Chapter Text
The night after the royal party’s departure, Thomas couldn’t sleep. They didn’t get to bed until the early hours, when the family had returned from the ball at Harewood. When the last lights finally went out, it was so quiet, you could’ve heard a pin drop.
Having the extra servants staying for a couple of days had brought back times gone by when Downton Abbey had boasted a full staff compliment. Thomas rarely gave the spare rooms in the attic a thought, but tonight, he felt the lonely emptiness. Turning over in bed, he closed his eyes, trying to visualise the room two doors down from his chamber, where Richard had slept the last two nights.
He would be back in his own bed now, and as much as Thomas tried, he couldn’t picture it. He’d not even thought to ask what the servants’ lodgings were like at the palace. The rooms were probably a lot bigger than at the Abbey.
Thomas sighed and opened his eyes. It was no use. He couldn’t sleep. He sat up and reached for the bedside lamp.
The silver pendant Richard had given him lay on the book he’d tried reading before bed. The sight of it made Thomas smile. He remembered every moment of those minutes in his pantry. The way Richard’s eyes lit up before he kissed him. The way his fingers felt when he handed Thomas the keepsake. The tenderness in his voice. The softness of his mouth.
Thomas picked up the pendant and held it to his lips. When he closed his eyes he could hear Richard’s words again. It’s not much, but I’ve had it for years. It’ll remind you of me. That’s the point, isn’t it? So you can think of me till we meet again?
Sliding back under the covers, Thomas’s hand travelled under the counterpane. Pushing his fingers past the elastic on his pyjama bottoms felt wild and risqué while he clutched the pendant with his other hand.
He’d never had anything so dear to hold on to, and after the release came, the memory of Richard put him to sleep at last.
*
The first letter from Richard arrived three days later. It was short, and rather tentative, full of day-to-day minutiae that didn’t matter and could be shared with anyone who happened to come upon the little scrap of paper. But Thomas read it again and again, hiding himself away during every quiet minute, caressing the words with eyes and fingertips, until the paper was soft and smooth. When he slipped the letter back into its envelope to hide it in the top drawer of his chest with the few letters he’d received over the last decade, he noticed the return address for the first time.
21 Shepherd Street, Mayfair
Lost in thought Thomas closed the drawer. He’d assumed Richard lived at the palace, but there had been no reason to assume so. Domestic staff increasingly lived away from the places of their employment. It seemed unusual for palace staff, but what did he know about how the royals organised their household?
And the discovery gave Thomas an idea. Over the next few days he tried very hard to resist temptation, but with every hour, it became more difficult. He wouldn’t have dreamt of attempting it if had Richard lived at the palace, but now that Thomas knew that he did not, he couldn’t fight the longing to pick up the telephone and speak to him.
It took another couple of days to work up the courage, and find a stretch of time when the others were occupied or away from the house, before he could put his plan into action. It was Sunday afternoon; Thomas had no idea if Richard would be at home, but it seemed a more likely time than first thing in the morning or late in the evening.
His heart threatening to burst right out of his chest, he closed the pantry door firmly, then settled himself behind his desk. His hands shook as he pulled the telephone closer.
But then he lowered the earpiece. He had no idea whether Richard even had a telephone. They were more common since the war, but still far from ubiquitous. A London residence might be more likely to be fitted with one than, say, a cottage in Downton village. And, if Thomas knew him at all, considering Richard’s occupation he would probably have one installed as a priority. There was only one way to be certain.
Thomas raised the earpiece again. “Operator, could you please check if the following address has a listed number: Twenty-one Shepherd Street in Mayfair, London.”
“One moment, sir.” After a few crackly seconds the operator said, “I have a number here for a Mr. Richard Ellis. Would you like me to connect you?”
Thomas’s heart jumped into his throat. He swallowed. “Yes, please.”
While he waited, Thomas switched the earpiece from one sweaty hand to the other. At last there came a click. “Mayfair three-two-five-nine,” a female voice said.
Where before his heart had been racing, it now seemed to have stopped. The most obvious inference threatened to overwhelm him, but Thomas refused to let it take hold. Surely, a perfectly innocent explanation would present itself at any moment.
The voice sounded too young to belong to Richard’s mother, who, in any case, lived in York. It might be his sister. Richard was a busy man, someone had to keep house for him. Or maybe the operator had made a mistake.
“Hello?” the voice said when Thomas still hadn’t spoken after several seconds.
“Yes…uh, hello. Could…could I speak to Richard, please?”
“Can I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s Thomas Barrow.” The words came automatically before Thomas could stop himself. Before he lost his nerve, he added, “Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Lucy Ellis. Richard’s wife.”
Thomas dropped the earpiece into its cradle. Before the call disconnected he thought he heard her speak again. He didn’t care.
Folding his trembling hands on the desk before him he sat, staring into nothingness.
Richard was married.