AN: I'm back. Sorry it took so long. The cold hadn't completely gone away and came back, knocking me out for a full two weeks. It seems like colds are especially fond of me this winter. Anyway, I've now found the time to continue writing. We're now in season five. And we're kicking off with a bit of drama.
"I wish you'd finally tell me what you know about those two," he whispered, casually positioning himself beside Mrs. Baxter. His gaze wandered discreetly, yet purposefully, to Mr. and Mrs. Bates, who were speaking to each other on the far side of the room. What Thomas completely overlooked, however, was Emma. At eleven years old, she sat directly in front of her father on a chair, pretending to be engrossed in a book. In truth, she had caught every word.
"I know nothing about them," Mrs. Baxter replied, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Well, then tell me what you suspect," Thomas said quietly, his tone insistent. "And don't bother denying it. I've been watching you. You can barely take your eyes off them."
Mrs. Baxter opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say a word, Mr. Molesley suddenly appeared beside Thomas. "May I join in?" he asked, a mix of curiosity and unease in his tone.
Thomas turned to him slowly, his eyes flashing briefly with irritation. "Is that really necessary?" he asked, his voice almost condescending.
Emma lifted her head and pretended to look at them curiously, but her father noticed.
"Have you finished your homework?" Thomas asked, now focusing on her.
"Yes," she replied curtly, biting her lip. In front of her lay her most recent maths test, still needing his signature. She had hoped to catch him in a better mood, as the test result was unlikely to brighten his moods. Emma wasn't a top student but consistently performed well, usually achieving solid marks. She had never scored lower than a C. But there it was: a failing grade. And it wasn't the first time.
Thomas scrutinised his daughter for a moment, as if trying to read her thoughts. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the paper partially tucked under her book.
Emma felt her stomach knot. She had hoped to bring it up later, perhaps when things felt a bit less tense. Her fingers tightened around the sheet. "It's… nothing important," she said, though her voice betrayed her.
"Emma," Thomas said, narrowing his eyes. "Show me."
Emma sighed heavily. "Please don't be angry," she murmured. "It's… my maths test," and reluctantly slid it towards him.
Thomas took the paper, his gaze scanning the page. It took only a moment for him to spot the red "E" in the top corner. His brows knitted together as he looked at Emma, his expression unreadable.
"An E?" he asked, his voice calm but with a sharp undertone.
Emma nodded, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her dress. "It was really hard, Dad. Everyone in my class did worse than usual…"
"Emma," he interrupted, his voice now firmer. "You're a smart girl, so tell me—what happened?"
"I… I don't know," she stammered, feeling her throat tighten.
Thomas was about to press her further, insisting she must know what went wrong, but at that moment, Mr. Carson entered the servants' hall.
Before long, everyone gathered around the table, waiting for Mr. Carson to take his seat and formally begin the evening meal.
"I think it's fantastic. When was the last time we had a Prime Minister who understood the working class? Never. That's why," Jimmy declared with a confident nod, referring to Britain's new political direction.
"That's a qualification that is irrelevant to the matter of governing," Mr. Carson interjected, clearing his throat and casting a stern look around the room.
"I'm not sure I can agree with you on that point. I think it's very important," Mrs. Hughes countered with calm determination.
"I do too," Anna added. "Mr. McDonald likely knows what it's like to face hardship. He understands what most people go through."
"Forward, workers," Jimmy quipped with a mischievous grin, his tone laced with a hint of provocation.
"So, James is now a revolutionary," Mrs. Patmore concluded with an amused smile.
"He's not a revolutionary," Thomas quickly defended. "He believes in justice for the majority. What's so wrong with that?"
"Nothing," Mrs. Patmore replied with a shrug, "but I think he can fight his own battles."
Thomas turned his gaze toward Mrs. Patmore, opening his mouth to respond. But before he could, Mr. Carson spoke with firm resolve.
"We will not be fighting any battles," he declared in his typical, unyielding manner, his tone leaving no room for further debate.
A moment of silence followed before Mr. Carson finally took his seat, signaling the start of the meal.
As dinner in the servants' hall progressed, the atmosphere was more subdued than usual. Emma sat in her place, absentmindedly pushing her food around on her plate, her eyes frequently drifting toward her father. Thomas, however, was engrossed in a conversation with Mrs. Hughes, seemingly making an effort not to draw attention to his daughter. But Emma knew the weight of the failing mark on her maths test and the unspoken tension between them lingered heavily in the room.
After dinner, as the servants slowly dispersed to tend to their evening tasks, Thomas turned his attention back to Emma. He leaned slightly toward her and spoke in a low voice, "We're not done with our conversation, Emma."
She lifted her head, her expression unreadable. "What more do you want to hear? I don't know why the maths test went so badly. I prepared, but…" She trailed off with a shrug. "I don't know what happened."
Thomas nodded thoughtfully. "Although, now that I think about it… don't you usually have two maths tests per term? I haven't seen the first one."
"Well, yes," Emma hesitated briefly, "but we didn't manage to do two this time."
Thomas pursed his lips, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "Didn't manage to do two tests?" he repeated skeptically. "That doesn't sound like a convincing explanation. Emma, tell me the truth."
