The homely scent of beef stew lingered in the air as Chris, David and Matthew sat in the farm house's small living room, enjoying a late evening cup of tea by the glowing fire. Hector sat at Chris's feet, snoring peacefully enough, though twitching and murmuring in his sleep. Chris smiled, looking down at the dog dreaming. How his life had changed. It was easy to sum it up: kicked out at sixteen, alone for years drifting between one night flings with various men both good and bad, war, made a few friends, met Thomas, fell for Thomas, prison, alone again, Downton, longing for Thomas, then David. Chris put his empty cup down on the small table beside his chair and looked to his side where David sat, unaware he was being watched, admired and praised silently as though he was some heavenly angel sent to save him. He and Matthew were in deep conversation. Chris had been listening but had found his thoughts wandering away from topics regarding farming he knew little about. He didn't mind though; he was happy enough being in surroundings in which he wasn't treated like some sort of freak, or where he didn't have to hide. Chris smiled to himself again whilst he watched David, not bothering to even hide the fact that he was captivated by the man.
"Chris?" David turned to him. "Sorry we're ignoring you aren't we?"
"You are but I don't mind. What were we talking about again? I drifted away I fear."
"Sheep and sleeping arrangements," Matthew answered.
Chris smirked through an eye roll. "Of course, the never ending topic of sheep," he joked sarcastically, causing the three of them to laugh. "I don't think you talk about much else." His brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean by sleeping arrangements?"
"Sorry that was poorly worded." Matthew stretched his legs out in front of him, like a cat in the sun. "I meant David and I were discussing how to organise the night shifts as such when the lambs are due to be born."
"We decided to take turns each night. I do the first half of the night, Matthew the second. The next day we swap around," David explained to Chris.
"Sounds exhausting."
"Don't worry we won't rope you into it," David jested.
"Then there's the possibility of a few of the little ones who need a little extra help, or who are rejected," Matthew added. "If a ewe has three lambs, she can only care for two. It's possible to trick another ewe who's only had the one for instance to take the other on but not always. Some are also born too early or too weak. I bring those inside and hand rear them. That means feeding during the night and day."
"And it's worth the trouble? I mean, they aren't pets."
"We need as many to survive as possible, we make more money that way, but personally I think seeing a lamb grow strong after my help, who would otherwise most likely have died, is reward enough for the effort. All god's creatures deserve a chance, and none deserve to be abandoned."
Chris looked down at his lap, Matthew's words resonating with him. His family abandoned him, left a boy to grow up far quicker than he should have done. He'd been alone and any chance he had, he made his own way. "Sorry if my words sounded heartless."
"It's a fair question," Matthew said, his tone matter-of-fact. Chris felt David watching him with some concern, but refused to meet his eye.
"How long are your daughter and grandson coming to stay for then?" David asked, changing the subject. Chris assumed he had decided not to push his concern any further for now.
"Oh, I don't know. It's not set in stone. A week or two, maybe more. When they've come over before we've always kept it flexible. The last time was the Christmas just gone, they were here for a week then, Emily's husband Terry as well, which was nice. He's not a country man, prefers the city; they live in York but Terry travels down south for work regularly. When he's away for a longer spell, Emily and Alfie come here."
"You said earlier Alfie likes it here?" Chris prompted.
"Ah yes he does," Matthew said with a hearty grin. "Can be a right mischief sometimes but it's always good to have them around. Alfie you see, he's so much like his late uncle when he was a boy." Matthew turned to look into the fireplace, his eyes revealing a bittersweet emotion.
"And Emily? What's she like?" David asked.
"Spirited: kept her mother and I on our toes when she was growing up, especially when she was a teenager. Full of opinions, full of desire to experience the world outside Downton. She married later than most women do; she's thirty five now, married when she was thirty, but she wanted independence for a while. She got a job in York, moved away, worked in an office which is where she met Terry. She left her job after marrying, though that was her choice. Terry is a good man, he's a more liberally minded sort." Matthew shook his head and chuckled. "He had to be, she wouldn't have liked him otherwise. You two needn't worry about her being around though. She won't be a problem. I raised both her and her brother to respect everyone for who they are."
