Chapter Text
“I hope you find some happiness … “
“Oh, I’ll be dandy … “
It could have been yesterday, for all that the memory hadn’t faded, though it was all of what, six years ago? Six years, a month, and three days, to be exact. It was odd, really, to be thinking of such things, on this morning of all mornings. Richard was coming soon, the first man who had ever loved him back, the best of men, his dearest darling, whom he hadn’t seen for far too bloody long. Thomas stood in the courtyard of Downton, waiting, smoking, impatient, and yet staring at those cobblestones as if he could still hear the wheels of the wagon that had carried Jimmy away. A wry smile crossed his face, and he stubbed out the cigarette end under his foot.
Suddenly, the courtyard door opened, and Andy stuck his head out.
“Mr Barrow … phone … “
Thomas nodded and started towards the door.
“Hello love, it’s me. The train from Kings Cross left late, and I’ve missed the connection at Doncaster – won’t be with you till tea-time, sorry.”
“Well, I suppose I forgive the LNER for its failings, but don’t you get talking to any strange men on the platform now.”
“As if I would! Anyway, I’ve already had a most intriguing encounter on that ruddy train – got talking to the chap opposite.”
“Did you really?”
“Yeah, really attractive blond … “
“Was he indeed?”
“Yeah … used to work at Downton he said, got sacked for being in the wrong bed at the wrong time, he said … “
“Bloody hell, not … “
“Yes, one James Kent, Esquire, going for an interview at the Assembly Rooms in Harrogate. Apparently they need a new resident pianist.”
“Well, he could do that job standing on his head … but why would he want it? He was always cracking on about bright lights, glamour, the big city. Harrogate’s all maiden aunts and rheumatic colonels. He’ll go nuts there in a week!”
“He said he’d had quite enough of all that and wanted to settle down to something a bit steadier.”
“Blimey, he’s only, what, thirty-two? That makes him sound positively middle-aged!”
“We’re all getting there, Thomas … ”
“Cheeky bugger, you’re older than me anyway!”
“Yeah, by three months and fourteen days, as you never tire of reminding me.”
“Is he waiting for another train?”
“No, his connection went about three minutes ago. He just made it. Gave me his card, he did, wants you to ring him up.”
“Christ all-bloody-mighty, he’s got a nerve!”
“Yeah, he said as much when he gave it to me. Shall I just chuck it away, then?”
This time a real smirk crossed Thomas’s face.
“No, bring it. I’ll call him. If he gets the job, I’ll ask him over. I feel I’d quite like to tell that “boy” a few things.”
“I love it when you’re angry! Can I watch?”
“Angry? Nah … still a bit pissed off with him? Yeah, just a very little … and, yes, you should be there … Er, did you … tell him? I mean … “
“About us? Not in so many words. I talked a bit about the royal visit, ‘n’ that. I think he might have noticed a few things … “
“Well, he never was the subtlest of men.” Thomas sighed.
“Thank God for that, or where would I be?”
“You know, I’ve never thought about that … nor, my darling, will I ever need to … never … “
Thomas positively beamed down the phone.
“Listen, the money’s going to run out on this call in a tick. I should be at Downton about five o’clock. Can you bribe Mrs Patmore to save me some cake?”
“No problem, you know she adores you, just like the rest of ‘em do. Whether I’ll leave you any is another matter … “
The phone started beeping, “Better go, see you soon, love you.”
“Love you t …” Whirrrrrr
*
It was three years since that royal visit, when the King’s Second Valet had caught and been caught by the Earl’s Butler. The crescent-moon key-fob still lay next to Thomas’s heart all day, and a silver pocket-watch, engraved inside its case with the words “Always. T”, never left Richard’s waistcoat pocket. Their love was strong, in spite of its necessarily furtive nature and the short time they could spend in one another’s company. There was trust as well as lust, tiny flickering public glances as well as hours of passion in locked rooms, hunger for one another in body and soul. Both could sometimes hardly believe their luck.
A couple of years before, and with some prodding from Lady Mary, her father had offered Thomas an estate cottage in the grounds, near enough to be on call, but far enough away for real privacy, which she had noticed he craved more than ever. Richard Ellis was known to everyone at Downton, upstairs and down: the staff remembered him as the only one of the royal servants to be neither a snob nor a pain in the neck, and on subsequent visits, he had (figuratively at least) charmed the pants off them all. As for those above the green baize door: the Earl had needed a quiet few words of explanation from his wife about Thomas’s “situation”, while the only other comment was, unsurprisingly, from the Dowager. Seated between her granddaughters one Sunday evening after dinner, she had fixed her son with a beady eye across a glass of Green Chartreuse, and said very quietly, “Robert, they’re both extremely ornamental, have perfect manners, and obviously very good taste, not least in one another. If we don’t make a fuss, they certainly won’t … and the law is an ass.” The matter was never discussed again.