AN: So, finally a new chapter. I'm sorry it took so long again. The good news is that the next chapter is already almost completely written and I plan to publish it this weekend. Thank you to all my diligent readers! And thank you for your comments. I haven't forgotten your suggestions either and will incorporate them at suitable points. We're only in Season 4 and still have 2 seasons and soon even three films to go! Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Oh, and the Green story isn't over yet either. It will continue to be a theme from Season 4 into Season 5. So, stay tuned for what else will happen there.

„I'm glad that at least someone is happy," remarked Thomas as he entered the boot room, where Edna was humming to herself while cleaning Her Ladyship's shoes. "Though I must say, I'm surprised it's you," he added with a hint of scepticism.

"Why's that?"

"Well, you did seem quite downcast when you were talking to Mr. Branson the other day."

"You think you can read me like a book, don't you?"

"I'm rather proud of keeping my eyes open, I must say," countered Thomas with a grin.

"Oh, you should definitely keep your eyes open and your ears too, where I'm concerned."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, probing.

"It means one day you'll be glad you've kept on good terms with me," Edna replied provocatively as she left the room. Thomas's face contorted slightly. He had already suspected that Edna was up to something, and this was the confirmation he needed.

Thomas stepped out into the courtyard and lit the long-awaited cigarette. He leaned against the wall that shielded him from the noise and hustle of the estate, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. He slowly exhaled the smoke into the air, pondering over his daughter's unusually secretive behaviour.

Suddenly, he heard a sound. Moving away from the wall, he peered around the corner and saw Emma returning from playing.

"How was it at Ruby's?" he asked.

"Good," she replied briefly. Her eyes avoided his, and she shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

"Is that it? No epic tale about what you played all day?" Thomas wondered. Usually, Emma could talk for hours about her adventures, but today she was unusually silent.

"I'm tired," she muttered, trying to slip past him. Thomas placed a gentle hand on her shoulder to stop her. "What's wrong, little dwarf?"

"I just told you, I'm tired," Emma repeated, trying to break free from his hand. Her voice was low and almost pleading.

"You're acting very strange, Emma Grace," Thomas said, his expression growing more serious. "Answer me: is everything alright?"

"Yes," Emma nodded. But her eyes told a different story, one filled with fear and secrets.

"Are you sure you don't want to tell me what's going on?" Thomas pressed once more. His curiosity and concern were mounting. He wanted to know what was causing his daughter to react this way, but Emma shook her head. "You don't need to worry. Everything's fine," the girl insisted.

"Really?" he asked, his voice filled with doubt.

Again, the ten-year-old nodded. "Dad, I'm fine. I just didn't sleep well because of the spider." Her voice was calm, but Thomas could hear a trace of nervousness. He scrutinised his daughter sceptically. He could see in her expression that something was bothering her. But he knew he shouldn't push her further. He decided to let the matter rest for now. "Alright then, little dwarf," he said finally, gently brushing her hair. "But you know you can tell me anything, don't you? I'm always on your side."

Emma gave a faint smile and was relieved that her father didn't press the issue further. She wanted to tell him the truth, but the words just wouldn't come out. She felt as if the world would crumble if she revealed what she had seen.

As they headed back into the house, Thomas could sense the anxiety that surrounded Emma. He knew it was more than just a bad night's sleep troubling her. He needed to find out what it was, but he also knew he shouldn't push her too hard. He needed to be patient and hope that she would eventually trust him enough to confide in him.

A few days later, Emma seemed like a different person, as if nothing had ever happened and Mr Green had never threatened her. Thomas noticed immediately but didn't mention it to his daughter. Perhaps it really was just a spider.

"Have you heard? Alfred wants to become a chef in London," Emma shared, having overheard the latest conversation between Daisy, Ivy, Mrs Patmore, and the footmen.

"Jimmy mentioned it," replied Thomas curtly, just as Edna rushed up the stairs, trying to slip past them, causing him to stop.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked with a suspicious look.

