listened properly, you'd remember I said David didn't work at Downton. I never said he didn't live here."

"Don't be clever. It changes nothing. I still can't believe those people in there," she jutted her finger towards the closed door, "know what you are and what you do. It's shameful."

"Why don't you just leave us to it, then?" David said. "Whatever it is you're here for, you can forget it."

"No need to concern yourself over that David, Thomas, has seen sense."

"Seen sense?" David looked at him with a frown of anxious concern. "Tommy?"

Thomas shrugged his shoulders. "The funeral. I've agreed to be there." There was little point in explaining further.

Margaret turned her aim towards Richard. "I've heard tales, but if one's bad enough, Thomas, you are carrying on with, with ... another on the side." She shrivelled up her nose. "And don't you deny it, you know I see through you, and you and this Mr Ellis ... you don't even try to hide it. I should have noticed as soon as he entered your office. All charming smile, addressing you by your first name in a tender fashion, touching your arm when you thought I couldn't see you."

Richard's lips pinched together into a thin, expressionless line, the very essence of a well-rehearsed servant's blank.

Thomas's hands balled up into tight fists clenched against his sides. He was at the teetering edge of his patience. He's thought, since she had what she wanted, that she'd leave. Insulting them all was obviously too entertaining for her to abandon, but he would not stand by and let Richard take the brunt of a disgust directed towards him. "You won't insult him."

"Mr Barrow, it's okay," Richard said, controlled as ever. Thomas knew he only wanted to keep the peace, but it was far too late for that.

The anger had already built up, and he felt reminded of things used to be for him, back when the world was his enemy and it seemed all were against him. Attack was his defence, and he intended to use it. He wouldn't stand by and let anyone insult the man he loved ... who had saved him. "Oh, I bet you have many notions about what I do with multiple rooms and men under one roof, don't you, sister? Well, if your guesses make you feel uncomfortable, then I can only say I am delighted. David is a friend, he's not 'one of mine' and anything else is none of your business." Thomas took measured steps towards her, never looking away or backing down. He would not give her the satisfaction of having the slightest inkling that her insults weakened him. " You can insult me all you like. I can take it, it's not new to me. But you do not insult this house or its staff. You don't insult my friends and you do not insult Richard Ellis. I won't pretend, since your far superior wisdom has already put that together. It is late and I would offer to walk you back to the village, but I have no desire to spend another second of my time with you." Thomas spread a guiding arm out towards the yard gate and the dark path beyond, much like he would show a wealthy lady to her place at a table. "The village is that way. Down the path. Feel free to use it."

Margaret looked back and forth between Thomas and the other two men, clearly weighing up her options. "Right. I see. At least we know where we stand."

"That we do," Thomas said curtly.

With a slight nod, Margaret turned on her heel and left, the crunch of gravel under her shoes echoing off the walls, the sound fading until it ceased completely when she disappeared.

"See you at the funeral," Thomas muttered to her and himself.

"Perhaps you should have gone with her, Thomas, or found someone else to accompany her," Richard said, coming to stand by his side.

"That's the problem with you, Richard. You're too much of a gentleman. Luckily, I am not."

Richard took his hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry you had to endure that," he said with sympathetic eyes.

"You're sorry? Richard, I should say the same to both of you. I know she directed it towards me, but you don't deserve it."

David fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. "I lost my temper. That didn't help. I just saw parallels – you and your sister, Chris and Helen, and many words that I think I've waited twenty or more years to vent on her, your parents, my family ... I shouldn't have let it out."

Despite himself, Thomas chuckled. "No, you should have, or things could have turned violent."

Richard raised an eyebrow. And action that despite his clear seriousness, Thomas couldn't help but find attractive. "Violent?"

"Don't underestimate her, she can throw a punch as good as you or I."

"Any news on the situation with Emily and Helen, David?" Richard asked, changing the subject.

"No idea if her plan was successful yet, no. I'll fill you in on what she did later, but I should get back. I told Matthew this would be a quick errand."

"Will you go to see him tonight?" Thomas asked.

David rubbed his chin. "No. Not until we know where we and Helen stand. I don't want to leave Chris another night but ... we need to be safe," David answered with a smile that tried to look convincing, but only appeared strained. "I'll see you around."

"I'd better get back upstairs, finish up, and give Stephen a break. He's been on his own a while now," Thomas said to Richard, after David left and they heard the van start up.

"I'll wait for you, then we can talk, walk home together and if you feel like it, I can find a way of repaying you for this morning – to take your mind off other things?" Richard offered with a suggestive look.

"I don't know. I don't think I'll be in the mood to be honest, sorry."

"Not a problem. I have another suggestion. We make a sneaky cup of warm chocolate, cuddle up in bed, let Wilde steal a pillow and enjoy each other that way, keep it simple?"

Thomas ducked his head, the heat of a blush warming his cheeks. "You always manage it, don't you?" he said once they were back inside. "You have this magical way of making everything seem okay. I don't know how you do it."

Richard turned him with hands on Thomas's hips, so they faced each other in the narrow doorway. "Oh, it's simple Mr Barrow." Richard placed a delicate kiss on Thomas' lips. "I love you, that's all."

Note: Hope you enjoyed this up and down chapter. I've seen many interpretations of Thomas's sister, but I decided to make her the villain, partly because I wanted to bring out the 'old Thomas Barrow' for a bit. The next chapter may be awhile in coming as I'm going away next week and preparation for that is taking over my life!