AN: Here comes the next chapter, and hold on tight. It's going to be an emotional rollercoaster: a fire, a farewell, a reconciliation, and a renewed argument. In this chapter, with almost 4000 words, nothing is left out. I'd also like to issue a trigger warning for potential violence and insults. At this point, I want to thank all of my readers! Thank you for reading the story diligently and for commenting.

The Great Hall was bathed in dim light as he caught sight of Lady Grantham. "Your Ladyship," Thomas began, his voice steady. "Might I have a word with you?"

Lady Grantham paused, regarding him with a touch of surprise, mingled with mild impatience.

"I deeply regret having to say this, but I've come to know something for which I feel both responsible and guilty," he said.

Lady Grantham raised her eyebrows slightly. "Does this concern Miss Baxter?" she asked directly. "Because if it's about her criminal past, I am already fully aware of it."

Thomas's expression hardened. "Oh? Milady?" he asked, striving to keep his voice neutral.

Lady Grantham tilted her head slightly, her tone calm but firm. "What I fail to understand is why you brought a convicted criminal into my household, so close to my bedroom, knowing every detail of her past."

Thomas swallowed hard. Her words hit him harder than he had expected, yet he held her gaze. "I… wanted to give her another chance."

Lady Grantham regarded him silently for a moment before replying, "Don't you think that should have been my decision to make in my own home?"

He lowered his head slightly. "Yes, Milady, that's true."

She raised her hand as if to halt him, her words sharper than usual. "Why are you only telling me this now, Barrow? If you intend to use your knowledge of Mrs. Baxter to manipulate this household, I will have to seriously reconsider your future here. Whether you have a future at Downton at all."

Thomas stared at her, his posture stiff, though a flicker of panic glimmered in his eyes. "I just thought… I made a mistake, and you should know."

Lady Grantham studied him with the gaze of a woman who had managed countless intrigues and tensions in her home over the years. "I see," she said at last. "Well, now I do. Good night, Barrow." With that, she turned and left him standing there.

Her tone echoed in his ears. He knew the conversation had not gone as he had hoped. Instead, he had driven a wedge between himself and Lady Grantham, potentially jeopardising his position.

He clenched his fists, his eyes fixed on the floor. He felt cornered, angry at everyone and everything: at Mrs. Baxter for not keeping her end of the bargain, but most of all, at himself for ending up in this situation in the first place.

The grin of the twelve-year-old vanished instantly as her maths teacher appeared in the servants' hall. "What's wrong?" Albert asked quietly. Emma swallowed hard, unable to utter a single word.

"I just wanted to meet you all and put faces to the names I've heard," Miss Bunting said with a smile. "And of course, I'd like to thank you for your service this evening."

"That's simply our job," Carson grumbled. "Now, if you'll excuse us, it's time for supper."

"Yes, of course," she replied. Her gaze travelled around the table before landing on Emma. "Emma, what a surprise to see you here. I didn't know you had to work after school."

Even Thomas, who was standing patiently behind his chair waiting for everyone to sit, was momentarily struck speechless.

"Oh no, Emma doesn't work here," Tom Branson clarified. "She's the daughter of the under-butler, Mr Barrow."

"I see… well, it wouldn't hurt to look for a job anyway, would it? With your current abysmal performance in maths, you're unlikely to achieve any qualifications. Have a pleasant evening," she said, before taking her leave.

Emma, her mouth still half-open, struggled to process what had just happened. Her teacher had humiliated her in front of the entire household staff and questioned her academic abilities—all in public. She stormed out of the servants' hall without a word.

Thomas didn't bother to go after her. He had promised Jimmy to sneak him into Lady Anstruther's room and wouldn't have time for Emma until later. Perhaps it wasn't the worst thing, though—giving her time to calm down might lead her to reconsider her current silence toward him.

That evening, however, a fire disrupted the plans of many in the household. Emma, Peter, and Albert stood apart from the rest of the staff, each wrapped in their own blankets.

Albert studied Emma from the side before cautiously asking, "You're actually good at maths, aren't you? Or am I wrong?"

Emma gave a quiet snort and pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "I was good at maths," she murmured. "When Miss Jordan was teaching."

Peter, adjusting the blanket over his shoulders, looked up curiously. "What happened then?"

Emma shrugged, frustration clear on her face. "Mrs Bunting happened. I just don't like her. She treats me like I'm stupid, but she's the one who can't explain things properly."

