The summer holidays had just begun, and the majority of the servants, along with the Crawley family, had travelled to London. Downton Abbey, usually buzzing with activity, now lay in a rare, almost ghostly silence. The only ones left behind were Thomas, Emma, the kitchen maid Ivy, and Tom Branson.

Thomas sat in Mr Carson's seat, for while the butler was already in London, he was now acting as the butler of Downton Abbey – at least until they, too, would depart for London.

Emma leaned back with a broad grin. The idea that her father was now the butler and making the decisions thrilled her.

"So, what shall we do now?" she asked curiously, lightly rocking her leg against the chair.

Thomas raised an eyebrow and thoughtfully placed his hand on his chin. "Well, what shall we do?" he repeated, as if deeply pondering it. "Perhaps we should behave quite formally, as befits a butler. Everything by the book."

Emma pulled a face. "That's boring!" she exclaimed and then shared her own idea with her father. "Since you're in charge now, you'll surely let me invite Ruby to stay the night, won't you?"

Thomas paused for a moment, before his mischievous smile deepened as he considered Emma's request. "Let Ruby stay over? Hmm..." He crossed his arms and swayed playfully, as if lost in thought. "That sounds like a lot of work..." He paused dramatically, causing Emma to bounce excitedly in her seat.

"Please, Daddy!" she begged, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Thomas held the tension for a moment longer, then sighed theatrically and shook his head, only to grin immediately after. "Alright, you've won. Ruby can stay the night."

Emma jumped up with excitement. "Yes! Thank you, Dad!" She threw her arms around him before dashing towards the door. "I'll go to her straight away!"

The evening at the Abbey was quiet when Emma and Ruby finally disappeared into Emma's room after having dinner together.

"So," Ruby began, settling herself more comfortably, "what shall we do now? It feels so strange seeing Downton Abbey so empty."

Emma grinned conspiratorially and moved closer to Ruby. "I've got something to show you," she whispered, glancing around as if to make sure no one was listening.

"What is it?" Ruby asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Emma paused dramatically before continuing in a soft whisper, "There's a secret passage in the Abbey. Lady Sybil showed it to me a few years ago, but you must swear, on your life, that you'll tell absolutely no one. Not a soul! Even my dad doesn't know about it!"

Ruby's eyes widened in amazement. "A secret passage? Oh my god, I swear! I won't tell anyone!" She raised two fingers solemnly, looking at Emma with eager anticipation.

"Good," Emma said, satisfied, as she got up from the bed. "Come with me, but be quiet or my dad will catch us!"

The two girls tiptoed through the servants quarters until they reached the laundry room. It was usually a busy place where the maids worked, but now, with the house almost empty, it lay in still darkness. The old wooden beams creaked softly, and the only light came from the pale moon shining through a small window.

"Here it is," Emma whispered excitedly as she opened a small, unremarkable door. Behind it was a narrow passage. Ruby stared at the hidden entrance, her mouth agape. "Wow…" she breathed in awe. "It's like something out of an adventure book!"

"That's what I said when I first saw it," Emma grinned. A narrow, dark staircase led downwards. "Lady Sybil thought it used to be a servant's passage, but it seems to have been forgotten."

"Let's go down!" Ruby whispered excitedly, tugging on Emma's arm. "This is so exciting!"

The two girls cautiously descended the stairs, their footsteps echoing softly in the tight passage. The air was cool, and the smell of old stone and wood filled the space. The sense of adventure was almost overwhelming, and Ruby could hardly contain her excitement.

"Where are we?" Ruby asked as they emerged from the secret passage, and Emma closed the painting that served as the door.

"We're in the family quarters," Emma revealed. "This is where the Crawleys' bedrooms are," she said, pointing down the corridor to the doors lining the hall. Ruby had only ever seen the servants' quarters and had never been on the other side of the green baize door, where the Crawleys lived. She had never stepped foot in a house belonging to the upper class before. She was completely overwhelmed by the grandeur unfolding before her.

"This is crazy. Look at all this stuff! They own so much!" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, filled with awe, as she admired the high ceilings, the luxurious furniture, and the grand paintings that adorned the walls of the corridor.

Emma grinned proudly. She had played in these rooms many times – often with Lady Sybil – but it felt special to share this discovery with Ruby. "I know. It's like being in a castle."

