Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cora hadn’t been expecting anything in the post, much less a parcel. Something wrapped in brown paper, twine crossing over the box to secure it. The destination written on the paper denies any suspicion that it’s been delivered to the wrong person or address. 

With some confusion as to what the box could possibly contain, she takes it into the drawing room to open. Not concerned that it might be anything sensitive or dangerous. Why would she be?

She should have been. 

It looks innocent enough at first. The first glance provides a picture of a stack of papers messily thrown into the box. A few bent corners and foxing on a couple pages. When she goes to pick up the one on the very top, her mouth goes dry. 

Her French is incredibly rusty, but she can clearly make out what the paper says. It’s a marriage certificate. A marriage between Robert Crawley and someone named Eugenie Sabine Lé Vesque. His occupation listed simply as student, while she appears to have been a courtesan. As if it wasn’t bad enough to begin with. 

Now the dam has broken. The first emotion to make itself known is indignation. Cora is his wife. Not whoever this is.

Despite her brain’s stubborn protests, she has the proof before her. An entire box of it. She sets the certificate aside, only to find another underneath it. Act de Naissance , a birth certificate issued by the fifth arrondissement of Paris.

A line underneath holds the neatly written name of the infant. Inscribed in perfectly and horribly legible cursive. 

Marie-Thomas André Crawley

30 Novembre 1887

The first thing that strikes her is the name. Sharing the first half with her eldest daughter, and the second half with one of the servants. The coincidence itself is enough to provoke yet more irritation. 

It records the mother’s place of birth as Marseilles, born on the 16th of July, just a year younger than Robert. All of the details attributed to him are accurate. His birthday, place of birth, even listing his occupation as student.

Her curiosity doesn’t allow her to stop reading just yet. If she’s going to do anything at all about this, she needs to know the details. This document provides only half of what she wants to know. While she’d hoped her husband would’ve told her about the existence of a son, the birth of a child isn’t what would shock her the most. She can’t decide if she’s more hurt by her husband keeping this a secret from her, or by the contents of the secret itself. 

Stacked directly on top of a certificate of annulment. Breaking it off shortly after the child’s birth. 

He married and had a child before he even met Cora. Barely. The date on the annulment certificate is around the time Cora came to England, meeting her future husband shortly after. 

Her interest is invested into whatever else this box contains. Damage has already been done, so the only hope of bettering it comes from sifting through the other contents. Unless there’s something to indicate another former marriage or abandoned child, it can’t get any worse.

Emotionally, it does. She feels bad enough for herself. But now to be confronted with pictures of the family he abandoned, she can’t help but feel sorry for them too. She can only hope they were able to get by without Eugenie going to find another patron. 

A small, dark-haired boy sits next to his mother, not bothering to lean against her side or even reach for her hand. He looks at the camera with some sort of apprehension, while his mother’s expression seems cold and detached. She does have an oddly similar complexion to Cora. Maybe Robert had found his ‘type’ and moved on to find someone else who fit the description. Someone more respectable. The back dates it to sometime in 1891. The boy would’ve turned four that year. He’s so small .

She knows who this all is referring to, but she hadn’t fully processed it until now. It’s still difficult to believe. The child in the photo, however young, bears a strong resemblance to one of the staff, a fragment of his name appearing on the certificate before her. Out of all the people that work for the family, he seems by far the most mysterious. With only the knowledge that he must have had a mother and father at some point in time, and little else to go on other than the fact that he’s a homosexual who enjoys being petty. 

That part isn’t important right now.

What bothers her most isn’t the identity of the woman her husband married or the son he left behind.

What bothers her is that he never told her any of this. Nothing to even suggest he’d had a former lover, nevermind one that he married. And then the addition of a child he’s made no move to support. Someone who, if this is to be believed, is the rightful heir of Downton. Not the child of some prior earl’s descendant. As much as she loves Mary and Matthew, she knows what they have now will be questioned.

She thinks maybe she would’ve been happier if Robert had just stayed with them, and she’d gone on to find a different man. Confusion and anger and sadness at what this means for her and her family. 

She sits with the evidence, tears in her eyes but never falling. This is all so much. Shaking breaths that pass well into the next hour. But sitting with all of this won’t do her any good. It’ll only grow stronger if she keeps quiet. She doesn’t care much what her husband thinks of her feelings on this. She just wants the truth. Without any hiding or lying. She has a right to be upset. She has a right to know. 

