William woke to unfamiliar surroundings, taking a moment to remember where he was and why the bed he slept in was unfamiliar. Something soft and furry lay against his cheek. He stretched out a hand to touch it and more memories came back when the furry thing purred in his ear. His uncle had told him that Richard's cat, Wilde, often started the night in Richard's room and came into his later, sometimes after a spot of mousing in the night.
William pushed himself up and squinted at the small clock on the table. He rose earlier than usual for a non-school day, brimming with eager anticipation. Silence still hung in the early morning though, Richard and his uncle having not yet woken. He wondered if he should find something for breakfast himself, or wait for them. Not wanting to make assumptions, he was free to move around their home as he pleased; he waited. Wilde seemed happy to keep him company, enjoying the tickles behind his velvet-like ears. He wasn't sure who the cat belonged to. Richard had referred to Wilde as 'our cat' when talking with Thomas and him. It could have just been a slip of the tongue, of course, or maybe since the cat lived in the same building as both of them, it therefore belonged to them both.
William, having grown restless in a half-sleepy state, got up and as he returned from the bathroom, he heard muffled voices in Richard's room. When Richard had suggested the top to toe sleeping arrangement for himself and Thomas, William had wondered if it would be tight for two grown men in a single bed. Richard had a double, though. Why a single man needed a double, William didn't know. Perhaps it was because the room was the biggest and a small bed would look out of place? That would be what his mother would think. Thomas might be used to a smaller bed, having been in service all those years. William slept in his Uncle Thomas's bed last night, finding the room tidy … so much so that it appeared untouched. Maybe Thomas sometimes spent the nights at Downton, him being the butler?
"Are you sure I'm not being a total idiot with William?"
William paused mid-step as he heard his uncle speak his name. Years of creeping around, listening in on conversations between his parents and others, came into play. Although at a disadvantage at not being familiar with which floorboards creaked and which did not – he knew those off by heart at home – he crept over to the closed door.
"Not at all. You were just who he needed yesterday," Richard's voice said, in a gentle reassuring tone.
"I think I may have overdone it with Margaret. I don't think she's a bad mother, and I hope William doesn't think that I do, but I know how my father was and the way she threatened ... what she threatened. If I was a father, I would never—"
"Does it matter if you were too much or not? I know you, Mr Barrow, better than anyone. I love how you defend people you care about."
Mr Barrow? Why would Richard address Thomas formally like that? Weren't they old friends? Richard had come across as the easygoing sort, and he spoke softly to Thomas. A thought – one that seemed impossible – flashed across William's mind. What if ...? He dismissed it as quickly as it came ... or he tried to.
"I don't have the slightest clue what to say to him or what we'll do for three days, Richard."
"You've looked after children before. Master George and Miss Sybbie adore you."
"Master George will leave to go away to school soon. He doesn't need me anymore. He's not far off William's age."
"Master George will always need you, even when he inherits Downton Abbey one day and age means nothing in terms of needing guidance and a little understanding. William came all this way, risked his parents' wrath, to see you, Thomas. Think about that. Don't underestimate your importance to the boy."
Sheets rustled. William imagined Thomas sitting at one end of the bed, Richard at the other.
"Why do you always know what to say?" Thomas asked Richard.
"It's a gift, Mr Barrow," Richard answered with mock snobbery. "It will be both of us these three days anyway, not just you. If William gets to know you, he gets to know both of us. I'll show him you through me, and vice versa."
"And if he finds out?"
William stilled, holding his breath, his previous thought coming back into focus. Find out what?
"Does that matter?" Sheets rustled again, the bed creaked.
William pictured something strange to him: Richard was at the top of the bed, Thomas beside him on the pillow – no proper top to toe arrangement.
"How on earth do I explain that?"
"If William finds out, you won't need to. Thomas, don't worry your pretty head about it? William knows about you. He's still here, ain't he? Let things play out, be yourself, take the day as it comes. I'll keep him busy at the shop in the morning. I bet Chris would like to meet someone from your family—"
Thomas huffed. "I bet if Chris ever met any of my family, he'd tell them exactly what he thinks of them."
