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“It’s hard to believe you’ll be bound for Hollywood tomorrow,” Miss Baxter said, more to her glass than to Thomas. “And we’ll be answering to Mr. Carson again.”
”Well, you’ll have a cottage of your own soon.”
”I suppose so, but…I enjoyed having you as our butler. You’re good at it, even though I know it isn’t what you really wanted.”
“It’s what I’ve been working toward half my life,” Thomas argued.
”Would you have taken it on if you’d been head valet rather than underbutler? You were only the underbutler because there was no valet position available.”
“Probably not. Although-” He wondered if he ought to admit it. “I doubt His Lordship would have been very keen to keep me around if there were no Bates. I know how he likes things done, but he doesn’t like me.”
”You can be a bit intimidating, I suppose.”
Thomas shook his head. He felt a blush creeping up. “I don’t know why. Everyone here knows…”
”What?”
”That I’m weak. That I fail more often than not. And good always triumphs over evil, doesn’t it?”
Miss Baxter almost laughed. “You aren’t evil, Mr. Barrow!”
”No. Only because I’ve never been very good at it. You know that well enough.”
”I can’t speak to how you were before I came here, but you have frightened me at times,” she admitted. She rested her hands in her lap, finished with her wine but not ready to relinquish the glass just yet.
Thomas poured himself a bit more. “I don’t believe that.”
”Wasn’t that what you wanted? Regardless, it doesn’t make you evil.”
”I don’t know what I wanted—to be in control, perhaps. I’m not savvy enough to get that through scheming alone. So what else is there but to be a cheap imitation of a proper man? And I’m…sorry to have directed that at you.”
There was recognition in her eyes, though she didn’t say it out loud. Maybe she was only putting the pieces together now, or maybe she had forgotten. She had said he was always kind to her; surely she would’ve seen some of how he’d treated Thomas—him and most every other boy he knew. He’d always assumed everyone knew. Little Thomas Barrow was the neighbourhood whipping boy and his father’s biggest failure.
”Even though it didn’t work,” he added. “I’m not cut out to be that type of man.”
”No, you aren’t. I’ve always known you to be kind. That doesn’t make you weak, though…nor any smaller.” The corner of her mouth quirked up slightly, as if that were meant to be a joke.
”What do you mean?”
”You're a lot bigger than me. That alone can be frightening.”
”Not in my case, surely. I’m taller than you, yes, but you know I’m not the sort to pick fights.”
She shook her head. “A woman can never be so sure.”
Thomas poured the last of the bottle. It was his second, but Baxter didn’t know that—not necessarily, anyway. “Why not?” he asked.
“Because…I don’t know, that’s just the way it is.”
“I could see being wary of a much bigger man at first, but you do get a sense of people, don’t you?”
“I’m only saying that can be deceptive. And a lot of men are much bigger than I am.”
”But I’m-“ Thomas looked away. “You know I’m a… I’m not intimidating.”
”You are.” Baxter tapped her index finger against her glass and tried to change the subject. “But that doesn’t matter now. We’re drinking to your bright and sunny future!”
Thomas grumbled in response. Were others really afraid of him? He knew he was tall and such, but he’d always imagined himself as somewhat soft. Anyone could see from his delicate hands… “Do you- do you think men would be afraid of me?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Barrow. I do think you’ve had a bit more wine than’s strictly celebratory,” she said, covering her slight discomfort with a humorous tone. “Why don’t you go on up to bed?”
He nodded, but didn’t get up. “You’re a good friend, Miss Baxter. I’m sorry for how I treated you. I’ll miss you in America.”
Baxter smiled and stood to guide him up, placing her glass next to his on the desk. “I’ll miss you, too,” she said.