"It will be great to meet her," David said, echoing Chris's thoughts. "Little Alfie should turn out well, with her and you to guide him."
"That is my hope, yes," Matthew agreed.
Chris nodded his agreement too, but once more found his mind drifting to thoughts he'd prefer to keep buried deep. He'd thought about it many times before: was he an uncle? How many nieces and nephews did he have? Did they know he existed, even if only by a name? He'd been tempted to find out in his weaker moments. He could look up birth records somehow, or even go back home. But he'd never made the move since he didn't know if anyone still lived there or if his parents were even still alive. They'd never bothered with him so why should he bother with them? Yet, he wanted to bother. Even if it was just to put his mind at rest. He knew though that if he found he had family he never knew existed that he'd never be able to let his mind rest again.
...
Thomas stepped forward, bending down slowly into a squatting position, approaching their friend on the damp paving stones. Neither Richard or Stephen had moved since Richard had spoken Larry's name. Stephen, not fully understanding who Larry was to them, hung back behind Richard who's gaze was fixed on his old friend. Thomas didn't need to move much closer to catch the stale odour of alcohol wafting from Larry. Nose wrinkling at the smell, Thomas leaned forward intent on seeing whether Larry was breathing or conscious. He'd done this before, several times, in the war but it was usually clear from the terrible injuries on the men under his care that they were dead. Checking for signs of life had been a mere formality most of the time. Thomas moved closer to Larry's face, his head drooped over his chest as though he was asleep. A groan and then a mumble of some incoherent words made Thomas jump. "Larry?"
"What is it Thomas?" Richard asked, voice full of worry.
"Shall I call for Dr Clarkson, Mr Barrow?" Stephen suggested.
"No. No need for that Stephen." Thomas turned to face them. "He's not hurt I don't think, and he's conscious. He's drunk, extremely so, but he doesn't need a doctor."
"Drunk? Larry?" Richard queried, sounding genuinely perplexed.
Thomas privately shared Richard's disbelief. Larry, who was usually the picture of sophistication, looked nothing like the wealthy businessman they knew. He had more in common with a drunken fool lying in some back street. "You've known him longer than me Richard, does he ever drink like this?"
Richard shook his head. "Not that I know of. He likes a drink like most do, and might get a little tipsy but not like this." Richard knelt down and joined Thomas by Larry's side who still didn't seem to register that they were with him. "Did he say something just now?"
Thomas shrugged. "Not sure, he said something, but I don't know what. It was more of a mumble."
Richard shone the torch directly into Larry's face. "Larry, can you hear me? It's Richard."
Larry lifted his head and blinked in a sluggish movement as he groaned again. "Bloody hell. Wh-what am I...Where am..." Larry lifted his hand to his face, squinting in the torch light. He then looked down to his left side, and appeared to be searching for something.
"You finished it Larry," Thomas said bluntly, holding up a large empty bottle of strong alcohol. "How you got here after drinking that I have no idea."
"I'm a...a...um..." Larry's brief blink of concentration drifted away as soon as it came. He smirked at them stupidly. "I'm a gen-genius. I am."
Thomas rolled his eyes. "Course you are."
"No. No, no that's not right. Larry you say it wrong all," Larry mumbled, seemingly to himself. "Larry is a fool. Messed up."
"What happened Larry?" Richard asked, touching Larry's neck, which seemed to get him to focus again.
"Messed up."
"How Larry?" Richard persisted.
"He hates me. No going back now. I messed up big time." Larry's drunken playfulness fell and was replaced by a look of sheer despair. He let out a pitiful laugh. "Seb left me. He hates me."
Thomas and Richard exchanged a look. Thomas glanced back at Stephen, out of habit more than anything. He pushed his concerns about the footman's presence aside. Yes it would take some explaining as to how they know him on this level, but Stephen was the last person to be a danger. "You sure? We all argue, he can't hate you."