Cora enters the library quietly. She makes sure to close the door behind her, not wanting anyone to stumble into their conversation or overhear it. That would only make this worse. And they don’t need any rumors flying about, especially ones that have real evidence behind them. 

Robert sits quietly at the desk, turning his head slightly when he hears his wife enter. “What have you been up to?” He doesn’t seem to recognize that Cora hasn’t come empty handed.

She doesn’t respond. How is she supposed to? What is she supposed to say to that? Not much, just going through documents on your jilted ex-wife and son. 

He can hear it in her voice. “Is something on your mind?” He turns around, finally seeing what she’s carrying. He doesn’t know what’s in the box, but he can only assume what its contents are. He was a fool to think he could forget about this.

She takes a deep breath.

Chapter Text

It's mere hours until the family's matriarch is summoned to hear the news. Violet has no idea what she's walking into, save for the looks on her son and daughter-in-law's faces. Ones barely holding back the panic or hurt surrounding the mess they've found themselves in.

It's not one they can get themselves out of easily. Possibly not at all. The only way out is through.

This route involves summoning one of the most feared Crawleys. It would be impossible to ask her for advice on the matter without revealing it further. He needs all the help he can get right now, so he can't exactly afford to be picky.

Carson knocks on the door before opening it, allowing Violet into the library. As soon as the butler closes the door behind him, her expression changes from relaxed to curious. She knows something is up, but she doesn’t know what it is yet. She aims to find out.

Robert has no desire for his mother to discover this information as well. He already doesn’t know how to handle it with his wife, but his mother would never drop this subject if she knew. She appears none the wiser as she takes her seat across from them. Her cane standing perfectly between her and the ottoman.

He takes a deep breath. A neutral expression that doesn't let her on to just how badly he's messed up. He opens his mouth before closing it, hesitating yet again.

Cora beats him to the punch. “Either you tell her, or I will.” Her voice is firm. It’s not an empty threat. It’s a promise.

“Tell me what?” Violet asks with some concern as she draws closer to them. 

He considers the options. If Cora tells her, she won’t hold back, and she won’t be entirely accurate. If he tells her, he can at least try to soften the blow. He inhales calmly before proceeding. 

Violet sits down next to her daughter-in-law, getting comfortable for what she’s sure is some very juicy drama.

“Cora was sent a package, which contained several documents.” A glare from his wife urges him to explain faster. Before she can fill her in on the other details. “Of a previous marriage. My previous marriage.” He corrects himself.

She simply stares. A few long moments of shocked silence before she speaks. “Well, is it true?” She doesn’t want to believe it. When did he even find the time?

He nods in resignation. “When I studied abroad for a year. In Paris.”

Violet leans forward. If he can throw in some unnecessary details, she can pretend for a moment that her son didn’t do this all behind her back. That maybe it’s someone else’s family drama for just a moment.

“I met a courtesan, though I didn’t know it at the time. We fell in love and married. Soon after, we had a child.”

This is where the illusion shatters like a pane of very fragile glass. “Are you sure the child is yours?” She frets. 

“Unfortunately, yes. He is.”

As if she needed anything new to worry over. She tilts her head, almost daring him to repeat himself. “He?”

It feels like ice water being poured over him. His mother is furious. 

“And is this marriage legally valid?”

“It is. It was annulled before I left, so at the very least my marriage to Cora is still valid.”

“I’d say you have greater concerns right now.” She frowns. “A son? Have you any idea what this means for the family?”

He knows. He’s sat back for decades hoping that his forsaken son wouldn’t know who he was, or at the very least find him. Thomas is ambitious enough that he’d have expected it by now if he knew. So he clearly doesn’t.

And that’s the next problem. His mother doesn’t know the identity of this son.

“At least tell me he doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t know, trust me.”

“It’s very hard to trust you at the moment. Does he have any proof of his parentage?”

“Unless he’s made copies, he has none. And it seems he doesn’t know. He would’ve taken advantage of it by now if he did.”

“How can you be sure?”

He can feel the pressure increasing. She wants to know who it is. A name, location, anything.

Cora won’t allow him to keep it a secret any longer. “It’s Thomas.” There's no gentler way to say it. The admission just falls from her lips before she has the chance to think twice.

Her head turns slowly. That, she expected even less. Perhaps the idea of some vague and ignorant Frenchman was what she’d pictured. Not the scheming valet that’s been in their house for nearly 15 years. “Barrow?”

The others nod grimly.

"Thomas Barrow?" Still in shock that it was him. "A servant? Did you know when he was hired?"

