AN: Many thanks to all my loyal readers, as well as the new ones. Unfortunately, it took me longer than expected to upload this chapter. I had a persistent cold and just didn't feel well enough to write and upload the chapter. But now, I don't want to keep you waiting any longer. I hope you enjoy reading it. And regarding the question of why Tom Branson treats Emma as an upstairs child, I think it was revenge. After all, Thomas had previously caught him with Mrs. Bunting upstairs.

Emma looked around curiously at the servants' quarters of Grantham House. Compared to Downton Abbey, everything here seemed smaller, yet the rooms exuded a certain coziness. Just as she was taking in the new surroundings, Thomas abruptly pulled her out of her thoughts. "Emma," he said with a sharp undertone, "you're more than welcome to carry your own bag." He shot her a look that made it clear he wasn't in the mood to carry extra burdens—especially after already struggling with Tom Branson's luggage.

Emma let out a small sigh and reached for her travel bag, which Thomas had previously tossed at her feet. She knew it was best not to argue when her father was in this mood. She lifted the bag and followed him like a small shadow. Grantham House was still unfamiliar to her. The narrow corridors, the steep stairs—all of it felt like a labyrinth.

When they reached the attic, Emma could see the corridor split into two sections—one for the male and one for the female servants. However, Thomas ignored the female side and entered the male servants' quarters.

"Dad, where's my room?" Emma asked hesitantly.

Thomas stopped abruptly and turned to her, his brow furrowed. "Your room?" he repeated, emphasizing the first word as if he could hardly believe it. "You think you're getting your own room?"

Emma sensed the sharpness in his tone and bit her lip. "I… I thought…" she began softly, but before she could finish, Thomas interrupted her.

"That train ride with the higher-ups didn't do you any good," he said with a slight hint of sarcasm. "You ride with Tom Branson and the Dowager Countess, and suddenly you think you're entitled to the same comforts?"

Emma lowered her head. "I guess that's a no, then," she murmured, more to herself, though she knew her father would hear.

Thomas nodded, the tension in his movements apparent. "You're absolutely right." His voice was no longer as sharp as before, but the strain between them lingered.

Emma swallowed hard, nervously chewing on her lower lip. She didn't want a fight with her father. "You're upset because I travelled with them," she said cautiously.

Thomas looked at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, he said nothing, as though he were considering how best to express his feelings. Then, he let out a sigh. "No, it's just…" he began at last, shaking his head lightly and running a hand through his hair. He turned away from his daughter and stopped a short way down the hall in front of a door.

He opened it with a quiet creak. The room was plain, with two narrow beds, a small table, and a wardrobe barely big enough for two. It was nothing like what Emma was used to at Downton Abbey.

"So, this will be our room," she murmured, setting her bag down and glancing around.

Thomas watched her as she took in the small space, and a pang of guilt tugged at him for his harsh tone. "I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice gentler now.

Emma turned to him, her eyes large and understanding. "I know."

Mr. Carson entered the servants' hall. "I'm glad you're all here. I have an announcement to make. Her Ladyship would like to treat us to an outing while we're down south," he announced cheerfully. A surprised cheer went through the servants.

"I thought we could visit the Science Museum," the butler continued. The excitement immediately faded. Emma glanced over at Mr Molesley, noticing even he pursed his lips, despite his usual enthusiasm for museums and expanding his knowledge.

"Then there's also the Royal Institution or the Natural History Museum," Mr Carson suggested, apparently oblivious to the lack of interest among the staff in spending their day off at a museum.

Emma looked up at her dad, who was standing behind her chair. He didn't look particularly thrilled either, and she couldn't blame him. On a rare day off, most would rather have some fun.

"And of course, Westminster Abbey is a lovely place to visit," Mr Carson added, his gaze lingering on Emma. "Cultural education is especially important for Emma Grace."

"I think I could skip education just this once," Emma muttered under her breath.

"Well then, we'll find something else," huffed Carson, and he left the servants' hall as swiftly as he'd entered.

"What would you like to do?" Thomas asked curiously, taking the empty seat next to his daughter.

"The sea," said Emma, watching her dad's puzzled expression. "Dad – I'm eleven years old, and I've never seen the sea!"