The girls had only taken a few more steps when a noise suddenly made them freeze in place. Footsteps. Heavy, steady footsteps echoed down the corridor. Ruby froze, looking at Emma in panic. But it was too late. Before they could come up with an escape plan, Thomas appeared at the end of the corridor, his silhouette clearly visible in the dim light. He cast a scrutinising look down the hall, and when his eyes landed on the two girls, he frowned. Slowly, he walked towards them, and the tension in the air grew with every step he took.

"What are you two doing up here?" Thomas's voice was calm but slightly stern. He crossed his arms, looking from Emma to Ruby and back again. Emma could see that he wasn't truly angry, but it was clear they had gotten themselves into a bit of trouble.

Emma swallowed and stepped forward. "We… we were just exploring a bit," she admitted, her voice small. Ruby stood frozen beside her, barely daring to look at Thomas.

"Exploring, hmm?" Thomas raised an eyebrow. "In a part of the house where you're not supposed to be." His tone wasn't harsh, but it was clear he wasn't going to let them off easily.

Emma glanced at Ruby, who was nervously fidgeting with her dress. "We're sorry," Ruby finally murmured. "I was just curious." Her voice was so quiet it nearly disappeared in the vast corridor.

Thomas sighed softly, but instead of scolding them, he looked at the two girls thoughtfully. "I see," he said after a moment.

"We're sorry, Dad," Emma apologised.

Thomas regarded them for a moment, then shrugged slightly. "Alright. You're lucky it was me who found you. Now, come on, I'll take you back to your room."

The girls breathed a sigh of relief. As they made their way back, Thomas couldn't help but wonder how the girls had managed to get into that part of the house. He had been keeping an eye on the upstairs for some time, making sure everything was in order. It seemed odd that they had slipped past him – until he finally caught them.

"How exactly did you get up here?" Thomas asked suddenly, and both girls hesitated for a moment.

Emma hesitated briefly before answering, "We… were just sneaking around," she said evasively, hoping her father wouldn't notice the gap in her story.

Thomas frowned, but before he could probe further, Emma suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. "Oh no," she whispered, taking a hurried step back to hide behind the wall. Her eyes were wide, and her heart began to race.

"What's wrong?" Thomas asked, peering down the corridor. His gaze settled on the gallery above the great hall, where he saw two figures. "Who's that?"

"That's Mrs. Bunting," Ruby whispered quietly.

"Who?" Thomas looked at the girls, puzzled.

"Mrs. Bunting, the teacher!" Emma hissed the name, as if it alone was enough to explain her bad mood.

"She teaches us literature, language, and maths," Ruby explained.

Thomas cast another glance towards the two figures. Branson seemed to be in deep conversation with Mrs. Bunting as they looked at the large coats of arms in the hall. A broad grin spread across Thomas's face. "Ah, I see…" he muttered, realising he had stumbled upon an opportunity he couldn't pass up. He crept closer to the scene silently, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"And what about the current Lady Grantham? I don't see any with a dollar sign," Mrs. Bunting remarked, eyeing the grand coats of arms with a sceptical expression that immediately smirked Thomas.

He couldn't resist. Clearing his throat loudly, he spoke with exaggerated politeness, "Can I help you, sir?"

Branson spun around, looking as though he had been caught in the act. His eyes flicked nervously between Thomas and Mrs. Bunting, as if searching for the right words. "Er… no. We were just about to head back down," he stammered, clearly flustered. A faint blush crept up his cheeks as he tried to salvage the situation. "I mean, we've just come up… and now… we're heading down again."

Thomas nodded with an innocent smile that didn't quite convince. "As you wish, sir," he said, his voice carrying a hint of triumph.

Branson hesitated for a moment before adding, "I'll walk Mrs. Bunting home. Please don't lock up before I return."

"Of course, sir," Thomas replied with exaggerated politeness, watching as Branson and Mrs. Bunting made their way to the stairs. His smile grew wider as he saw Branson almost stumbling in his attempt to escape the awkward situation.

Once they were out of sight, Thomas turned to the girls, who had been watching the scene unfold from their hiding spot with rapt attention. "You don't seem too fond of this Mrs. Bunting, my little dwarf," he remarked, amused.

Emma snorted quietly and crossed her arms. "She's always so condescending and… superior. Especially when it comes to the Crawleys. She thinks she knows everything."

Thomas raised an eyebrow, "Interesting," he mused.

Once they were in the room, Ruby collapsed exhausted onto the bed and looked at Emma with a smile. "That was close, but somehow he didn't seem too bothered, did he?" Ruby asked.