"Thomas, you're here too?"
"Apparently."
"Oh." A blank expression fell on Larry's face, matching the void look in his eyes. "Nice to know," he said in a monotone voice.
"We've seen you both, he can't hate you," Thomas repeated.
"You didn't see his face when he saw me." Larry shivered, and coughed as he spoke.
"We need to get him inside," Thomas said to Richard.
"I'm fine here."
"You'll get too cold then hypothermic in these wet clothes Larry." Thomas turned to his side. "Richard, we need to find him something dry to wear. Are you and him the same size?"
"I'm bigger," Larry interrupted, smirking up at them with a suggestive grin. Richard cleared his throat.
"Good to know the real Larry is still in there somewhere," Thomas remarked dryly, ignoring the remark as best he could. "Richard?"
"Doesn't look as though we need to worry." Richard reached behind Larry where he pulled out a sizable suitcase. "He packed. This was no lover's tiff Thomas. We need to get him inside, then we can try and get to the bottom of this."
Thomas stood and stretched his legs. "We do but we can't just stash him in my office or leave him in the servants hall."
"You mean it would be best if no one else knew he was here?" Richard asked.
"He's rich isn't he?" Stephen guessed. "He looks familiar too, has he been here before?"
"Yes, a couple of times. Mr Talbot knows him due to his motoring connections," Thomas said, not having the time to think of a good enough lie.
"Should we put him in a guest room, and inform Lady Mary in the morning?" Stephen suggested.
"We can't, at least I don't think we should. This is a sensitive situation Stephen, it is best as few people know he is here as possible," Thomas said carefully. "I hope you understand?"
Stephen nodded. "I think so, but we can't exactly put him in the attics, not with him being a lord– I remember now, he's Lord Ferroland right?"
"He is, but he's a friend of ours. He'll be here for us, not them," Richard said. Thomas was glad that they were now all on the same page– it made things easier.
"You know I am here," Larry announced dryly from below them. "I can hear think I you," he slurred.
"Right, enough chat, we'll put him up in my old room. No one uses it, the linen is only changed to keep the room fresh. There should be no reason why anyone will discover him if he's there for a few days." Thomas took a look back down at Larry. "One night won't be enough I don't think." Thomas tried to take Larry by the elbow, as a way of getting him to stand but Larry shook him off.
"I'm fine here." Larry prodded the stone paving with an overly dramatic fashion.
"I'm sure you didn't come all this way to sit outside, come on we can get inside and warm, then we can see what we can do to help," Richard encouraged, trying the gentler approach.
"I'm tired." Larry yawned and flopped backwards against the wall, eyes closing again.
Thomas groaned into his hands. "We don't have time for this." With that he returned to Larry's level and slapped him quick across the face.
"Thomas!" Richard gasped in shock. "What on earth?"
"Ahh." Larry, now more alert, frowned in dazed bewilderment. "Oww."
"Sorry, but we need to get inside. Someone could come at any moment. You take one arm Richard, I'll take the other. We'll walk you up Larry, no way am I carrying you up several flights of stairs. Stephen, go ahead of us, open doors and check if the coast is clear okay?"
"Yes Mr Barrow."
"Oh and fetch his case, and that bottle. Best get rid of the evidence," Thomas instructed further.
"Couldn't you have been a little more gentle?" Richard asked, looking at him over Larry's head. "He's clearly upset already."
"I would have but it was the best I could think of at the time." Judging how long it took them to make it to the back door, Thomas knew they needed all the time they could get. "I'm sure he'll forgive me, right Larry?"
Larry smiled at him with exaggerated vigour, something Thomas was well used to from a man who loved to put on a show with everything he did. Normally though his eyes shone. Not tonight. Tonight the light that was always there, had been extinguished.
...