"Probably true, but your nephew will pleasantly surprise him. But I'm serious Thomas, we'll do this as a couple."
As a couple? William was so busy adding up those three words with all the clues and suspicions he'd built since arriving yesterday that he almost missed the telltale sound of two people kissing. His eyes bulged wide. He knew it. The way they spoke like a married couple, the teasing, living arrangements, Richard's slip up's the evening before, Wilde ... even Thomas's smiles that seemed to only reach Richard. The romance was nauseating … What had he done? He blushed red.
Neither Thomas nor Richard had said anything else. Thomas made a noise. Was that—? Did his uncle just moan? Horror struck William. He was going to be stuck in the middle of two lovey-dovey adults for three days!
"I'd better get up. Do we wake William?" Thomas said, after goodness knows how long kissing.
William dashed as quietly as he could back to his room. It was his. Clearly, his uncle never spent a night there.
...
William took his time getting dressed, as well as having a nose around the flat. He didn't know what he'd expected to find. Everything appeared ordinary except for the notable lack of femininity and the abnormal amount of cat fur on every piece of furniture in their living room. He hung back on the stairs, behind the ajar door that led to the kitchen behind Richard's bookshop, because he wasn't sure if he should make his own breakfast or if either Richard or Thomas would. He was a guest, and his mother always told him guests shouldn't serve themselves, but he had arrived uninvited. So did that count? Beyond the door he could hear the sounds of a kitchen, muffled voices occasionally raised enough for him to hear their conversation.
"What will you say to Chris?" Thomas asked.
"That William is your nephew and has come to visit ... What else?"
"He'll want more than that. I've never mentioned him or any of them before to him."
"Let me worry about Chris, though there'll be nothing to worry about. I'll keep William busy today. Give you time to tell your folks at Downton. That will make it easier. We split the time between us. Can you be home in the evening?"
"Should think so. Nothing much planned upstairs today," Thomas said, his voice obscured by the crunch of some toast.
"Good, then we can have dinner like the three of us," Richard chuckled. A chair scrapped on the stone floor. "I like the sound of that. It's always just us two."
"Sorry, my company is getting boring," Thomas remarked sarcastically. William could see Thomas's eye roll in his mind.
"Not a bit, Mr Barrow. I'd happily just have you later ... however you fancy."
"Hmm, well, you'll just have to be patient and keep your hands to yourself for a few more days."
William bit his lip, hiding his spluttering laugh as best he could. From what he'd seen of his uncle, who'd been stern, moody, and cynical, the romantic, flirty side could have seemed like the opposite side of a coin.
"Can I kiss you at least?"
"If you must," Thomas said, his words the opposite of the way he spoke.
William winced. Not this again. How many times did they have to do that? Was it going to be this way the whole time? Considering they'd be amongst other people, not likely. They could only do this here, in the safety of their home. William's cringing embarrassment gave way to a new feeling ... pity.
William peaked around the gap in the door, just in time to see them part lips. Thomas sat at the table sideways on the chair. Richard had one hand on the back of the chair, and with the other, he stroked his finger against Thomas' lips in a silencing motion. "I'll just check on him. He must have been tired from yesterday. Your suggestion to let him sleep in was necessary, it seems. Any idea what he'd like for breakfast?"
"No idea ... Richard, I don't know him."
William took this as his cue, saving his uncle from any further ill feeling. "I'm not fussy, Mr Ellis. But boiled eggs, especially when it's dippy inside, are my favourite."
"Ah, morning William," Thomas said, giving Richard a small push away from the chair. Richard side-stepped away from Thomas, clearing his throat. "Sleep well?"
Wilde trotted up to him, rubbing his slender black body around William's legs. "Yeah, even with Wilde as a pillow."
"He's asking to be fed," Richard said. "We were distracted. The poor thing has taken second place ... Not something he's used to."
"I gathered," William said, smirking at the thought of two times he'd overheard things that would make his mother and father keel over and his grandfather turn in his grave. Thomas and Richard both stilled, looked between them, and then at him. Silent questions flew. "Cats are aloof creatures, aren't they?" he added.