"I think Dad didn't mind that much. If the house were full of Crawleys, I reckon he'd be furious."

Ruby smiled warmly and snuggled into her blanket. "I'm glad I'm here. It almost feels like we're in a castle, and we're the princesses!"

The girls giggled. They began inventing a story about princesses, but their conversation was soon interrupted by a noise in the hallway. Both of them held their breath and listened. Footsteps. Heavy, slow footsteps coming down the corridor.

"That's Dad!" Emma whispered urgently.

"Hurry, pretend you're asleep!" Ruby whispered back excitedly, pulling the blanket over her head.

Emma followed suit and closed her eyes just in time as the door quietly creaked open. Thomas peeked into the room, his eyes darting from one girl to the other. The silence of the room was broken only by the occasional soft breath of the two girls under their covers.

Thomas stood in the doorway for a moment, smirking slightly. He had already heard the girls giggling in the hallway, and although he knew they weren't really asleep, he didn't let on. Instead, the girls only heard the door close softly.

"That was close!" Ruby giggled. "Again!" she added, pulling the blanket off her head. She immediately grimaced.

"Knew you weren't asleep," Thomas smirked.

Ruby's breath caught in her throat as she saw Thomas standing at the door. She had only just pulled the blanket down, and there he was, arms crossed, with a knowing smile on his face. Emma rolled her eyes but couldn't help grinning either.

"Oops," Ruby mumbled, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. She tried to burrow deeper into the blanket, as if that could save her from the situation. Emma, however, was less flustered and looked directly at her father.

"We tried," Emma said, sitting up. "But you caught us. Can't we stay up a bit longer? It's the holidays after all!"

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "It's past midnight, Emma."

Ruby glanced nervously between Emma and Thomas. Although she didn't want to show it, she felt a bit envious of Emma, who had a father who cared for her so lovingly, even if he did show some protective strictness now and then.

"We're sorry," Ruby finally said softly, barely daring to look Thomas in the eyes. "We just wanted to have a bit more fun."

Thomas smiled gently at her and walked over to the two girls. He sat on the edge of the bed, and Ruby felt her heart race. In that moment, it felt as though he wasn't just Emma's father, but a little bit hers as well – at least for that one moment.

"I know you want to have fun," Thomas said, "but you're keeping the whole top floor awake."

"You mean we're keeping you awake," Emma countered with a grin.

"And Ivy," Thomas corrected.

"True," Emma finally admitted.

Thomas stood up. "No more giggling, understood?"

The girls nodded obediently, though both struggled to suppress their rising amusement. As Thomas walked to the door and glanced back once more, he noticed Ruby's quiet expression. There was something in her eyes – a mix of sadness and a hint of longing. He took note of it but said nothing. Instead, he gave her a warm smile before gently closing the door behind him.

Ruby slowly turned to face Emma as the room was once again wrapped in darkness. She suddenly felt overwhelmed by a feeling she couldn't quite place. "Your dad's amazing," she whispered finally. "He's so caring, kind, funny, handsome…"

Emma turned to her, puzzled by Ruby's sudden seriousness. "My dad?"

Ruby nodded and pulled the blanket closer around her. She felt a mix of warmth and a quiet ache. "I wish your dad were my dad too."

"Why?" Emma asked, confused.

"Because he'd be the perfect dad," Ruby replied.

"What happened to your dad, anyway?" Emma asked curiously. They were best friends, but Emma realised she didn't know much about Ruby's father.

"The Great War," Ruby swallowed hard. "I can't really remember him. He died when I was three."

Emma looked at her sympathetically. The Great War, where her own father had fought, and where William had lost his life. Emma couldn't bear to think what would have happened if her father hadn't come back. She would have been an orphan.

"That must be so hard for you," Emma said sadly.

"At least I had the chance to know him once. Paul was born after Dad had already gone to France and died."

Emma was silent as she processed her friend's words. She had heard stories about the war and knew many families had lost their fathers, brothers, and sons. Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming urge to tell her father how grateful she was that he was still here.

Though Emma was able to fall asleep, she woke several times during the night, her thoughts drifting back to the time her father had returned from the war.

Flashback May 1917

Anna knelt before five-year-old Emma, gently helping her into her small shoes. She threaded the laces through the eyelets and tied a careful bow, glancing up at the girl with concern. "What's the matter, Emma? Something's bothering you," Anna observed. Since Emma had spent the day before with Thomas, something had changed. The usually lively and cheerful child had become quieter, more withdrawn, and was seeking much more comfort than usual. Anna couldn't deny that Emma's behaviour worried her. She seemed so… unsettled.