Edna, however, tried to brush off the conversation. "Nothing important," she replied curtly and attempted to hurry on.

But Thomas was not to be dismissed. "I thought we'd all be dancing to your tune soon enough," he said with a mocking undertone.

Edna stopped and glared at him. "Have you ever wondered why people dislike you so much?" she asked sharply. Emma, who had been listening attentively, looked back and forth between her father and the maid, intrigued.

"Because you're so sneaky and slimy and self-satisfied," Edna continued, her voice trembling with anger. "And I'm so glad I can tell you this before I go." She spat out the words as if she wanted to hit Thomas with her bitterness.

Thomas, however, remained unimpressed and stepped up one stair so that he was now at eye level with Edna. "Well, if we're playing a game of truth, then you're a nasty, conniving little witch," he said with a smile. "And if your schemes have come to nothing, then I am delighted." He grinned broadly as he saw Edna seething with rage.

Edna turned on her heel and hurried up the stairs, her steps echoing loudly on the steps. "Are you leaving Downton now?" Thomas called after her. It almost sounded like a challenge, as if he wanted to make sure she was really going.

"What's it to you?" she retorted curtly, looking back at him over her shoulder. Her eyes sparkled with anger, and her lips were pressed into a thin line.

"Oh, quite a lot – quite a lot," murmured Thomas quietly, but still loud enough for Emma to hear.

"Do you think she'll leave Downton?" Emma asked softly.

"I'm pretty sure, but it's no great loss. She had trouble fitting into Downton anyway."

"But that would mean hiring someone new again," Emma pointed out.

Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder, "Change isn't always a bad thing," he said.

"But that position is cursed," Emma tried to explain, "So far, every maid has been horrible."

"I know, but the next maid will be friendly, I promise."

Emma was on her way home when she spotted a woman in the courtyard. "Hello," she greeted shyly, giving a gentle smile.

For a moment, Phyllis Baxter froze when she saw the girl, before she returned the smile, albeit hesitantly. "Hello," she replied softly. Her hands clutched the handle of her suitcase as she stood by the back door of the grand estate. She had secured the position of lady's maid thanks to Thomas. "Can you help me? I'm looking for Mr. Carson's and Mrs. Hughes's office," she explained, trying to hide her nervousness.

Emma nodded understandingly, "Of course, just follow me."

Baxter followed her hesitantly. They walked down the corridor in silence until they eventually reached the door to Mr. Carson's office.

"This is it," said Emma.

Baxter smiled, "Thank you," and looked at the girl uncertainly, "My name is Phyllis Baxter. May I ask what your name is?"

"Emma," the girl replied, "Emma Grace Barrow – but everyone calls me Emma."

"Your father chose a very beautiful name."

Emma paused, puzzled. How did the woman know her father had chosen her name? But before she could ask, Phyllis Baxter disappeared into Carson's office.

The comment from Mrs. Baxter made Emma reflect. Just before dinner, she intercepted her father in the hallway.

"Dad, you gave me the name Emma and Mama gave me the name Grace, right?" Emma asked curiously. This belief had been with her all these years. Why else would she have two names?

"Um," Thomas cleared his throat and searched for the right words. How could he defuse the situation without getting tangled in more lies? He wanted to be honest with his daughter, but the truth was more complicated than he had ever expected. "I chose the name - both first names," he finally said.

"But why? Didn't Mama want to name me?" she asked, her voice uncertain and tinged with a hint of disappointment. She had always believed their names were a loving gesture from her mother.

"She did," Thomas struggled to explain. "She liked my suggestion for a name, so she didn't consider any others." Emma wanted to press further, but then Mr. Carson emerged from his office. The servants' dinner was now underway, and the butler disliked delays.

The servants gathered around the dining table as Mr Carson introduced the new maid, "This is Mrs Baxter. She will start her duties as Her Ladyship's lady's maid from tomorrow."

"Welcome, Mrs Baxter," said Mrs Hughes, the housekeeper, with a friendly smile, "We hope you will soon feel at home."

Phyllis returned the smile gratefully and gave a slight nod.