"Um ... yes." Thomas pushed back his chair, gathered his plate and half-finished cup of tea off the table in one flourish, and tipped the rest down the sink. "I'd need to be going. Even if the house is expected to be quiet today, the morning routine never alters and His Lordship will need his morning paper."
Whilst William would admit part of him enjoyed seeing two adults acting awkwardly around him, he didn't want his uncle to feel uncomfortable, or to lose the only place he could be himself. Thomas must have to pretend all the time that Richard and he are just friends. That can't be easy. Pretending to be something can be fun for a while, but not forever.
Thomas brushed some crumbs off his shirt, picked up his hat, creasing off the edges. Richard handed him his coat. It could have been nothing, but his hand lingered on Thomas's just for a split second. Was that how people with secrets like them had to live? Sounded awful.
"If you want to kiss him goodbye then you can, uncle. I won't mind," William said, as boldly as he could.
Thomas spun around, joining Richard, who gasped in shock. "You what? Why would I...?" Thomas spluttered.
William shuffled. "I overheard you earlier this morning. I wasn't trying to listen in, promise, but I was on the way back from the bathroom and I heard you say things, and ... other things."
"You're not pulling my leg, are you, William?"
"No. Don't mind it a little, but don't be overdoing it, right? I don't need to see you two all loved up ... not because you're both men. It would be gross even if one of you were a woman."
A slow smile spread across Richard's face. He squeezed Thomas' arm, who still looked unnaturally pale. "Told you, Thomas, nothing to worry about."
"Thank you, William." Thomas took his time putting on his coat, though he let Richard adjust the lapels. "I didn't want to assume you'd differ from everyone else. It's easy for people to know about me and to say they are alright with it, but when they find it thrust in their faces, sometimes their true feelings on it show."
"You gonna kiss or what?" William said.
Thomas batted him away. "Not with you gawping at us, no."
"Why don't you get a pan of water boiling, and I'll sort the rest of breakfast," Richard said.
William obeyed. He understood the diplomatic suggestion aimed to secure a few moments of solitude. At the moment, it took for him to fetch a saucepan Richard and his uncle kissed. They assumed he wasn't looking, but William was quick – enough so their kiss wasn't so secret.
"I'll see you later," Richard said to Thomas.
A jolly sound of someone whistling in the shop beyond the closed door caught their attention. A jangling of keys on the other side before the door opened and a man with a thin moustache, piercing eyes and a notable limp entered, carrying a fold of papers under his free arm. "Morning," he said, focusing on shutting the door without dropping the papers.
"Morning Chris," Richard said, taking the papers that William now saw to be magazines from him.
"You're early," Thomas remarked.
"And I imagine if I am then you're late, Thomas?" Chris said with a grin. "I would have turned up at the normal time, but I was at the farm and David had to be up early ... some calamity involving sheep I don't pretend to understand. So, I thought I'd pick up my old habit and rise early and ..."
Chris caught sight of William near the stove. "Don't tell me you've hired someone else, Richard?"
Richard let out a hearty laugh. "No, not at all. Your job is in safe hands and you know I'd be lost without you."
"Naturally."
"I could explain, but I'll let Thomas."
"Suppose five minutes late won't matter. It's a bit of a story, but this is my nephew William Wilson, my sister's son. He's come to stay for a few days." Thomas beckoned William over. "William, this is Chris Webster, Richard's business partner and my—our good friend."
Chris looked both William and Thomas up and down, a frown forming on his face. "Yep ... that is uncanny. Thomas, it is like a younger version of you is standing right before me. I'd say you're the spitting image of your uncle."
Thomas and William exchanged a look that started off awkward, then grew into a smile accompanied by a simultaneous eye roll. "Bloody hell, not again!" They both exclaimed.
"What?" Chris asked.
"I get that all the time," William explained. "Even before I met Uncle Thomas, I always had people saying that. Didn't know what to make of it but now," William glanced up at Thomas, "now I think that's alright."
…
"Where's William?" Richard asked, glancing around his small shop for the boy whom he'd left to settle in whilst he finished some paperwork in the office.
"Oh, I sent him off to run a few errands in the village," Chris answered in a casual tone whilst busy sorting through a large stack of returned borrowed books on the shop counter.
