The maids and ladies of the house alike had been all in a fuss about this Mr. Pamuk. Upstairs Lady Mary was flinging herself at the Turk, and downstairs Rose, Frieda, even the unflappable, virtuous Anna were swooning over him. A sight that had the equally holy Mr. Bates wincing in discomfort at her dismissal of his own sorry self.
Thomas had scoffed at their chatter, until he saw him. The man was gorgeous. Far from the milk toast men that usually paraded the halls, Kemal Pamuk was a gentleman of stature and beauty that even rivaled the Duke. In an instant all Thomas's reservations about tending to this foreigner were washed away. Along with all his common sense.
How stupid could he be? So soon to forget himself? And all because he was so interested in "Turkish culture" and a handsome face. One handsome face and he let himself go to such a degree that the Turk, an aristocratic diplomat, could soon be calling for his short drop and sudden stop. Thomas could have sealed his own arrest warrant, death warrant, tonight. Unless he did what the man wanted. Unless he risked his job and his life and whatever scraps of morality he had left. It all rested on tonight. It all rested on what Pamuk asked of him.
"Thomas," Mr. Carson snapped. Thomas jerked up from where he leaned against the stairway. Carson looked furious. William, standing just behind the butler like the good little lap dog he was, looked at him with doltish concern. God, what he wouldn't give for a smoke. "Straighten up. Dinner is soon to begin. We don't have time for such slouching."
"Yes, Mr. Carson," Thomas bit out. Carson didn't bother staying to hear his reply. Instead, he went directly out to oversee the family, leaving Thomas to trail behind William, grab a tray of hors d'oeuvres, and grimly stride into the drawing room.
The whole family was gathered except for Lady Sybil. Lord Grantham presided over the party with his typical mindless grandeur as he pretended not to notice any of the social games around him. Like a true gentleman. Lady Grantham too played the simple-minded, lovely lady of the house. She was gently smiling and carrying on small talk with the old ladies as if they weren't all watching the show that was Lady Mary and her admirers.
Lady Mary posed and strutted like a diva on stage. She was dressed in an ostentatious, gauzey gown meant to titillate her suitors and had her dark hair piled high to display her long, pale throat. A matching large, scarlet feather was placed in her updo which, even though it aligned with Lady Mary's usual dramatic flair, seemed a bit much. Thomas would have snickered at her theatrical display, if it wasn't so clearly working.
All three young gentlemen stood around Lady Mary as she lounged on a sofa. All seemed more than willing to wait for a scrap of the lady's attention as they strived to be the most interesting, most endearing, most eligible choice for her. Mr. Napier was clearly the best by their standards, but that didn't mean Lady Mary wasn't having her fun winding up the heir she despised or the Turk who she clearly desired. The Turk who was always closest to her, who flashed his devilish smile and dark eyes, who wouldn't stop glancing over at Thomas.
Thomas quickly nodded to William who awkwardly scrambled to offer the young crowd his tray of appetizers. Pamuk returned to his conversation, declining the offering, and Thomas felt as though he could breathe again. He needed to keep that man's attention off him tonight. Keep him focused on Lady Mary or William or whoever else was not him. Until the night was out and he was forced to return to the man, Thomas would focus on the older group and the one person lost in the middle.
Thomas never understood the appeal of the fairer sex. Sure, some had features he could appreciate as beautiful, but never truly desirable. Maybe it was just that he fundamentally lacked the feeling, but he couldn't understand the blatant draw of one Crawley daughter over the other.
Lady Edith was dressed in a teal sheath gown with Grecian draping over her shoulders and bust. The heavy fabric was richly embroidered in intricate designs of bronze and gold branches. The metallic glint in the evening light set off her fiery hair which fell scandalously low around her shoulders. The two made an eye-catching pair, blue and red, dark and fair. Lady Mary was obviously the more classically lovely, but that didn't take away from Lady Edith's own novel charms. If a suitor didn't appreciate one, he likely would the other. But, instead of mingling with the young men, Lady Edith was constantly called to sit beside her mother and the older woman.
"Edith," Lady Grantham called to her middle daughter. Clearly keeping her from interrupting Mary's games. "Come sit with us, darling. Tell me about the hunt."
"I believe Father has told you everything there is to know," Lady Edith replied, glancing over at the gaggle around her sister.
"You know your father, all the details of the hunt and very few of the people," the lady smiled, patting the cushion beside her in a silent demand.
"I resent that," Lord Robert said lightly, taking an appetizer from Thomas's tray as he slid into position beside the fireplace.
"So, did you get to speak to Lord Thurber? I heard his son has been ill."
"Yes, that's why he didn't come with his father," Lady Edith said, reluctantly coming to sit beside her mother. "He didn't want to be out in the weather or risk the strain of travel over a day."
"Oh, that's such a shame! I would have invited him to stay the night if I had known. Another gentleman would have evened out the party."
"Another?" Mrs. Crawley asked, looking over at the circle of men in the other corner of the room. "You scarcely have room for all the ones here."
"It's always a pleasure to have company," Lady Grantham smiled. "And young men are quite a rarity in the country."