The climb to the top of the house up through several flights of narrow back stairs had left Richard exhausted by the time he, Larry and Thomas had reached the men's corridor. Every time the floor creaked or a step squeaked too loudly, he and Thomas had winced. Not many servants still lodged in the servants quarters now but even just one would be too much if they were discovered. Richard had tried to think of what they would say to explain why they were half carrying, half escorting an exceptionally drunk and well dressed man up to the attics late at night. No answer came to him, so he'd resigned to focusing on getting Larry into the relative safety of Thomas's old room as soon as humanly possible.
Stephen opened the door and felt for the light switch, as the three men all tried to get through the narrow doorway at once. Although the room had been kept serviceable in case of visiting servants from other households, the musty scent of a room in good need of a decent airing, hit them. The low yellow light barely lit the room: shadows in the corners and around the far side of the bed dominated. Richard considered for a moment, switching another light on, but left it so they didn't draw more attention than necessary. He also reckoned Larry wouldn't appreciate the brightness.
Larry blinked and rubbed his eyes, standing on his own, but swaying ever so slightly. In the light the state of his appearance became clearer. His coat, something normally clean, soft and a perfect shade of black, was mottled with mud splatters and in places, what Richard thought to be oil stains. The lining of the coat, an extravagant purple, had fared no better. As Richard removed the coat from Larry's back, with a grace he had well practised from his valeting days, the stench of sweat and alcohol hit him once more.
Without a word Thomas, who had mellowed from his earlier annoyance at Larry's uncooperative attitude, sat Larry down on the side of the bed. "He'll need a towel for his hair. The hair dryer for the ladies upstairs would come in handy but we can't go trying to find that now. It would be too loud anyway. His clothes need changing too Richard. I'm not sure he'd do that himself and we shouldn't wait until morning..." Thomas trailed off, fiddling with the glove on his scarred hand.
"Where am I?" Larry asked, looking up at them both with a dazed expression.
"Servants quarters upstairs," Thomas said, not messing around.
"Upstairs?"
"Downton Abbey Larry, remember?" Richard reminded him, once again feeling a pain within him at seeing his old friend, usually so confident reduced to this state.
"You're in my old room Larry," Thomas added.
Larry looked around, peering up, down and around like a fascinated child. His mood had grown sullen earlier, but a glimmer in his eyes told Richard that had just changed yet again. Whether the sudden playfulness was merely an act or not, Richard couldn't tell. "So I'm on your bed Mr Barrow?" Larry asked, looking up at Thomas with shining dilated eyes. He leaned back on his hands, and for a moment he was his usual self. "In your room. Well in that case I am entirely at your mercy."
"Oh god," Thomas murmured to himself with an exaggerated eye roll. "You're even worse than usual. Richard, could you... help him dress? I know it's awkward but I don't think I can."
"No worries Thomas," Richard said. He half expected Larry's fondness of Thomas to come out at some point. "How about you and Stephen go and fetch some towels and maybe a glass of water? Tea might help but he needs to sleep so the extra caffeine won't be a good idea."
Thomas gave him a grateful smile. "Yes. Good idea. Come on Stephen."
When the butler and footman had left, Richard set about getting Larry into a change of dry clothes. He decided it would be easiest if he treated him as he would any other upper class man, keeping to the familiar routine of a valet. He'd undressed Larry before, but since that had preceded falling into bed with him, keeping professional was best for both of them.
Richard knelt to untie his shoes. Larry lifted his foot obediently each time. "This is new."
"You don't have a valet at home?" Richard asked. He knew Larry did not, but he hoped normal conversation might help him.
"Modern man." Larry pointed to himself. "Besides, Seb is always..."
"Not too late to sort that out Larry. We've all had our difficulties, even Thomas and I." Richard put the shoes aside and focused on changing Larry into the clean clothes he'd found in the suitcase. With his back to Larry Richard smiled to himself. He could think of no other man who would fall out somehow with his other half, and run away whilst packing the essentials beforehand.