The previous evening still lingered in Anna's thoughts. Emma had said something that had caught Anna's attention late that night: "I don't understand the war." Had Thomas really talked to such a young child about the war? It seemed unbelievable. The war raging outside was a subject too heavy even for adults to bear—how could Thomas have burdened a five-year-old with it?

As Anna finished the final touches on Emma's shoes, the little girl finally spoke up. "Anna, do I have to leave here?" Her voice was soft, almost fragile, and her big, tear-filled eyes looked up at Anna in search of an answer.

"No, sweetheart," Anna shook her head gently. "Downton Abbey is your home. Why would you have to leave?" She carefully pulled Emma into a hug, feeling the girl cling tightly to her.

"Because Daddy wants me to move in with him," Emma whispered, curling up even more in Anna's arms. Anna froze for a moment. She had never seriously considered the possibility that Thomas might actually want to take Emma to live with him. All these years, he had hardly shown any interest in his daughter, and now he wanted her with him? The thought was unsettling. How could a man who barely knew his child suddenly take on the responsibility of caring for her?

"Do you want to go live with Thomas?" Anna asked cautiously, gently stroking Emma's hair.

Emma merely shrugged helplessly. "I don't know," she finally murmured, her voice unsure and a little lost.

"You can be honest with me, Emma. We're friends, aren't we?" Anna encouraged, trying to lift the girl's spirits and ease her fears.

Emma hesitated before answering softly, "I don't really know Daddy… and my home is here." Her eyes welled up with tears again, and she gripped Anna's hand tightly, as if afraid to let go.

"Then you don't have to go to him," Anna said with a warm smile. "No one will make you live with someone you don't know. You can stay here with me." She gently tucked a strand of Emma's hair behind her ear and stood up. "Now, let's go have some breakfast, shall we?"

At breakfast, Emma sat silently in front of her porridge, pushing the thick, lumpy mixture around her bowl with her spoon but not eating a bite. Despite barely touching her dinner the night before, she wasn't hungry now. Anna's and Thomas's words echoed in her head, leaving her more confused than ever.

"Don't you like my porridge?" Mrs. Patmore asked as she bustled in from the kitchen, noticing Emma's listless prodding of the food.

Emma shrugged again. "I don't know," she mumbled, scooping up a spoonful of porridge, only to let it fall back into the bowl like a waterfall. "It looks weird… like the dog's sick."

Mrs. Patmore was visibly offended. "My cooking most certainly does not look like sick!" she huffed before storming off, indignant, back to the kitchen.

Mrs. Hughes, who had been quietly observing the exchange, leaned forward. "Emma, you really should eat something," she gently urged.

"Can I get up and go play, please?" Emma sighed softly, her mind clearly elsewhere.

In the weeks before, Emma had been so excited to see her father again after all these years. But the initial thrill had quickly faded. The more time she spent with him, the more she realised that she didn't really know him at all. He was distant, almost like a stranger.

One afternoon, while Emma was playing in the courtyard, Thomas came to visit. "Hey, there's my little pumpkin," he said with a smile, but Emma didn't smile back. He knelt down to hug her, but Emma slid away from him and stood up instead.

"Everything alright?" Thomas asked, confused by her standoffishness.

"I'm tired," Emma said shortly and walked back into the house without another word.

Thomas watched her go, bewildered. He knew Emma didn't take naps anymore, so her sudden retreat puzzled him. It became clear that something was wrong. His attempts to connect with her seemed to fail every time.

A few days later, Thomas tried again. "Good morning, little dwarf. May I play with you?" he asked as he saw her playing in the courtyard again.

Emma shook her head. "I'm not allowed to play with strangers," she whispered, barely audible.

Thomas froze, feeling a sharp pang in his chest. "But I'm not a stranger, Emma. I'm your father."

"You're a stranger," she said once more, her voice soft but tinged with defiance.

Her words struck Thomas deeply, and it took him a moment to gather himself. "I know I wasn't there for you all these years, but… I'm here now," he said, trying to sound firmer, as though his words alone could bridge the gap between them. But Emma only shook her head again, her lips pressed into a tight line.

Thomas let out a deep sigh and stood up, pulling a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He walked over to join Mrs. O'Brien, who was standing by the door, smoking quietly.

Mrs. Hughes had long noticed the change in Emma—her once cheerful demeanour seemed to fade more with each passing day, and Mrs. Hughes knew it had to do with Thomas's return. She realised Emma was overwhelmed.