"On his own? Without telling me?" Richard asked, keeping a lid on any raising of his voice with some effort. Thomas's nephew was his responsibility whilst Thomas was working at Downton and Chris should have remembered that. Nothing about William's visit could go wrong, or his strict parents may never let him see Thomas again.
Chris took his time to answer, smoothing a sheet of paper out before scribbling something on it with a pencil that he then tucked behind his ear. "He's not a young child, Richard. William is older than most shop boys who work around here. In fact, he's not far off from the age of Downton's hall boy." Chris pulled out a wooden stool and sat with a wince to continue his work. "I believe the lad wants to be given some responsibility and trust. Am I right? Ain't that one reason he's even here?"
Richard hesitated, bit his lip, and then let out a surrendering sigh. "It is ... yes. Just tell me next time, will you? If the situation was reversed and your young nephew went wandering off, wouldn't you'd like to know?"
Chris smirked. "Considering little Chris isn't old enough to take a single step yet, then that would be a concern."
"Won't be long. Babysitting for your sister will come with more risks when he may not stay where you left him."
"True ... true." Chris said, rubbing his chin, clearly lost in his private thoughts for a moment. "Glad I'm not a father ... It would drive me mad. How's Thomas with all this, really? Can't be easy."
Richard kept his thoughts on Chris's initial comment to himself and followed on with the change of subject, glad for Chris's calm response to his worries over William's whereabouts. "I think he would have preferred some time to prepare, rather than have a surprise visit. That's why William is here during the morning. Thomas needs time to introduce him to the rest of the servants. I don't think either Thomas or William would enjoy being gawked at or gossiped about. It will be easier this way. Thomas was overwhelmed this morning, but now that William knows about us, I think he'll find it easier." Richard had told Chris about William's discovery of the true nature of his relationship with Thomas, Chris finding the recount of the story amusing.
"No doubt he will. Would have been hard for you two to keep your hands to yourselves for three days. You're both worse than Larry and Sebastian in that regard."
"Chris," Richard rolled his eyes, "that's not what I meant."
"Oh, I know, but it made you smile. Once he's back home, then you two can make up for lost opportunities, which I'm sure you will."
Richard frowned. "I never thought you'd say that."
"Thomas is special to me, Richard. But I'm happy he's happy with you, so why not? David ain't the only reason I'm late to work ... I've almost interrupted you two before and I'd rather not do that again. Some things I don't need to see ... or hear."
"What don't you want to see or hear, Mr Webster?" William asked, standing with a large paper bag tucked under his arm and another in his hand by the door, neither Richard nor Chris having heard him arrive.
"Your Uncle and Ric—Ow!" Chris exclaimed after Richard gave him a kick under the counter. Richard only remembered Chris's injured leg after his strike and was glad to see he'd been fortunate enough only to hit his good leg.
"Snoring," Richard said instead. If William bought that lie, Richard couldn't tell, but he said no more on the subject, so Richard left it at that. "What did Chris have you doing then, William?"
"Um, post office for some letters and stamps – they're in my pocket – bakery for some pastries and bread and milk. Mr Webster says you and Thomas are out of those. Bread has been under my arm, so I hope it's not sweaty," William said, grinning as he dropped the lot on the counter.
Richard picked up the bread and gave it a deliberate sniff, brushing stray crumbs from the polished wooden surface. "Nope. Smells good. Hope you don't mind helping?"
"Nah, it's nice wandering around somewhere I've never been." William pushed himself up to sit on the countertop, Richard saying nothing about potential scuff marks on the wood. "Mr Webster said his leg was hurting too, so I didn't mind."
"Ah ... Chris sorry about ..." Richard trailed off, mimicking the kick he'd given Chris.
"Not a problem, Richard. I deserved that."
"Did you have an accident?" William asked Chris.
Richard had heard Chris tell the cover story of how his injury was an old wound from the war, many times, and then stopped listening as he checked through some post William had brought inside too.
"Got it in prison," Chris said after several moments.