He nods again, the shame becoming evident.

Violet and Cora simply stare.

"I thought that-"

"You thought!" His mother admonishes him.

He continues despite the interruption. "I thought that if he stayed at Downton, it would be easier to keep the truth from him. "

"To control him, you mean?"

A knock interrupts them before their argument can deteriorate further. The door opens abruptly after reciving no response, taking it as an invitation. As the old saying goes, speak of the devil and he appears. They all knew they could only go so long before a servant intruded on the conversation.

Just by doing his job.

Barrow enters, immediately catching the sudden shift in the room. He'd heard them speaking not just moments before. But now there's nothing but silence. It puts him on edge, but he's accustomed to not showing how he truly feels. He simply carries the tray over to the table on the other side of the room. Quietly setting it down on the crisp tablecloth.

He feels them watching. If he turns around, he won't see them looking, but he knows they are all the same. Dread seeps into his thoughts. What are they talking about that's so sensitive they stopped talking entirely once he entered the room.

The moment his hand touches the teapot, he freezes.

"Thank you Barrow, we can take care of the rest." Cora commands gently. Keeping her voice in check to avoid betraying the subject of their conversation.

He withdraws his hand. The two parties in this room don't want to let the other know they're suspious. But Barrow isn't in the know. The only thing he's aware of is the staring and the silence and the feeling of impending unemployment. He knows it well. It's crept up on him enough times to know how it feels breathing down his neck.

Just the way he always does, he hides it. Shoves it down in time to turn around and face towards them as he walks towards the door. Measuring his strides to avoid running from the room.

His mind clears as he makes his exit. Whatever that was, it wasn't the usual displeasure towards him. They're hiding something.

They're hiding something from everyone.

He doesn't like not knowing everyone's secrets. And this one seems particularly dangerous if it has his lordship acting like that.

The others breathe a sigh of relief as they hear the door latch. They're all sure they could've handled that in a less conspicuous manner. Something that didn't make the possession of uncomfortable knowledge so plainly obvious.

Isobel breaks the silence before either Cora or Robert know what to say. "He'll find out soon if you don't manage this. It's always better to break the news to someone yourself than let them find out on their own. At least then you get to tell the story." The parallel to their earlier conversation and its decades-long backstory is not missed. Cora was the one that told Violet. So she told the story.

"How am I supposed to tell him that?"

"I suppose you had better figure it out soon."

He exhales slowly.

"Have you any idea where to start?" Her eyebrows draw together. Truly concerned for once.

"Hardly. Sending him away is certainly the easiest option."

"Barrow has been here for years, we can't just get rid of him like that." Cora interjects.

"So I'm to tell Thomas, who's been here nearly 15 years, that I'm really his father? And what then?"

"Either send him away or take him in. It's not that complicated." She leans towards him. "Just uncomfortable."

If Thomas finds out and isn't placated immediately, who knows what chaos will be unleashed. He's not the forgiving type. To discover that he'd gotten so far along in life, servant to his own father, he might very well be driven to do something he'd regret.

He might not regret it. But the rest of them sure will.

"Make sure you don't accidentally tip him off before the time comes."

Cora nods. She knows what must be done. The last few minutes have consisted largely of beating a dead horse. All because her husband is too much of a coward. "I've hidden the documents in our room. He won't find them."

"You forget one thing, Cora."

"What's that?" She can't stand Violet's sharp wit right now. If she can't be helpful, she should stay out of it.

She stands, signalling her desire to leave. But not before giving them one final warning. "Barrow is a bloodhound when it comes to secrets."

Chapter Text

Hours tick by in a slow agony. Each passing minute holds the potential for disaster. They've been able to keep the servants away from their sensitive discussions so far. Dinner will be hard to get through knowing the truth. And it'll be even harder once his daughters know the truth.

They all sit together in the drawing room, biding their time. Robert knows he'll have to break the news sooner or later. Perferably sooner, since they're racing against a man infamous for his taste for drama.

His daughters seem rather bored with it all. Edith watching the fireplace while Mary's eyes flit aimlessly about the room. their parents chatting about who knows what while Violet sits patiently nearby.

Here to provide moral support in the coming storm. They're going to need it. The Crawleys have a long history of being stubborn.

The room falls silent as all talking ceases. But not for long, as the lord of the house soon begins on a new subject. "Mary. Edith." Robert sighs as he watches their faces. This is going to destroy them. Mary will be torn up, of course. But Edith might not even care. It has no effect on her place in the family or her lack of inheritance. It's Mary that stands to lose the most.