"You heard Carson," Thomas said as he lit a cigarette, smirking. "Museum visits are essential for educational development at your age," he teased. "And I'd be a bad father not to agree, wouldn't I?" He took a long drag on his cigarette.

"You would never willingly agree with Carson!"

"True enough," he chuckled, exhaling the smoke. Then Thomas turned away from his daughter and, instead, fixed a stern look on Mrs Baxter, who was seated to his right.

"I hope Daisy passed on my message," Thomas murmured, keeping his voice low so as not to draw too much attention.

"She did, yes."

"And? What's going on? I know you—there's something you're not telling me," he pressed, his tone insistent. But before Mrs. Baxter could respond, Mr. Molesley appeared. "Do you have a moment, Mrs. Baxter? I have a book I'd like to show you," he asked, noticing the distress in her eyes.

"Thank you, Mr. Molesley," she replied with relief, standing up and following him out.

Thomas took a drag on his cigarette, his gaze drifting thoughtfully around the small servants' hall. Emma noticed how deep in thought he seemed, his expression dark and unreadable. She wanted to ask him why he had been so harsh with Mrs. Baxter, but she knew that doing so would only make him angry.

Instead, she stayed quiet, watching her father in silence. A part of her struggled with the conflict between her image of him as a loving, protective father and this side of him that seemed distant, even menacing.

Emma sighed inwardly, wishing she could understand him better, but unsure how to reach him when he seemed so closed off. The questions weighed on her heart, but she kept them to herself, not wanting to risk the warmth between them by confronting a side of her father she was only just beginning to see.

Later that evening, as Emma lay fast asleep, Thomas stood beside Mrs. Baxter, studying her with a scrutinising gaze before breaking the silence.

"You seem quite deep in thought, Mrs. Baxter," Thomas remarked in a tone that was almost casual but carried an underlying sharpness.

"Do I?" Her voice was uncertain, though she tried to remain composed, even as his presence visibly unsettled her.

"There's no point in aligning yourself with Mr. Molesley," Thomas continued, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on her. "He could never protect you the way I can. He doesn't know what I know. Am I right?" His voice dropped to a lower, more pressing tone, as if he were attempting to corner her.

Mrs. Baxter lifted her head and met his gaze, her expression a mixture of fear and determination. "He knows how to be kind to someone, Mr. Barrow," she retorted, a faint edge in her voice. "And that's something he has over you. Believe me."

Thomas merely grinned, apparently unfazed by her comment. For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes, a mixture of anger and satisfaction, as if he were savouring a sense of power over her. "Molesley? Ahead of me?" He gave a quiet, mocking laugh. "In what, exactly? Kindness may be a virtue to him, but it won't serve him when he faces the real world."

Mrs. Baxter turned away, as if she wished to end the conversation, but Thomas leaned in closer, his face now just inches from hers. "Don't forget, I know a great deal about you, Mrs. Baxter. Things others shouldn't find out." His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the menacing undertone was unmistakable.

"Why do you do this? Why can't you just be happy? Just think of your child."

Those words seemed to strike Thomas, though he masked his reaction. A heavy, uneasy silence settled over them, and for a moment, it seemed as though he wanted to respond—perhaps an explanation, a retort—but he said nothing.

Emma had only one thought in her head all day: the sea. Ever since she heard about the possibility of a day off, she'd been dreaming of finally seeing the ocean. So far, she'd only ever heard stories and read about it, and the thought of waves kissing the sand and seagulls calling out as they circled overhead made her feel thrilled.

After breakfast, Emma finally found a quiet moment with Mrs. Hughes. "Mrs. Hughes," she began hesitantly, "do you think we might go to the beach? I've never seen the sea."

Mrs. Hughes looked at her in surprise, then smiled warmly. "You know, Emma," she said, pulling an old postcard from her apron, "I had the very same idea." The card showed the sandy shore of Brighton. "Many years ago, we had a day by the sea. It was a day without worries, filled with laughter and freedom. Just the sort of day we all need from time to time." Emma gazed at the postcard, captivated.