Richard jerked up, throwing Chris a questioning look. "He knows about you both. Thomas likes him, as do I. That's good enough for me." Chris turned his attention back to William. "They arrested me for what some people like to call being 'queer'. People aren't keen on our type in prison, so I got a few beatings. They left their mark. To most people, though, this is a war wound and if anyone asks you, that's what you say."
William nodded gravely. "Is it always like that? People beating you up. Has my uncle ever had that?"
"He has, though, the circumstances were different. But it isn't just about fists and punches, a lot of the fighting happens in here," Richard said, pointing to his head. The chime of the bell above the door put a stop to their conversation. Richard was glad about it. If he was going to talk about Thomas without him being present, he had to know how far he could go before he pushed the boundaries of what was appropriate to tell a boy and what Thomas may wish to keep hidden.
Richard picked up the various packages off the counter, handing the bread to William, who seemed to know not to ask more. "Chris, can you ...?" he asked with a quick nod in the customer's direction.
"No problem."
"Help me with these, William, then we'll head up to Downton. Thomas is expecting us at lunch."
…
"How long have you known my uncle, Mr Ellis?" William asked as they walked at a casual pace up the winding lanes and pathways that connected Downton village with the Abbey. Richard had decided any conversations that involved more tentative details should take place away from the prying ears of his customers, which had become harder to avoid as the morning had drawn on. The break had provided him with some much needed time to think about what to divulge and what he'd leave up to Thomas to say, should he wish. Certain topics remained unsuitable for William until he was older, so he kept them from him.
That question, though, was a prompt for an easier turn of conversation. "Coming up to six years now. It was 1927." Richard didn't elaborate on the royal visit story. Thomas had filled William in on that the evening before, when they'd been tidying out the spare bedroom. Richard's heart warmed at the memory, as it always did when he thought of those first few encounters. "Thomas was all bashful smiles, eager looks and – even though he'd deny it – pink blushes. His laugh was the best, though. Mrs Baxter – Phyllis – informed me after my friendship with Thomas had become known amongst the servants that Thomas seldom laughed."
"Why not?"
Richard looked ahead of them, then up at the tree branches covering the sky from view above them, the tiny green shoots of spring beginning to show. He eagerly awaited spring, then summer. He'd take Thomas out one sunny evening to a field where the grass was long and shielding, like they'd done before.
"Mr Ellis, why not?" William repeated.
"Sorry, I was a world away. Thomas has been at Downton a long time, but it's only in these past several years that he's felt at home. There was a time, he told me, that he would try anything to leave. He did many silly, stupid things that he now regrets. He hid his secret for too long. It was impossible for him to speak of it, even though most people had figured it out in the end. They kept his secret, but it was something people preferred not to talk of."
"Like an open secret?"
"Yes, but a forbidden one. He wasn't the nicest person. He's been a bully, blackmailed people, and been cruel."
"But you like him?"
"It's who he was. He changed before I met him, so I can't take all the credit. It's a long story. But what he did, how he acted, was not for the glee of being cruel. It was a sort of defence, a mask that hid his vulnerabilities. Thomas had to protect himself, as he thought no one else would. He carried the burden of keeping his secret and it exhausted him in the end, I think. All around him, people were falling in love, getting married, having a family and he couldn't have any of those things. To put it simply, he was lonely."
"Then you came along and fixed all that?"
"Not immediately. Thomas found a friendship with Phyllis Baxter. She knows everything about him … and us."
William frowned. "Seems funny that she was my mum's friend once. Mum doesn't talk of her either. But he's happy now, right?"
"He is," Richard said without hesitation. "We are. It's interesting ... I never thought I'd find someone in such a tiny place like this, but here we are."
"So what's he like now?"
They turned off the road and onto a gravel path that started off by being surrounded by young trees but soon opened up to Downton's sweeping parkland, the house visible in the distance. "He remains moody, and will return to his old self, 'old Thomas', as I call him, when necessary, as you witnessed yesterday on the telephone, but he does this only for good reasons. Now, Thomas is a skilled leader, a fair replacement to Carson – he was butler before but still lingers around the house sometimes, like he can never leave—"
"Is he dead? Like a ghost?" William asked, wide-eyed.