Cora nods to her husband, encouraging him. They need to know.

"You have-" anxiously swallowing down a lump in his throat, "you have a brother."

Mary's face immediately pales, while Edith hardly blinks. Their relationship is a complicated one.

Edith, by virtue of her nonchalance in this matter, is the one that manages to ask for information. "Who is he? Or are we just supposed to ignore him?"

"You know how long Thomas has been with us." Cora frowns. Accidentally revealing his identity in an unintended way.

"Thomas Barrow?" Mary whips her head around to meet her father's eyes.

He nods. Dissappointed in himself. She's already settled down. As well as she can, anyways. A widow with a son that stands to inherit the estate. He would have, if this new heir hadn't popped up. Someone closer in the line of inheritance that stands in her way.

Seeing her son's difficulty in continuing, Violet takes up the slack. "His name is Marie-Thomas. He was born when your father studied in France."

"You named me after him?" Mary's voice rises in disbelief. How could he do such a thing? To name one child after another?

"I- your mother suggested it."

Cora raises her eyebrows. "And you could have suggested a different name."

"I've consulted Murray." He inserts the fact and abruptly changes the topic.

"And?"

"Thomas either needs to join the family or surrender the title."

"I can agree with him on that." Edith comments as she smooths a wrinkle in her dress. She seems to be taking this fairly well compared to everyone else. But then, she's in no way threatened by the news. The potential legality of a marriage bothering Cora, the disinheriting that will soon come for Mary, and Violet living with the knowledge of her son's impropriety. Edith's life will only change in one way: the addition of a sibling. Nothing more.

"How should this be done?" Robert only has a vague idea on how to approach it.

"Call him in now and tell him!" Mary recommends. "It's already bad enough, just get it over with."

Edith is a little less confrontational. While she doesn't have a better idea, she can't help but feel that this won't turn out the way they hope. This is Barrow they're talking about. The man might be a creature of uncomfortable habit, but the way he reacts is still unpredictable. Revenge can be expected, but the method is what worries them.

"Dinner is almost ready, we can't do that right now."

"Then why did you tell us now?" Mary barely keeps her voice from becoming a snarl.

"We just needed to find a solution as quickly as possible." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "We can talk to him later tonight."

"How are we supposed to look at him?"

"If it troubles you so much, then don't." It goes unspoken how much it bothers all of them. But everyone's response is different.

Tom takes his usual route downstairs, passing by the reigning couple's bedroom on the way. The doors are normally closed, but this one isn't shut all the way. Thinking perhaps it was a simple mistake, he goes forward to close it as he moves past.

Thomas emerges from the room. A small box in his arm as he closes the door behind him. Not noticing the other man standing an arm's length away.

The two men ignore each other as they head their separate ways. Both going downstairs by different ways. One disappearing into the green-lined spiral while the other descends into the saloon.

Tom doesn't bother knocking when he makes his way into the drawing room. Sometimes they discuss private matters, but he's one of them now. It won't be so terrible if he overhears a conversation.

Which is what he thought 5 minutes ago.

"What did I miss?" His bright mood is quickly cut down by the stares of the family. He must've missed a lot if they're acting like this. Did somebody die?

Robert inhales and exhales before he summarizes the conversation. "I have a son."

"And it's Thomas." Edith elaborates only a little.

He isn't given any time to absorb this information before they move on without him. He simply takes a seat and hopes he can learn something more. To be less lost in all of this.

Cora does what she can to reassure her daughters. "I hid the documents, so we have some time."

His jaw tightens. He isn't known for being a very secretive person. Not in opinions or expression. This little motion is noticed by those sitting next to him.

"Even then, I'm not sure how long we've got." Robert blinks slowly. What a mess they've found themselves in. If they do they best they can, it still won't be enough.

Tom looks nervously at his in-laws. For once, he knows something they don't. He still debates whether or not he should say anything about it, but he's made his possession of such facts obvious. He won't be able to play it off.

"What is it?" He finally snaps at Tom.

He gets a split-second to consider what to say. Does he reveal what he'd seen not even minutes ago? He doesn't get to make his own decision. Speaking before he arrives at one. "Was it in a box?"

They pause. A basic question, its answer one that can be assumed.

"Why are you asking?" Cora stares at him.

He bites his tongue, wanting to silence himself.

"Tom. Why are you asking?" She repeats. The mood is starting to deteriorate further.