Albert frowned. "Maybe you should talk to your dad about it."

Emma grimaced, her eyes drifting involuntarily to Thomas, who was standing at the far end of the driveway, deep in conversation with Lady Grantham.

"I'm not speaking to him right now," she said finally, her voice quiet but defiant.

Peter exchanged a quick glance with Albert before cautiously asking, "Why not?"

Emma pressed her lips together, thinking for a moment before sighing. "It's complicated. I asked him to stop doing something, but he won't listen to me."

Albert nodded slowly. "I get that. Some adults think they always know best."

Peter shrugged. "So the plan is to give Mr Barrow the silent treatment for the rest of his life?"

Emma said nothing, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the ground. Giving her father the cold shoulder forever would be difficult, but she'd do it if he didn't change his attitude toward Mrs Baxter.

Meanwhile, Thomas observed them discreetly from a distance. His conversation with Lady Grantham, who had expressed her gratitude for his role in saving Lady Edith, had concluded. His gaze kept drifting back to his daughter.

After a while, he began walking slowly toward the three. Emma only noticed him when he was standing right in front of them. She lifted her head and glared at him, her face set with defiance.

"Emma," he began cautiously, his voice unusually gentle. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Emma didn't respond. Albert and Peter exchanged nervous glances before Albert whispered, "Maybe we should go."

"No, stay," Emma said quickly, grabbing Albert's arm to keep him there.

Thomas let out a heavy sigh. "Emma, please. You can't just pretend I don't exist. Let's talk."

Emma folded her arms across her chest and stubbornly looked past Thomas, as if he weren't there at all.

Albert and Peter grew increasingly uncomfortable. Peter, who was usually quick with a cheeky remark, shifted uneasily, while Albert struggled to maintain a neutral expression.

"Emma," Thomas tried again, this time with a mix of firmness and desperation. "I understand that you're angry, but give me a chance to make it right."

Emma exhaled sharply, her gaze fixed resolutely on the ground.

"Please, little dwarf," Thomas said softly, the old nickname slipping out, "give me a second chance."

Emma bit her lip, and for a fleeting moment, Thomas thought she might say something. But then she turned away, tugging Peter by the sleeve to follow her.

"She needs time," Albert said quietly before following the other two.

The morning air was cool and crisp as Thomas heaved Jimmy's suitcase into the carriage with a quiet sigh. The weight of the luggage was nothing compared to the heaviness pressing on his heart. He patted the suitcase, as if to make the moment more tangible, then stepped back.

Jimmy stood beside him, hands in his pockets, looking unusually contemplative.

"Well, I suppose this is it," Thomas finally said, his voice low and sombre.

Jimmy shrugged slightly before meeting Thomas's gaze. "There's something I want to say," he began hesitantly, as though searching for the right words. "I'm sorry for the trouble I caused you."

Thomas looked at him in surprise, but his response came quickly, firm and resolute. "Forget it. It's in the past."

Jimmy shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You were a good friend to me, Thomas. If someone had told me I'd become friends with a man like you… I'd never have believed it."

Thomas swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat.

"But we were friends, weren't we?" Jimmy pressed, his eyes searching Thomas's face.

Thomas nodded slowly. "Yes," he replied softly.

Jimmy took a deep breath, his smile warming, tinged with bittersweet emotion. "I'm really sad we won't see each other again. Truly."

Thomas lifted his gaze, trying to shield himself behind his usual stoic expression. "You can write to me," he offered, though he knew how unlikely that was.

Jimmy chuckled quietly and shook his head. "Writing's not exactly my strong suit, but I'll give it a go," he promised. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "But if we don't meet again… I hope you find a bit of happiness. Really. You deserve it."

The words struck Thomas deeply, though he didn't let it show. Instead, he extended his hand. "Thank you," he murmured, and their hands met in a firm yet fleeting handshake.

Jimmy held the contact a moment longer before letting go. "I should go now."

Thomas nodded silently, unable to find his voice. He watched as Jimmy climbed into the carriage and the driver took up the reins.

As the carriage began to move, Thomas remained still, his hands buried in his pockets. He followed the carriage with his eyes until it became no more than a distant speck on the horizon.

His last friend at Downton had just left. He was entirely alone now.

Thomas stood there a moment longer, the cold seeping into his bones, though he felt nothing but a deep, aching emptiness.