A few days later, Emma sat on the floor of the nursery with Tom Branson. Sybbie and George were playing with building blocks. Emma reached for some of the scattered blocks and started to build a small barn, while George watched curiously and occasionally handed her a block.

The door opened and Lady Mary entered, "I thought I'd spend an extra 10 minutes with George," she said, lifting little George up. Emma bit her lip lightly to avoid commenting on how 'generous' that was.

"You could join us. Sybbie says a tornado is about to hit any moment," Tom said.

"A tornado, really? In Yorkshire?" Lady Mary asked.

"Then we'll quickly secure all the animals," Tom said, addressing Sybbie more than anyone else.

"You most certainly will," Lady Mary said, looking around the nursery. "Where's the nanny?"

"She's fetching some clothes from the laundry. I'll stay here until she returns," Tom explained.

"She's much more relaxed than our nanny ever was. My childhood was quite different from Sybbie's," Lady Mary remarked.

"Mine too, for sure," said Tom.

"Do you think she's having a good childhood? Are we getting it right?" Lady Mary doubted.

"I think you're doing your best for her, if that's what you mean," Tom replied.

"No, not quite," muttered Lady Mary.

"I think the big tornado is about to hit," Tom said gently to his little daughter.

"Whoosh," he mimicked the wind sounds, and the wooden block house collapsed.

"Oh," little Sybbie exclaimed, giggling as she watched the tower of blocks fall down.

Emma picked up some of the wooden blocks and began to build a new house. Sybbie eagerly helped stack the blocks on top of each other. "I think we should build a stronger wall so the next tornado won't knock the house down," Emma suggested, pushing some extra blocks over to Sybbie. Sybbie nodded eagerly and took the blocks.

George, still on Lady Mary's lap, chuckled with delight as Emma and Sybbie continued to work on their new fortress. Lady Mary gently set him down on the floor, where he immediately started playing with the remaining blocks.

"It's lovely to see how well the children get along," Lady Mary remarked, addressing Tom.

"Yes, they're like siblings," Tom said, lovingly observing the children. "Emma always takes good care of the little ones, don't you, Emma?"

Emma looked up and smiled. "I enjoy playing with them."

At the evening, Emma looked at Mrs. Baxter curiously. The maid was sitting with the sewing machine in the otherwise empty servants' hall.

"How do you know my father?" Emma asked with interest.

Phyllis smiled gently. "Thomas and I are old friends. We've known each other since childhood. I was friends with his older sister."

"Really?" Emma's eyes widened with curiosity. Perhaps Phyllis Baxter was more talkative than her father when it came to the old days. And if the woman was an old friend, she might even have known her mother.

Phyllis nodded in confirmation. Before either of them could delve further into the topic, Thomas entered the servants' hall. He fished his pocket watch from his livery, "It's late," he remarked, "You should be going to bed."

Emma let out an audible sigh, "I'm not even tired!" she complained.

"Bedtime, Emma!" Thomas admonished, with a voice that brooked no further argument.

Anyone who knows Emma knows that she loves to eavesdrop. This evening was no different; while Thomas thought she had gone to bed, she was actually sitting on the stair step, out of sight, listening to the conversation.

"How are you getting along with Her Ladyship?" asked Thomas, fiddling with a cigarette in his hand.

"Quite well, I think," replied Mrs. Baxter, who was still working at her sewing machine.

"Did you mention America and admire Lady Sybil?" Thomas probed.

"Why not. You told me to. I did it."

"She'll be eating out of your hand soon," remarked Thomas with a mischievous grin.

"That's the idea, isn't it?"

Thomas' expression darkened, "Make sure you don't make enemies down here either. That was Mrs. O'Brien's mistake. No one liked her, so no one kept her informed."

"You're not very well-liked yourself," observed Mrs. Baxter.

"That's why you're here. To make up for my grave mistake," Thomas explained. Before he left the servants' hall, he turned to the maid once more, "Oh, and before I forget: You are never to speak to Emma about the past."