"I think…" Torn between loyalties. He's part of their family now. But there's a twinge of guilt over the forsaken class solidarity he left behind when he moved upstairs. "I think I saw Barrow take them."

"What?" Robert nearly shouts. They're lucky no one else is around to overhear them.

This was not planned for. This is exactly what they tried to prevent. And yet, there he was. Sniffing out the hidden evidence of his past just as Violet had warned them. She told them this would happen. Practically assuring them that any attempt to cover it up would be in vain.

She knows this. Eyes shifting to her son in an unfortunate moment of pride. She didn't want this either, but that little spark of I told you so makes it seem less terrible. She was at least able to predict part of this. So maybe it's not so hopeless.

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" His lordship isn't known for being the most level-headed man. As is evident in this very moment.

"I didn't know earlier. How was I supposed to know what he was carrying?" Tom wants to shrug it off. Even if he'd brought it up the moment he joined them, would it have made a difference?

The servants have long since finished their dinner, now preparing for the family's. If Tom had paid more attention, he would have known immediately that Thomas wasn't supposed to be in anyone's room. They'd all finished dressing, and he's needed to serve dinner.

But now he's gone. Likely downstairs hiding his stolen goods someplace no one will find them. It would be just like him.

The door to the drawing room pops open, but it's not any of the staff. Rose coming in late as usual. But no one is going to get onto her about that habit, not tonight. They have much more to worry about.

Her carefree attitude shelters her from picking up on the uneasines of her hosts.

And not a moment too late. The next time someone enters the room, they have the good luck of it not being that dreaded valet. Simply the butler of the house come to usher them in to dinner.

Tom has the most difficulty keeping his cool. None of the staff know what was talked about before the family came through. Thomas might suspect it, but so long as they all remain calm, they should be fine.

Thomas might be moving up the ladder, but he's still well undeaneath Mr Carson. And despite being a valet, he still has to perform the duties of a footman and help serve dinner. No matter what rank he achieves, he'll always be stooping down to do more and more work.

Knowing what he knows now, it's even harder to look any of them in the eyes. A hunger for vengeance making a hollow in his stomach. They're all lucky Thomas lacks any homicidal tendency. How stupid would that be for the both of them? He has the time and resources to poison them, but that wouldn't do. He wants to see how this plays out. Even if he has to bite his tongue and bear it.

How infuriating. Just like before, his lordship barely looks at any of the staff. Including his son. Pretending he's a nobody that needs to remember his place rather than the discarded heir he really is.

Thomas goes on his circuit of the table, starting with his lordship before moving clockwise in the usual fashion. It takes a while to get to Branson. His anxiety growing with the slow approach. He does his best to keep it quiet as the man draws near, stooping slightly to bring the tray within reach.

"Thanks." Tom mutters quietly. Immediately kicking himself before he can come up with a reassurance over the matter. He's just being polite, that's all. Nothing more. This isn't guilt.

Thomas stands straight again once the man is done serving himself. Calm expression never wavering as his thoughts grind into high gear.

Tom knows what he was carrying. And he's told the rest of them. Hasn't he? Tom might be the most easy-going of the lot, but he isn't innocent. Not in this. That almost unnoticeable slip-up is going to cost them. How many times have any of them said thank you? Even him. Thomas needs to move the box. Its current location is already an unlikely one. Should he actually move it?

Thomas returns to his usual post near the servants' door, waiting for his superior to cue him to leave to get the next course. Looking at them all spread around the table, trying to act oblivious. Rose is the only one blameless in all of this. She probably has no idea what's happened today.

Anything he does, she must be left out of it. She reminds him of Sybil forever ago. Kind in an almost naive way. Headstrong and stubborn but never intending to do any harm to anyone.

Carson discreetly signals him to go back down, and not a moment too soon.

His mind still caught on that one member of the family who will never know. She never suspected it, did she? She had no reason to. The sweetest person in this damned house and she's dead.

Bitterness soaking into every crevice as he makes his way back to the kitchen to pick up the tray for the next course. How much has he missed out on just because one man couldn't swallow his pride? His family is already disappointed in him, but it's easier to accept the follies of a young man rather than a married and greying one.

Molesley glances back at him as they take the stairs up again. A confused look that doesn't see into the turmoil lying within his coworker. Thomas isn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but it's still apparent when something has gotten to him. Just not what it is. Molsley already walks on eggshells around him. So tonight is no different than any other.

Chapter Text

Mr Carson is tipped off before any of them retire for the night. They want the entire family present for this. Just maybe not Isobel. God, she'll never let anyone live this down, will she?