"Didn't you enjoy listening to the King?" Anna asked, approaching Thomas by the fireplace in the servants' hall, where he was lighting a cigarette. They had just listened to the King's first broadcast on the radio. "I suppose it must be difficult for you, with Jimmy gone," she continued, "We all need a special friend sometimes."

"I was nothing special to him," Thomas said, the realization weighing heavy in his tone as he took a deep drag from his cigarette.

"I don't think that's true. I believe he liked you," Anna replied, her voice firm.

"Maybe he did," Thomas said with a faint, melancholic smile. "A little, perhaps. But I don't think people here find me very… loveable."

"Do you really want to be?"

"There are times," he admitted, his smile fading into sadness, "when I want to belong. Doesn't that sound absurd?"

"Not to me. Not at all," Anna said, inhaling deeply before continuing. "I don't know what happened, and it's none of my business, but Emma needs you, Thomas. This silence between you can't go on forever."

"I've tried to talk to her… Emma's the one who won't speak," he said, his voice tinged with frustration and hurt.

Anna sighed. "She isn't silent for no reason. And you're the reason for her silence, so stop wallowing in self-pity. Do something, Thomas!"

"She won't give me a second chance," he said, almost to himself.

"Because you already had your second chance, years ago!"

Thomas stared into the fire, the flames flickering in his eyes. Anna's words struck him with the force of truth, cutting deep and leaving no room for denial. He took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly, before turning to her. "What am I supposed to do?"

Anna studied him, her expression soft yet resolute. "Show Emma that you mean it, Thomas. Not with words, but with actions."

Emma stared at the red "D" in the corner of her test, frustration welling up inside her. She sat with Simon and Ruby on the old wooden bench in the village park.

"I just don't get it," she muttered, flipping through her test papers hastily. "I worked out the problems the same way I used to with Miss Jordan, but now they're wrong!"

Simon took the test from her hands and placed it next to his own, which he had also brought along. "Honestly…" he began, comparing the pages, "…I don't see the problem. You've got exactly the same answers as I do."

He turned his test around so Emma could see the bold red "C" marked at the top.

Emma groaned in frustration. "That's not fair! How can that be?"

Ruby, sitting next to them and doodling absentmindedly on her own test, looked up. "You're still using the old method Miss Jordan taught us," she pointed out matter-of-factly.

Emma stared at her in disbelief. "But the new method is completely confusing!" She clenched her fists around the edges of her test. "I just don't understand it. And what's so wrong with using the old method? The answers are still correct!"

Simon nodded firmly. "Nothing's wrong with it," he said decisively. "The answer is what matters. If it's right, who cares how you got there?"

"Apparently, Miss Bunting does," Ruby murmured, pointing to her own test, which also bore a C. "I used the old method on a few problems, and she marked them wrong, even though the answers were right. She just wants us to do it her way."

Emma slumped back against the bench with a heavy sigh, staring up at the sky. "It's so unfair. Miss Jordan always told me I was good at maths. Now I feel like I can't do anything right."

"Maybe you should ask Peter Drewe," Simon suggested. "He's the best in maths. I'm sure he could explain it to you."

Thomas leaned against the old stone wall of the back courtyard, a cigarette resting between his fingers. The smoke curled in the cool evening air, but his thoughts were far away. Every passing second felt like an eternity. He had decided to wait for Emma, even though he had no idea how she would react.

At last, he heard footsteps on the gravel path. Emma came into view, her schoolbag slung over one shoulder, her face closed off. She kept her head down, but when she saw her father, her pace slowed.

"Hey, my little dwarf," Thomas greeted her softly, a sad smile on his lips. He dropped the cigarette, crushed it underfoot, and took a cautious step toward her. "Give me a few minutes to talkt o you. Please."

Emma stopped, her eyes sparkling with defiance. "I'm not talking to you anymore," she snapped, her voice sharp. But as soon as the words left her mouth, she bit her lip, as if regretting her reaction.

Thomas didn't let it faze him. Instead, he chuckled gently. "Are you sure? Because I think you just did."

Emma huffed quietly and rolled her eyes, but Thomas noticed the hardness in her gaze begin to soften just a little.

"I know I messed up," he continued, his voice sincere. "But I'm trying to do better. I promise I won't bother Mrs. Baxter anymore, okay? You have my word—I'll stop bringing it up with her. I'll leave her alone."

Emma studied him carefully, her eyes searching for any hint that he might not mean it. All she found was honesty in his expression.

"Pinkie swear?" she asked cautiously, her voice testing him.