Richard threw his head back as he laughed. "No! No, he's very much with us. I meant although he's technically retired, he never seems to leave Downton. It annoys Thomas sometimes. He feels like Carson doesn't trust him. But the staff respects Thomas, and they appreciate his more liberal approaches. Work aside, Thomas is gentle, clever – he can fix a lot of things, not just clocks but he enjoys tinkering with those still even though it's beneath him – has a wicked sense of humour – something you've inherited it seems – and has many talents."
"Like what?"
Richard knew which talents he preferred ... those that involved a late evening or lazy morning in bed and struggled to keep his expression from showing his private memories. Talking about Thomas at such length did always prove difficult. His mother had seen through it many times. "Dancing, he's a fine dancer and cricket. He must be the best player in Downton, much to His Lordship's delight – Thomas is always appreciated at the annual cricket match between the house and the village. He tried to teach me, and although I can get by, I'm nowhere near close to him. Cooking, though ... is best left to me."
"I'm not good at that either, though dad says it's a woman's work."
"We've got to eat, though, so I learned. Thomas has had too much reliance on Downton's kitchens. He's got a bit of a sweet tooth too, always nicking cakes when the cook isn't looking, or even when she is!" Richard said with a wink. They were close to the house now, and it wouldn't be long until they've conversation would have to end, so Richard pulled out two items from his pocket that he'd been saving for the right moment to give to William. "Almost forgot, this is for you," he said, handing William a small red and white striped paper bag.
William unfolded the top and looked inside. "I don't need bribing with sweets, Mr Ellis. I'm not gonna snitch on you or my uncle, and I'm not a little kid."
Richard turned his head away, bit his lower lip, and smirked. Thomas would have said the same, taking a gesture the wrong way, preferring to hold on to his pride. "No, you are not. You are quite right, William." Without hesitation, Richard dipped his hand in the bag and took a couple of squares of soft brown fudge, and popped them into his mouth.
"Hey! They're mine!"
"Thought you didn't want them?" Richard retorted with a wicked smile.
"Never said that," William said, grinning back, surrendering his pride.
"There's this as well." Richard handed William, who was happily chewing on his third chunk of fudge, a sealed envelope. "It was Chris's idea."
William threw him a curious glance and tore open the envelope with his free hand, the other clasping the bag of fudge. "Nah ... Mr Ellis, this can't be right," he said, pulling out a crisp pound note and several shillings. "You are bribing me now."
"No, merely paying you."
"For what?"
"For the work you did for us in the shop this morning. It would have been unfair to expect you to do the same labor and hours as a shop assistant for nothing, not to mention immoral. Chris suggested we'd pay the same amount per hour as we would, should we hire someone to help, though there's a little extra on top since your family and Thomas would not be pleased with me if I only paid the minimum."
Slowing his pace to a standstill, William blinked up at him. "Do I get more if I help tomorrow?"
Richard laughed, "I can't go back on it now, so yes. Don't expect the same from Downton Abbey, though. Thomas may be in charge, but the wages don't come from him." They crossed the small distance to the just outside the entrance of the backyard. "One other thing, I was thinking ... Maybe you'd like to call me Richard?"
"Yeah, I'd like that. What about Uncle Richard though, since you're with my Uncle Thomas?"
Richard's heart skipped a beat, and he had a hard job of containing the raw emotion that threatened to well up within him. "It would be unwise ... but maybe when it is just yourself, Thomas, and I."
"Sounds good. That can be our secret, then?"
"It can."
William screwed up the empty paper bag and stuffed it and his wages into his pocket.
"You finished them already? Thomas loves fudge."
"Oh..."
"No matter what he doesn't know, can't hurt him," Richard said with a wink.
"Or you could buy me more Mr E—Richard, then I could try to remember next time?"
Richard threw the boy a mischievous smirk as he took off his hat and smoothed down his hair before opening the back door. "And you wouldn't scoff the lot again?"
William shrugged, taking off his cap as well. "No promises Uncle Richard."
Note: Sorry for the massive delay in updating. This was a big chapter, lots of dialogue, and I've been away for the past week. Hope you enjoyed.