"Clearly."
"Mr. Thurber is married," Lady Edith said plainly. "I doubt he would have left his wife to join our hunt. Now, if you would excuse me-"
"Oh Edith," her mother interrupted, putting a delicate hand out to stop her. "I meant to ask about Lord Grisby as well. I heard from Lady Grisby in London that he had purchased a new horse."
"You know I don't care for horses, Mother." Edith said. In the corner of his eye, Thomas saw Carson motion for him to return to his previous position by the side table.
"But surely you spoke to him?"
"I introduced him to Matthew. We didn't engage in much small talk about his mount."
"Do speak to Matthew when you have the chance, dear," Mrs. Crawley said suddenly as Thomas dislodged himself to cross the room as quietly as possible. "He wanted to thank you for encouraging him to come. And I believe he wanted to speak to you about that tour you promised."
"Oh, did he," the Dowager tutted quietly. "It seems to me Matthew is getting quite close to both Edith and Mary lately."
"I would be happy to," Lady Edith said as she stood. "However, at the rate the night is going, it likely won't be till after Mary has gone to bed."
"Edith," Lady Grantham warned.
"Cora," Lord Grantham admonished in turn.
"Don't worry, Mother. I'm just getting an hors d'oeurve. I'll save my interruptions for the main courses."
With that, Lady Edith stepped away, now in the middle between young and old, and came directly toward him. With a practiced slight bow, Thomas offered his tray. He was careful not to bend too far as he would for the other ladies to keep the tray at a decent height for the tall young woman.
"Thank you," Edith nodded, reaching for the crackers topped with cranberry and apple chutney. Thomas fully expected Lady Edith to take an appetizer and invade Lady Mary's circle, regardless of what she told her mother. Instead, she stopped and looked around at William, Carson, and the other guests before turning back to him. In a low voice she whispered the last question he expected of the night. "Thomas, what is your impression of Mr. Pamuk?"
"Pamuk, my lady?" He felt his eyes grow wide, felt the tray grow heavy in his hands.
"Yes. Has he done anything at all... untoward?"
"I- no, my lady." She couldn't suspect anything could she? She couldn't know anything about it, about him.
"Would you tell me? If he did?"
"Of course, my lady." Absolutely not. "But it's not my place."
"I worry for Mary," Lady Edith said. Oh, this was about Lady Mary. Thomas relaxed his grip on the silver tray, and let his face fall back easily into his servant's mask. "I want to know if anything happens."
"Of course, my lady."
"Just..." Edith seemed to hesitate before reaching out and placing her gloved hand on his arm. "If there is anything you need to tell me, know you can. Even if you can't yourself. Even if it's just a knock on my door. Please, come to me and I won't tell a soul."
"That's- that's unnecessary."
"But you will?"
"Yes."
"Good," Edith nodded, removing her hand. Thomas felt the need to look down and ensure his suit was still intact where her hand touched. He was unsure if it was her unusually strong grip or Carson's glare across the room, but he felt as if something had to have popped the seams. Why had she done that?
"Dinner is ready, my lord," Mr. Carson entoned.
"Splendid! Then let's go to the dining room," Lord Grantham announced, and soon the train of people made their way out of the room. Lord and Lady Grantham walked together, of course. Mr. Crawley rather sourly escorted his mother when Lady Mary accepted Pamuk's arm, and Mr. Napier made his way over to Lady Edith.
The second course after the hors d'oeurves was soup. A rich, French consommé meant to warm the guests from the November chill and prepare for the heavier courses to come. The third was the fish course. Water souchy served with strips of crispy bread and butter. It was another light dish that matched the light conversation around the table. But as Carson changed the decanters of white wine to red and the fourth course, the main entré of pork in an elderberry wine sauce was served, so too did the conversation change to a more substantial affair.
"I don't understand," the Dowager exclaimed. "Why- why would she want to be a secretary?"
Thomas nearly rolled his eyes. Give it to Gwen to be the talk of the upstairs as well as down. He couldn't fault her for her scheming, but did she really have to flaunt it to the whole house? Sure, she was too much of a goody-goody to scheme properly and Anna too much of a favorite to leave much advancement left at Downton for Gwen, but that hardly meant she had to make such a show of leaving. If she wasn't one of Carson's special pets, she would be out on her ear by now.
"She wants a different life," Mr. Crawley stated the obvious.
"But why? I should far prefer to be a maid in a large and pleasant house than work from dawn till dusk in a cramped and gloomy office. Don't you agree, Carson?" The Dowager demanded.
"I do, my lady," Carson said stiffly but resolutely. Old man probably had never considered anything but service, not that Thomas could say much on that either. Service was the only life for him. He just wasn't possessed by it.
"Why are we talking about this?" Lady Mary asked. "What does it matter?"
"It matters that the people that live and work here are content," Lady Grantham chided.
"People rarely are ever content, nor often should they be. We must all strive to do better for ourselves in some way," Lady Edith said. "Let Gwen try if that is what she wants. She shouldn't be punished for ambition."
"I agree," Mrs. Crawley said. "Surely we must all encourage those less fortunate to improve their lot where they can."