Thomas didn't hesitate. "Yes," he said simply, holding out his little finger to her.

Emma hesitated for a moment, then reached out and hooked her finger around his. The brief touch felt like a triumph to Thomas—a small but meaningful step toward reconciliation.

"Deal," Emma murmured softly, pulling her hand away.

Thomas couldn't hide his relieved smile. "Thank you, little dwarf."

Emma didn't respond, but she gave a slight nod before adjusting her schoolbag and walking past him into the house.

Thomas stayed where he was, watching her go, and felt a glimmer of hope stir in his chest. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Thomas sat alone in the servants' hall, taking a deep drag from his cigarette as he brooded. The maths test and the incident with Mrs. Bunting at dinner had been weighing on his mind. There had to be a way to help his little dwarf—if only he could figure out how.

"Do I need to worry about school?" he asked, exhaling a plume of smoke. "I thought everything was sorted." His gaze fixed intently on his daughter. Emma sat not far from him, a book in her hands.

"Katherine isn't the problem anymore, in case that's what you were about to ask."

"I had a look at your maths test," Thomas pressed on, ignoring her cheeky remark. "I can't help but wonder where your mind was during that exam. Certainly not on the questions," he added, taking another pull on his cigarette. After all, hardly a single answer had been marked as correct.

For the first time, he glanced over at Emma. The 11-year-old avoided his gaze, instead focusing on the book she was reading.

"Didn't you notice?" she asked, a hint of surprise in her voice. Her blue-grey eyes scrutinised his with an unusual air of disappointment.

"Don't you realise you need good marks?" Thomas countered with a question of his own, earning nothing but an irritated eye-roll in return. "School is important, Emma."

And with that, his daughter disappeared out of the door.

It took Thomas several more days to realise what was really going on. Once again, he examined her maths test. He found nothing unusual.

"She could have easily scored a 'B'," Daisy remarked as she peered over the dark-haired man's shoulder. "Why would she throw away marks like that? All she needed to do was show the proper working-out to explain how she got her answers."

But neither in her homework nor on her maths test had Emma written down the new methods. Although her answers were correct, they had still been marked wrong in red pen.

That evening, Emma was sitting in her father's room, both of them holding books in their hands. They were enjoying the quiet company of one another.

"You used the wrong method," Thomas began calmly, keeping his gaze fixed on her.

Emma closed her book with a snap and looked at him with an unreadable expression. "Congratulations," she muttered mockingly. "Took you long enough to notice."

Thomas clenched his jaw but forced himself to remain composed. "Watch your tone, you cheeky little dwarf," he warned, a low growl edging into his voice. Was this the so-called adolescence everyone warned about? Emma had developed a certain irritability in recent weeks, almost like a replay of her toddler tantrums.

"I'm not being cheeky!" Emma shot back, her gaze defiant and challenging. "But what do you expect? It's not your fault. There must be a reason you dropped out of school so early and became a servant."

Her words hit like a dagger, and for a moment, Thomas could only sit in silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and quiet. "The real reason I left school was because I was kicked out of my home."

Emma, who had been about to respond, froze and blinked. A slight frown appeared on her face as she began to grasp the weight of his words. "No surprise," she said, her tone suddenly bitter and cold. "Considering what you are."

Thomas felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. He took a deep breath, but her words had struck deeper than he could ever admit. "And what exactly am I?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Emma avoided his gaze but remained stubborn. She recalled the words Jimmy and Alfred had used in anger toward her father and repeated them without fully thinking. "You know what I mean. You're a lavender—a vile man with a lost, rottened soul," she spat, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them.

Thomas thought he must have misheard her, but his child's words were unmistakable. She disrespected him just like everyone else, purely because he was different. It was as though a fuse had blown in his mind as he leapt from his chair.

With quick movements, he grabbed Emma and placed her face-down across his lap. He had never intentionally resorted to physical punishment before, but this time, he couldn't hold back. Such disrespectful words had never left her lips before. She didn't accept him anymore—not as a man, not as her father, but as some loathsome "lavender."

They had always been a team, father and daughter, standing by each other no matter what. But society had gotten its grip on her, and Emma was beginning to believe what people said about men like him.

Emma struggled against his hold, trying to free herself, but when she realised she couldn't, she braced herself fearfully for the punishment to come.

AN: Do you think Thomas will hurt his daughter? I suppose we'll find out in the next chapter.