"Not like we have. I'm lost without him, like there's something missing and I can't find it. It's only been...I don't know how long it's been." Larry's shoulder slumped as Richard continued dressing him.
"We'll help."
"Not sure how you can."
"We'll find a way, promise," Richard said, hoping he could keep to that promise. "There. Not good enough to receive royalty I'm afraid, but good enough for the rest of us."
There was a small tap on the door. Thomas opened the door with caution. "Finished?"
"All sorted Thomas."
"For your hair Larry, you can't stay with damp hair." Richard approached Larry again, set on getting the worst of the rain from him but Larry stopped him by grabbing the edge of the towel.
"I can do it."
"You sure?"
"Mmm. Sorry Thomas."
"What?"
"I can be too much sometimes. I like you, but I shouldn't have said that before." Larry rubbed his hair, hiding his face under the towel for a moment longer than necessary.
Thomas exchanged a confused look with Richard before speaking. "Not a problem Larry. I've had worse." Richard knew what Thomas was thinking: since when did Larry apologise for flirting?
"Drink this," Stephen said, handing Larry a glass of cold water.
"Oh. Thank you." Larry looked at Stephen with a quizzical expression. "Who are you?"
"Stephen, that is Stephen Pascoe M'Lord. Footman."
"Thank you Stephen. You can call me Larry though. I don't deserve the title of Lord. Not sure I want it anymore anyway."
"What happened Larry?" Thomas interjected.
"Thomas, we should wait until he's had some rest. We can talk about it in the morning," Richard suggested.
"I did something that hurt Seb. I pushed boundaries, overstepped the line, went too far and now he hates me," Larry answered, ignoring Richard.
"So why are you here?"
Larry frowned in confusion. "You brought me to this room Thomas."
"No I mean why are you in Downton?"
"Oh. Um...Seb gave me a look. I close my eyes and I still see it. It was my fault and I deserve his cold shoulder. The house, the estate, the money— it got a hold of me, made me push my luck and do things, so I decided I couldn't stay. I don't want to be around it all anymore. I wanted too much."
Larry still wasn't making much sense, but Richard got the feeling the mistake Larry had made might have blurred the line between the professional and the personal. He doubted whatever the incident was had been directly with Sebastian though– they were already business partners and lovers, so the line there had been blurred ages ago. "So you ran away?"
"From your own house?" Thomas added.
"Yes." Larry flopped back on the bed, turned onto his side, and curled his legs up to his chest, facing away from them all like an upset child. He stifled a yawn. "It's cost too much. I can do without it for now. Don't want the trouble it caused me." He yawned again then let out a deflating sigh. "Too late now anyway. Since Seb saw... since he..."
Richard, Thomas and Stephen waited for Larry to continue but only silence followed. "Larry?" Richard walked around to the other side of the bed. "Larry?" They stood still again, and listened. Deep breathing from Larry broke the silence. Richard shook his head. "He's asleep. We'll not hear any more from him tonight. We should let him rest."
"One of us should stay to keep an eye on him," Thomas suggested reluctantly, looking more tired than he should at the end of the day.
"I'll keep an eye on him Mr Barrow," Stephen offered. "I'll be just down the hall anyway. It will be easier for me to do it."
"Only if you are sure Stephen?" Richard asked.
"It's fine. I don't have much experience with drunks, not to this extent anyway, but he seems nice and he's just sad isn't he? I'll look in here a few times before dawn."
"Thank you Stephen. We don't pay you enough." Thomas patted him on the shoulder in appreciation. "We'll be back, first thing okay? If you need an extra hour in bed, tomorrow I'll turn a blind eye to you being up late."
"Understood Mr Barrow. Goodnight," Stephen said, as they all left the room, Richard closing the door as quietly as he could.
As he and Thomas crept back downstairs, Richard thought about Larry's last words. He reckoned Larry would need more than just a night or two in Downton. Curing a huge hangover was the easy part: he'd need a lot longer to fix whatever had gone wrong.