"Not if it isn't in their best interest," the Dowager sniped.
"Isn't the maid a better judge of that than we are?"
"What say you, Mr. Pamuk?" Lady Mary quirred jokingly. "Should our housemaid be kept enslaved or forced out into the world?"
"Why are you English so curious about other people's lives?" Pamuk asked. "If she wishes to leave, and the law permits it, then let her go."
"Is that your opinion of people as a whole or just housemaids? I'm sure the Albanian public will be glad to hear it." Lady Edith barbed.
"When the law permits," Pamuk relied. "And in this case, the particular "advancement" is not in their best interest. Or the common interest. You English have your own empire, and likewise the Ottoman Empire is one of the greatest in the world. It's an honor to be a part of it."
"Of course, it generally is when you are on top."
"Edith," Lady Grantham warned.
"Someone always is, that's just the way of things. The worthy rise to the top. And not every disparity requires a total disturbance to the order of things."
"Here, here," The Dowager raised her glass.
"You hanker for the days of serfdom?" Mrs. Crawley snarked.
"I hanker for a simpler world. Is that a crime?"
"I would rather a better world than a simpler one," Lady Edith said.
"I shall leave that to the real thinkers and dreamers who know what better means," Pamuk dismissed. "For me, I'll take a simpler world, as long as we keep our trains and our dentistry."
The table broke out into chuckles, the tension somewhat broken. Only Lady Edith sat unmoved, glowering at the Turk even as he was inclined to ignore her and carry on with her more sociable sister. Mr. Crawley and Mr. Napier also seemed relatively displeased.
Mr. Crawley observed the comradery between Lady Mary and Mr. Pamuk with undisguised jealousy. Thomas wondered if the man even knew he felt so deeply for the lady or if he just disliked that her regular, often negative, attentions were now focused on another.
Mr. Napier also seemed unsettled, both by the conversation with Lady Edith and the focus of Lady Mary's affections. He kept glancing between the three of them, his friend and the two sisters, with an uncertain gaze. What exactly he was thinking about, Thomas had no idea. He could be regretting bringing Pamuk, a regret Thomas agreed with heartily.
William and Thomas moved to serve the fifth course, the removes. It was a course that William continued to struggle with. Honestly, how hard was
it to rotate side dishes?
"Well, next time you feel a twinge," Pamuk flirted, moving some roast vegetables from Thomas's serving dish to his plate, "you must come to Istanbul."
"Wouldn't the journey be painful?" Mary said through batting lashes.
"Sometimes we must endure a little pain in order to achieve satisfaction."
"Lady Mary rode very well today." Napier interrupted the rampant innuendo.
"Why did you send Lynch back?" Lord Grantham asked.
"I had my champions to the left and right. It was enough," Lady Mary said. "But I should have sent him to find Edith. She certainly needed the help. Mr. Napier had to see her back to safety, didn't you Mr. Napier?"
"What?" Matthew asked, suddenly turning his baleful gaze from Lady Mary to her sister.
"Not the horsewoman your sister is, are you Lady Edith?" Pamuk smiled.
"As I have said many, many times, no, I'm not." Edith nodded to William as she accepted his offering of the sixth course, a palate cleansing citrus sorbet. "It was alright. Mr. Napier was kind enough to act as my champion as well and led me back to the group."
"That was quite gallant of you, Mr. Napier," Lady Grantham said.
"It was nothing any other gentleman wouldn't have done for a lady," Napier replied. Mr. Crawley seemed to tense more at that.
"Did you enjoy the hunt today, Mr. Napier?" Lord Grantham asked. "Mary said you had a tremendous run."
"It was like something out of a trollop novel."
"What about you, Mr. Pamuk? Was your day successful?" The lady of the house asked.
"Oh, yes, Lady Grantham," Pamuk's eyes stayed locked on Lady Mary. "I can hardly remember a better one."
Lady Mary shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable yet pleased at his total attention. Mr. Crawley's features grew darker, Lady Edith hummed in displeasure, and Napier observed all with a diplomat's eye. Carson motioned for the roast to be served. One more savory salad course after this, then sweets, and then the ladies went through to the drawing room.
Thomas would usually feel relief when the night came so close to a close. But as he grabbed the final course, a silver tray of fruit and cheese to serve the ladies, he felt nothing but dread. Pamuk would call him back. Pamuk would ask him to do something. And what could he do against him? He could say no and risk his neck, but he hardly felt that much blind loyalty to anyone to die for them. But what was the cost if he did as asked? If he was found out?
Thomas returned to the drawing room, offering his platter to the ladies and soon the gentlemen as well when they came. All smiled and talked, playing the social game of courtship and courtesy. All but one.
Lady Edith stood back, staring at the gaggle that had reformed around Mary. Her light eyes were wary, suspicious as she observed Pamuk. She didn't like him. She didn't trust him. But she did trust Thomas. Would she listen to him? Could he trust her? Whatever happened, the choices of the night would have consequences, for Pamuk, for Lady Edith, for Lady Mary, and, worst of all, for him.