"Emma, would you like to come into the village with me?" Mrs. Hughes asked the next morning as Emma sat silently in the servant's hall, playing with a doll. "We could visit Thomas."

"No," Emma replied immediately and firmly, without even looking up. Mrs. Hughes was surprised by the determination in her voice.

"No?" Mrs. Hughes repeated, a little confused. "Why not, love? He's your father."

Emma put the doll down and looked up at Mrs. Hughes with serious eyes. "I don't know him," she said quietly. "He's a stranger."

Mrs. Hughes sighed softly. "Emma, he's not a stranger," she said gently, moving closer and sitting beside her. "He's your father, and you do know him. Maybe not as well as you'd like, but that doesn't mean he's a stranger."

Emma stayed silent, and Mrs. Hughes took her hand. "You know, your father's really trying to be there for you. I understand it's hard because you haven't seen him in so long. But you have to give him a chance."

Emma hesitated before asking, "If I give Daddy a chance, do I still have to move in with him?"

"Thomas wants you to live with him," Mrs. Hughes realised the root of Emma's fear. "I know you don't like change, and moving in with your dad would be a very big change."

"I don't like change," Emma admitted quietly.

"I'm sure you can explain that to your dad. I'm sure he'll understand if you want to stay here," Mrs. Hughes reassured her.

"But I don't want to disappoint Daddy. He's really looking forward to it."

"Nobody says you have to stay with him forever. Think of it as an adventure. You can try it out, see if you like it, and if not, you can always come back."

"Okay," Emma said after a moment of thought.

"Okay?" Mrs. Hughes asked, slightly surprised.

Emma nodded again and then asked eagerly, "Can we go visit Daddy now?"

End of the Flashback

Emma quietly crept out of her room. She didn't want to wake Ruby. The morning was still young, and the sun was only just beginning to paint the sky with soft hues of pink. Yet Emma knew full well that Thomas would already be awake – after all, he had to serve Mr Branson's breakfast.

As she stepped into the kitchen, she spotted Ivy, already hard at work preparing the meal. Beside her stood Thomas, patiently waiting to take the breakfast upstairs. His expression was focused, but not unkind – he always seemed that way.

"Up so early?" Thomas asked, surprised, when he noticed Emma.

Emma didn't respond immediately. She glanced briefly at Ivy, who nodded warmly before returning to her work. Then Emma turned her gaze back to Thomas. Without uttering a word, she slowly moved towards him. He noticed her approaching, and before he knew it, Emma wrapped her small arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. For a moment, Thomas was at a loss for words – he hadn't expected such an early, and wordless, embrace.

"Everything alright, little dwarf?" Thomas finally asked, visibly moved, as he gently rested a hand on her head. "Has something happened?"

Emma shook her head slightly but didn't let go. "Everything's fine," she whispered after a pause, pressing herself even closer to him. "I just felt like I needed to give you a hug."

Thomas blinked in surprise, but a warm smile crept onto his face. "You never need a reason to give someone a hug," he said softly, running his fingers gently through Emma's hair.

Thomas could sense that something was on Emma's mind, even though she didn't voice it. "You know I'm always here for you, don't you?" Thomas said suddenly, his voice gentle but firm. "No matter what."

"I know," Emma whispered, burying her face deeper into his chest.

Ivy, who had been silently observing the moment with a smile, finally chimed in, "Well, if that's not the sweetest thing this morning. But if you keep holding onto him, Mr Branson won't get his breakfast."

"That wouldn't be too bad," Thomas remarked with a chuckle, but Emma released him from the hug. She didn't want to upset Tom Branson, even though her dad probably wouldn't have minded.

Tom Branson laid down his cutlery. "You don't need to stay here," he said.

"I appreciate keeping an eye on things, sir. Just as Mr. Carson would," Thomas replied.

"So, about last night... I'm concerned you may have misunderstood," Tom began.

"Sir?"

"I had dinner with Miss Bunting in the village. She was curious and wanted to see the house," he explained, "Mr. Barrow."

"It might have been more appropriate for her to see it in daylight, sir."

"Yes. She'll likely come again... Anyway, that's how it was. We only went upstairs so she could admire the view of the hall. I want you to think nothing else of it."

"Whatever you command, I am, of course, your servant, Mr. Branson. But I didn't realise you could command me on what to think," Thomas said, his hand clenching into a fist unnoticed.