With growing excitement, the two decided to visit Mr. Carson together and try to convince him of their idea. Clutching the postcard, they finally found him in his office. But no sooner had they entered than Mr. Carson began talking, all enthusiasm, about the cultural sights London had to offer.

"Ah, Mrs. Hughes! Emma Grace!" he greeted them with a pleased smile. "I've selected a few fascinating museums. Just imagine, Madame Tussauds! Wax figures of important historical figures—the chance to bring history to life for young Emma Grace."

Emma's eyes widened. The last thing she wanted was to see historical figures in life size. Mrs. Hughes waited patiently for a moment to bring up the beach, but Mr. Carson continued talking about the benefits of visiting a museum, the educational and cultural enrichment. Emma and Mrs. Hughes exchanged a slightly resigned look.

Emma bit her lip. "Erm, Mr. Carson," she began cautiously, "wouldn't it be nice if we went to the beach?"

Mr. Carson paused and raised his eyebrows at her. "The beach? Well, that's… a bit unconventional, isn't it?"

Mrs. Hughes gently put a hand on Emma's shoulder and looked intently at Mr. Carson. "Mr. Carson," she said quietly, "sometimes a day at the seaside is just what the soul needs. A little adventure for Emma, who's never seen the sea."

For a moment, Mr. Carson seemed to consider this, but then he shook his head. "Emma Grace has never seen the museums either. And at least those would give her a bit of an educational advantage," he grumbled before leaving the office.

Emma's shoulders drooped in disappointment, and she let out a sigh. "Why do grown-ups always think of education when it comes to fun?" she muttered quietly, though Mrs. Hughes overheard and chuckled.

"Don't worry, love," Mrs. Hughes said, wrapping a comforting arm around Emma's shoulders. "Mr. Carson can be a little stubborn, but I'm sure we'll find a way to convince him." She gave Emma a wink, filling her with hope.

Now Emma stood quietly near the kitchen door, listening in on the conversation between Mr. Molesley and Mrs. Baxter. Her curiosity was piqued, and she couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"I don't know what Mr. Barrow has over you, and I don't want to know, but he mustn't force you into anything wrong. And you mustn't let him pressure you," Mr. Molesley murmured earnestly.

"That's easy for you to say," Mrs. Baxter replied, her voice sounding frightened. Emma could almost feel the worried expression on her face.

"I know, but if he drags you into his plans, it won't make things any easier for you," Mr. Molesley continued, his tone filled with concern.

Emma felt her heart quicken. What could her father possibly have over Mrs. Baxter? It was a great mystery to her how the loving, caring man—her father—could have such a dark side. She couldn't imagine that the man who always told her bedtime stories could also be someone who pressured others or forced them into anything. Emma shook her head, as if trying to push the thoughts away. She couldn't understand how her father, who had always looked after her, could also be someone who frightened others.

She didn't want Mrs. Baxter to suffer. Emma liked her; she was kind and always had a listening ear for her. It wasn't fair that someone like her should be pressured by Thomas. Emma didn't want to judge her father, didn't want to see him as the person Mr. Molesley—or some of the other servants—described.

Emma shook her head once more before cheerfully skipping into the kitchen. "Phyllis!" she called with a smile, "Would you like to come explore London with me and Dad? Mr. Molesley, you're welcome to join too."

"I—I'm not sure," Mr. Molesley stammered, glancing at Mrs. Baxter. She, too, wasn't thrilled about the idea, but Emma couldn't be blamed for Thomas's behaviour, so she nodded slightly.

The sun shone brightly on that warm summer day in London as the four of them walked along the bustling streets. It was a special moment, for the servants had three hours off today before they had to return to their usual duties. Thomas was excited to show his daughter the city. London, with its history and magnificent buildings, was a place full of memories for him. He was eager to see how Emma would react to all the sights—the busy streets, the crowds of people, the grand squares, and the historical landmarks.

"Dad, is that the Big Ben?" Emma asked curiously, her wide eyes fixed on the iconic clock tower that majestically rose above the other buildings into the sky. The Big Ben had been a symbol of London for her, and now, standing so close to the famous landmark, she could hardly believe it.