Emma looked away nervously, her fingers fidgeting with the folds of her dress. She knew her father's persistence in such moments, and that lying would only make him angrier. Still, she had hoped to avoid this topic altogether.
"It's the truth," she insisted, though her voice wavered slightly. What she couldn't bring herself to say was that there had indeed been two tests—and that the first had gone just as poorly. She had dared to forge his signature on the first one, but her teacher had grown suspicious, making it impossible to repeat the act with the second.
Thomas sighed, leaning back and crossing his arms. "You know, Emma, I can deal with a lot of things. But I can't stand being lied to. So, if there really was only one test, fine. But if I find out you're hiding something, we'll be having a very serious conversation."
Emma felt her throat tighten. She nodded silently, unable to meet his eyes.
Thomas studied her for another moment before standing up. "Perhaps you should ask your teacher for help with maths tomorrow."
"Yes, Dad," Emma mumbled, though she knew she would never willingly ask Miss Bunting for assistance.
"Go to bed," Thomas said finally, his tone softening slightly. Emma rose slowly, murmured a quiet goodnight, and retreated to her room.
On her way to her room, Emma suddenly stopped when she heard voices in the stairwell. Curious, she peeked around the corner and spotted Mr. Molesley and Mrs. Baxter engaged in an intense conversation. Their words were hushed, but in the quiet hallway, they echoed clearly enough for Emma to overhear.
"But what did he want from you?" Mr. Molesley asked, his brow furrowed.
"He suspects I know something about Mr. Bates," Mrs. Baxter replied, her voice tense.
"And do you?"
Mrs. Baxter hesitated before letting out a soft sigh. "Yes. Mr. Bates has done something he'd rather keep hidden."
"Something?" Mr. Molesley leaned in slightly, his curiosity evident. "What do you mean? A crime, perhaps?"
Mrs. Baxter shook her head slowly, as if trying to organize her thoughts. "I'm not sure. But he's taken a trip he absolutely doesn't want anyone to know about."
"Listen, I don't want to know any more than that," Mr. Molesley said, lowering his voice further. "But I'd wager anything that Mr. Barrow thinks he can use it against Mr. Bates. You should tell Her Ladyship. She'd put an end to this quickly."
Mrs. Baxter lowered her gaze and shook her head again. "No, I can't. It's too complicated. I just can't."
Emma held her breath as she listened. She didn't understand everything, but hearing the names "Mr. Bates" and "Mr. Barrow" was enough to catch her attention. What was her father up to? Why was he trying to gain leverage over Mr. Bates?
With quiet steps, she retreated, unsure what to do with what she'd overheard. She loved her father, but she also knew he was sometimes capable of things she couldn't quite comprehend. Why couldn't he leave Mrs. Baxter alone? Should she confront him about it?
But then, she reminded herself, he wasn't exactly in the best mood with her at the moment. The lie about her maths test and the unspoken tension between them still lingered heavily in the air.
A few days later, Emma sat on a straw bale in the barn at the Harris Farm. Ruby was sitting beside her.
"I just don't know, Ruby," Emma began, rubbing her hands nervously together. "I love my dad, but… I don't think what he's doing is right. He's putting pressure on Mrs. Baxter just to find out what she knows about Mr. Bates. It feels wrong just to stand by and watch."
Ruby, twirling a straw between her fingers, looked at Emma with wide, serious eyes. "Why is he even doing this?"
"I'm not exactly sure," Emma replied, letting her gaze fall to her feet. "But I think he hopes he'll find something to use against Mr. Bates. Maybe he thinks it will benefit him somehow. Mrs. Baxter is so kind, it's just not fair that she's being treated this way."
Ruby thought for a moment before asking, "Have you talked to your dad about it?"
Emma shook her head. "No. I don't know how to bring it up. What if he gets angry?"
Ruby leaned a little closer to her friend. "Emma, I think your dad loves you more than anything in the world. If you talk to him, he'll listen—and maybe he'll stop pressuring Mrs. Baxter."
Emma bit her lip. "But how? Should I just go up to him and say, 'Dad, stop treating Mrs. Baxter like that'? That sounds so… confrontational."
Ruby shook her head. "No, I wouldn't say it like that. Maybe you could just ask him why he's doing it. Try something like, 'Dad, I overheard you talking to Mrs. Baxter. Why is it so important for you to find out what's going on with Mr. Bates?' Maybe your dad won't get so angry."
Emma pulled her knees up to her chest, thinking about it. "That sounds reasonable. But what if he tries to brush it off? Or if he thinks I'm sticking my nose into things that aren't my business?"
Ruby shrugged. "Then you tell him how you feel. That you think it's unfair to treat Mrs. Baxter like that. We might be eleven, but we're not stupid."
The barn was quiet, except for the occasional rustling of the straw beneath them and the distant whinny of a horse.
"I don't think it's wise to get involved. Dad's not exactly in a good mood with me right now because of the maths test," Emma admitted.
"No one's perfect," Ruby shrugged. "You're allowed to have a bad grade now and then," she said, standing up and brushing straw off her skirt as she held out her hand to Emma. "Come on, let's go back. We'll freeze if we sit out here any longer."