But she's not of concern right now. At the moment, Thomas is fixed in the crosshairs. Even as he hopes to wait it out he knows they aren't going to forget this. They only stay quiet out of fear.

Not quite.

If they only feared him, they would have done something more substantial by now. Not sitting on their hands and waiting. So no, they aren't simply afraid of him. They're cowards.

Thomas still tries to make himself scarce once he finds refuge in the servants' quarters. He can hide without hiding down here.

The others find themselves gathering in clumps when they hear who Carson is looking for on behalf of the lord of the house. "What could he want with him now?" Molsley asks aloud what the rest of them were merely thinking.

And what the rest of them are merely thinking doesn't look good. Anything that can get Thomas out of their way must be a good thing, and can't come soon enough. They're all too happy to do Carson's bidding and help find the mislaid servant.

Which they do. Looking as if he'd done absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. He seems to have been entirely innocent of any wrongdoing, as unlikely as that may be. None of them can actually discern what he's done this time. What's so bad that he got himself called up right before bed by his lordship?

Bates finds him wandering the corridor of the men's rooms. Heading for his room for the night. He gets stopped as he gets close, freezing before his door when the other valet calls his name.

"Thomas."

He turns his head. He just looks tired. Even if all of this drama hadn't happened, he'd still be exhausted. Up and down stairs all day, running errands in the house, removing stains or cleaning articles of clothing, delivering them, dressing someone when he's called for, helping to serve dinner, yet more stairs. It all gets to be a bit much.

Which is why he's so annoyed when this new barrier prevents him from going to bed.

"What is it?" His voice is flat, carrying an edge to it that makes his tiredness apparent.

"His lordship wants to speak to you."

He rubs his face. Not this. Anything but this. If he took a long route before slipping out a side door and disappearing into the night, how long would it take any of them to notice? The servants definitely don't know what the cause of this is, otherwise they'd be one gossiping mass in the servants' hall that threatened to bring the house down.

"And idea what for?"

He shrugs lazily. Thomas may have had shit luck his whole life, but no one will cry if he gets fired tonight. Mrs Hughes might say a few kind words, bu that'd be it. Whatever this is must be bad if he's getting called up now.

Thomas grits his teeth behind an obedient smile as he walks in the opposite direction from his room. Not granting Bates a parting word before heading back up the stairs again.

He doesn't cross paths with anyone else, but he can feel their eyes following him through the walls. Tracking the creaking steps as they fade above their heads.

The drawing room welcomes it with its pastel warmth, making up for the coldness occupying it. He refuses to ask for permission to enter when they've ordered him to be here.

They jump slightly as they hear the latch free itself from the doorframe. He closes it behind himself before moving to the center room. Standing firmly between them all as they pointedly avoid looking to him.

"Barrow." Robert says. Acknowledging him with a indifferent tone while he calls him by a name that isn't even his.

Sensing something isn't right, Rose leans slightly toward Tom next to her. "What's happening?" She whispers.

"Thomas is Robert's firstborn child from a previous marriage."

Her jaw drops. She can't come up with any questions right now. The most basic one has already been answered,

He nods, still surprised by the news. They both settle in, foreign spectators to the Crawley drama as it crashes down around them.

Lord Grantham has been very reserved throughout all of this, the guilty party making an effort to displace blame. Now, though, he starts off strong. Getting right down to business. "We know you took them."

Thomas doesn't speak. If he stays quiet, he has plausible deniability towards the box and its contents. He only looked in there once. Only long enough to see his name staring up at him, a line below that of his employer. With the word père written between them.

"You know what was in there. And now you know the truth." Robert can't let him think he's panicking. "So I'm going to offer you a choice."

More silence. Mary grits her teeth, Cora bracing herself, Violet sitting perfectly straight. Edith watches with detached interest, getting some small satisfaction out of everyone's reactions. Maybe Tom and Rose will enjoy this lively finish to the evening.

"You have two options. You can either keep the box, and you leave Downton with no reference. Or you can return it-" he pauses, not wanting to continue.

"And?" He asks impatiently yet with a polite air. For once, he's on top. He can control how this plays out.

"If you return it, you can stay with us."

"In what capacity?" He isn't going to let him get away with being so vague. He wants him to say it. He needs him to say it. He won't stand for a single ounce of ambiguity.

But nobody wants to say it. A bunch of Crawleys trying to keep another one out of sight so they won't have to deal with him.