"Yes, that's the Big Ben," Thomas answered proudly, gazing at the tower that now loomed before him. But Mister Molesley cleared his throat and added with a shy smile, "Actually, that's the tower where the bell is housed. The proper name is Elizabeth Tower, but most people just call it Big Ben."

Emma nodded in understanding and continued looking around. London was like a mystery to her, a dream she had only known through books and stories. The only time she had actually visited London was when she went to see her grandfather. But the central part of the city, with its imposing buildings, was still unfamiliar to her.

As they walked on, Thomas could see how she absorbed every little detail—the red double-decker buses, the telephone booths, and the constant clattering of carriages and cars on the cobblestones. Emma was like a sponge, soaking it all in. She kept stopping to look at something, and Thomas enjoyed watching her enthusiasm. Eventually, they reached the Houses of Parliament, and Emma stopped in awe as she gazed at the imposing building. Her eyes widened as she took in the magnificent architecture and the intricate details of the structure.

"Mister Molesley, what building is that?" she asked with keen interest. Thomas smiled at her question.

"That's the Parliament, and it's over 800 years old, at least the institution," Mister Molesley explained patiently. "The building here was rebuilt about 150 years ago. It's where the most important decisions are made that affect the entire country."

Emma nodded with bright eyes, processing the information she was receiving straight from the source. She was so different from Thomas at her age—curious, open, and full of questions. It was a trait that Thomas particularly admired, as he himself had often been hesitant to ask questions, afraid of being seen as uneducated or rude.

The group continued their walk, and after a while, they reached the Tower Bridge. The view of the Thames was simply breathtaking. The water glittered in the sunlight, and the calm waves seemed to radiate a sense of tranquillity, which contrasted with the bustling activity of the city. Emma leaned on the railing and stared in fascination at the water. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in the fresh air.

Thomas walked up to her and stood beside her at the railing. "My mother used to bring my sister and me here quite often," Thomas revealed. Emma looked up at him in surprise. After all, Thomas rarely spoke about his past.

"See that little park over there?" he said, pointing with an outstretched hand and finger at a small green area. "That's where we used to play, have picnics, and we'd get the best Fish and Chips from Smith's." He placed his arm around Emma and gently pulled her towards him. It was an instinctive moment where he felt the need to protect her and at the same time show how proud he was of her. Emma slipped into the embrace, her small hand grasping his as though seeking comfort, and leaned into him.

"Can we go there, Dad?" Emma asked hopefully.

Thomas looked at the small park he had pointed to in the distance, and a quiet smile appeared on his face. It was a memory long since forgotten, but now it stirred a surprising sense of nostalgia.

"Why not?" Thomas said after a moment, without hesitation.

Emma beamed. "I've never really tried Fish and Chips."

"Then it's about time," Thomas laughed, gently pulling her along as they began walking again. Mister Molesley and Mrs. Baxter followed them, Molesley occasionally sharing historical facts along the way.

When they finally reached the park, it felt like a small paradise amid the hustle and bustle of the city. It wasn't very large, but the trees provided refreshing shade, and the air smelled of fresh grass and flowers. A few pedestrians walked by, a few children played on the grass, and the atmosphere was calm and peaceful.

"We used to spend our Sundays here," Thomas said as they sat on a bench, gazing at the spot where, as a boy, he had often run around with his sister. "And that's the best restaurant," Thomas said, pointing to a small, charming restaurant located right at the edge of the park. A sign on the wall proudly displayed the name 'Smith's', and it looked exactly as he remembered it. "I'll treat you to the best Fish and Chips in town."

"I can't wait!" Emma exclaimed, rushing ahead with the childlike excitement that Thomas so cherished. Mister Molesley and Mrs. Baxter followed more leisurely.

Inside the small restaurant, it was cosy and inviting. The smell of freshly fried fish and crispy chips filled the air, and Thomas felt for a moment like a boy again, rediscovering a part of his childhood in this simple joy. They sat at a table by the window, from which they could see the park and the river.

AN: There was a time when Emma, as a young child, discovered that Thomas also had a "darker side". But now Emma is much older than she was back then and perceives it very differently. Do you think Emma will confront Thomas about why he's so mean to Mrs. Baxter?