Emma took Ruby's hand and let her pull her up.
Meanwhile, Thomas placed Her Ladyship's boots on the table, which he had earlier taken from Mrs. Baxter. "So, why did you speak about Mr. Bates and Lord Gillingham's valet? Where's the connection? Tell me."
Mrs. Baxter stared at him in shock, and as she tried to move towards the door, Thomas hurried ahead and closed it. "Don't even think about hoping for Mr. Molesley's help. He can't assist you now." Still, Mrs. Baxter remained silent.
"If you want it that way, I'll give you time until dinner upstairs is finished, after which I will ask to speak with Her Ladyship and I'll tell her your story," Thomas threatened, his tone firm. "Do you hear what I'm saying?"
"I can't tell you anything I don't know," Mrs. Baxter asserted, her voice trembling slightly.
"But I'm sure you know something! And I think it ties Mr. Bates to the dead valet," Thomas speculated.
Later that evening, Emma stood in front of her father's door, feeling her heart race. She had planned to speak with him, but now that she was here, her plan suddenly seemed much harder. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked on the door.
"Come in," Thomas' voice called, calm but with the slightly weary tone he often had at the end of a long day.
Slowly, Emma opened the door and stepped inside. Her father was sitting in his chair by the window, a book in his hand, which he now put aside. When he saw her, a smile flickered across his face.
"Missing me?" he asked jokingly, eyeing her more closely.
Emma shook her head and closed the door behind her. "No, I… I wanted to talk to you."
The smile faded from Thomas' face, and he sat up straighter. His expression grew serious, almost concerned. "What's wrong, little dwarf? You sound like something's troubling you. Is it about the maths test?"
Emma gathered all her courage, walked closer, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her hands folded nervously in her lap, but her voice remained steady. "No, it's not about school. It's about Mrs. Baxter. Why are you treating her like this?"
Thomas raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Pardon?"
"I mean... I overheard you asking her what she knows about Mr. Bates," Emma explained, not breaking eye contact. "And it sounded like you were pressuring her. Why are you doing this, Dad? Why do you always try to find out things about other people? And…" She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "...why don't you like Mr. Bates?"
Thomas leaned back in his chair, his expression tense. "Emma, these aren't things you need to concern yourself with."
"But they do concern me! Mrs. Baxter is kind to me. She's kind to everyone! And you're being cruel to her just because you want to have something against Mr. Bates. That's not fair! You're scaring her! You're pressuring her!"
Thomas' eyes narrowed, and his tone became colder. "You're just a child. You don't understand how complicated the adult world can be. There are things that need to be done, even if they're unpleasant."
Emma crossed her arms over her chest. "That's no excuse, Dad. You're not a bad person, but sometimes you act like one. That's why everyone thinks you're sneaky, slimy, arrogant, and mean! Why can't you just stop treating people like that?"
Thomas snorted, his patience beginning to wear thin. "Emma, you have no idea what you're talking about. I've had to fight for everything I've got in life. I can't afford to be nice to everyone."
"But that's wrong!" Emma shouted, her voice rising. "You're using people, Dad! You're using Mrs. Baxter to hurt Mr. Bates. That's not right, no matter how you look at it!"
Thomas jumped out of his chair and glared at her with a hard look. "I'm your father, Emma, I expect respect from you! You don't understand the world we live in! I do what I must to protect us both!"
Emma jumped to her feet as well, tears sparkling in her eyes, but her voice quivered with anger. "No, you're doing this because you think you have to control everything! I hate you for treating Mrs. Baxter so cruelly!"
Thomas stared at her as if she had struck him. For a moment, the room was silent, only the sound of the wind against the window could be heard.
"What are you going to do now?" Thomas asked, trying to remain calm, "Run to Mr. Carson, tattletale, and make sure we both end up on the street?"
"I…" Emma paused. She knew she couldn't go to anyone. "I'll never speak to you again!" she blurted out.
"Never again?" Thomas doubted her statement, "You won't be able to stick to that."
Without saying another word, she turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Thomas stood alone, staring at the closed door, feeling a mix of anger, guilt, and something he couldn't name.
The servants' hall was quiet the next morning as Emma sat down at the table. Thomas was already there, his gaze fixed on his mug. He looked up as she entered, but she completely ignored him and sat silently with the hallboys, Albert and Peter.
"Good morning, Emma," he said, but Emma didn't respond.
"Emma?" he asked insistently, but she kept her gaze stubbornly on her plate as she broke a piece of toast.
Mrs. Hughes, sitting next to Thomas, noticed the tense atmosphere and exchanged a concerned glance with Mr. Carson.
"Emma, I'm talking to you," Thomas said, this time with a trace of impatience.
But Emma remained silent, taking a bite of her toast and pretending he wasn't there.
Thomas took a deep breath and let his hands fall onto the table. "Fine, if that's how you want it."
Emma felt her heart race, but she showed no sign of it. Inside, she felt torn, but she knew she had to show him how serious she was.
AN: What do you think—how long will Emma manage to ignore her father? Will Thomas reconsider his behaviour for his daughter's sake?