Edith, strong-willed as ever, perseveres where her sister, mother, father, and grandmother all fail. "As family."

Thomas would've preferred to hear it from his father, but hearing it from her is almost better. Robert is making himself look worse by the simple fact that his child has a stronger resolve than him.

More silence.

There is no movement in the drawing room. Shoes do not scuff against the carpet underneath the sofa. Fingers are not shuffled between hands. The only thing in the entire room that gives any sign of life is the anxiously flickering eyes. Shifting between the relatives surrounding them and the man they all practically consider a stranger.

Thomas had expected to be more scared. It must be the fear in their eyes that makes this easier to bear. He'd known something had been off since he was young. It's thrilling to have attention for once, and not as a subject of ridicule. No, no. The one here that has set himself up for mockery is his lordship. "I'll consider it." He lets the words fall lazily from his mouth. He's not in a hurry, is he?

Robert finally recovers his voice before his reputation can fall further. "You don't have to decide now. Why don't you sleep on it and give yourself time to think?" Giving a stupid little smile. He's trying to be polite when he's just slapped him in the face. "You can tell us in the morning."

Thomas stares through relaxed eyes but suddenly becomes aware of the urge to close the gap and return the gesture in kind. They'd be on him in an instant, but oh that would be a wonderful way to end the night, wouldn't it?

He's tired of his patronizing. Tired of Robert acting like he's doing him a service by being a decent human being.

He reminds himself of what he stands to lose and gain from all this. He either leaves with only his name and no reference for his 15 years of work, or he can stay with them.

Sleeping is unlikely.

This is something he's been looking for for nearly 37 years, but he doesn't feel any better than he did yesterday. He actually feels worse. Yesterday he'd been used to the idea of not knowing his father. Yet to have it within reach only to be met with an uncomfortable choice, he has to figure out what to do by morning.

If he plans to go, he'll need to leave early. Bag packed and box secured before he can go anywhere. And then there's the question of where to go from here. He has no one to go to. The only family he can find is in this house, and he has no friends. As everyone loves to remind him.

It's still the easiest solution. A cowardly one, sure, but it's one that doesn't require him going toe-to-toe with his employer. And he may still get to butt his way in someday, when all of this has blown over and his insufferable lordship dies of old age.

No.

He won't give up that easily.

That's just what they want. They want him to give up. If he does that, their lives stay the same while Thomas leaves with no reference. He'd be ruined and they'd be saved.

But this was 37 years. Decades of his life spent as a servant to his father.

He turns over, picking up his flimsy pillow and shoving his face into the thin cushion. Screams that don't quite make it through, but aren't muffled enough to remain silent to anyone outside the room. There's no point in worrying about waking his coworkers. By tomorrow night, he'll either be upstairs or out of Downton entirely.

He can hear Molsley shift on the other side of the wall. The rickety bed creaking under the light weight. The man is constantly thinking or worrying over something. Often Thomas.

He's heard him, but he's too afraid to do anything about his neighbor. He definitely isn't going to confront him at this late hour. No other servant will be around to come to the footman's aid when Barrow inevitably spits his venom.

He reins it in for now. For now at least. He's gone this long without raising hell, he can wait a little longer.

Sleep has not just become unlikely, but impossible.

He has a lot to get done by morning, regardless of his decision.

"You're up early." Bates startles him from the darkened hallway. Christ. What is he even doing here? He doesn't live here. Sure, let's say he just wanted to freshen up before the day begins. He could've done it in a way that wouldn't spook him. Or he could've done it at home. This man has his own house.

"I couldn't sleep." Which is absolutely the truth. But will he explain himself? No. As much as Bates tries to pretend they're entirely different people, that man craves drama and gossip just as much as he does. Thomas just isn't the one riding a high horse.

Bates looks down at the counter. Seeing an opened tin that looks awfully familiar just going from the painted exterior. Barrow doesn't get anything so prestigious as the what their butler does.

"What is it?" He asks calmly as he busies himself with his reflection. He rarely puts so much effort into his appearance, but he also rarely has any reason to. He's surrounded by a bunch of stuffy men who are off the table, and he can't spare much effort and energy towards something so useless.

"Whose is that?" He approaches the subject carefully. He doesn't truly care, but any opportunity to kick Barrow down the hierarchy won't go missed by any of them.

"Maybe you left it here when you moved out." He looks at him from the mirror as his hands fall to his sides. Hair immaculately styled with what is clearly Carson's pomade.

Bates hasn't lived at Downton for years. He knows the suggestion is an empty one. A weak attempt to cover up its true origin. "Is that Carson's?" He can detect a note of disbelief that Barrow would be both so stupid and brave to steal something belonging to their superior.

He shrugs. "There's no name on it." He's well past caring. It's already in his hair, Bates isn't supposed to be in here, and it's his last day at work. Why should he care?

They pay Bates more than Barrow. Nevermind the disparity in their experience- which Thomas has more of- or the amount of time they've been at Downton- Thomas has been here longer- or the level of work they're expected to perform- Thomas performs the duties of a valet, footman, and even those of a hallboy.

Maybe it's his more agreeable disposition. Or the limp. Or his being married. Or the nepotism.

Isn't that a funny thought?

Nepotism gave Bates his job, something Barrow has long resented. In a matter of hours, he thinks, his lordship's favoritism will become more complicated. Everybody already hates him, but this will add another layer of distate to the relationships in this house.

There is no excuse me or pardon me as Barrow passes through the doorway, his shoulder knocking Bates's aside. There is no goodbye or farewell as Barrow continues down a pitch-black hallway, footsteps resounding down the corridor.

Chapter Text

Cora and Mary could both choose to eat breakfast in their rooms, but this morning's meal is too important to miss out on.

Thomas agrees wholeheartedly. If he'd wanted to run off, he would've done it by now. Leaving under cover of darkness, however visually challenging, is still the most convenient time to make a break for it.

While the serving has already begun, Carson has left the family to their own devices for a moment to go retrieve something from the kitchens. With both the usual servants involved already between the two locations, he has to do this himself.

It opens up the perfect window of opportunity. Thomas still would've loved to do this in front of him. He might just have a heart attack and die on the spot.

They're too occupied looking at each other to see him enter. He's quiet, turning the knob carefully to prevent the door from making any noise as it opens and closes.

It takes a few moments for anyone to look his way. It's Tom first, his guilt still fresh from yesterday's betrayal.

Their expressions quickly fall. They too saw the wisdom of an early departure. So if he's here now, it means he intends to stay.

Right?

He has a tray in his hands. If he's giving up on his job, why is he bothering keeping up the facade? Perhaps he only pretended long enough to make it up here to avoid the curiosity of his now-former coworkers.

He has an odd look on his face. One that seems almost identical to the one he wears every day of a man slowly smothering himself to death. But today's is different. It's his eyes. Like two creatures meeting in the underbrush only for them to discover moments later who's the rabbit and who's the fox.

And Lord Grantham does not like which one he's discovered himself to be.

Sensing something might be terribly wrong, he sets his utensils down on the edge of his plate. "Have you made your decision?" He asks with no small amount of reluctance. Sitting in his chair properly leaves his back turned to the subject of this conversation.

A platter is set in the center of the table, the cloche leaving much to their imagination. But It's quite easy to imagine what's underneath if they aren't a lot of fools.

It's lifted with a singular graceful movement before being set on a side table silently. The sight before them is absorbed slowly. He returned it. The box hardly fit underneath the cloche covering it. The audacity to bring it up while any other servant could've put their hands on it. That might've been even worse than if Thomas had gotten the word out. Thomas can be impulsive at times, but he's not an idiot. He's clever. He would know to keep quiet on something until the time was right.

And now the time has come.

Time seems to freeze as Barrow circles the room. He locates a chair next to the sideboard before anyone can blink, lifting it by the back and smoothly slinging it around to face the table. Sidling by the table and placing it directly across from Lord Grantham.

He wastes no time in getting comfortable. The chair, never before needed at the breakfast table, upsets the spacing between each family member. It's intended to make them even more uncomfortable than they already are. Creating a thin gap between Thomas and the women on either side of him.

He breaks into a sweet smile dripping with sarcasm before they can blink. He's so well put-together that's it's impossible to find any fault with his appearance. His personality certainly leaves much to be desired, but aren't they all that way?

"Edith." His voice takes on a warm tone. Choking out his bitterness to make peace with someone. Looking at her with more warmth than he's spared to anyone else in a long time.

The two of them share a split-second of thought. This is sort of funny. Neither one is particularly adored by their respective units. Thomas is hated downstairs, while Edith's presence upstairs is accompanied by a dark cloud.

"Yesterday, you said as family." He nudges the place setting of someone next to him, their identity irrelevant right now. He has his eyes on one person, and cares only for the reaction of another. "I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page." He tilts his head towards the head of the family. "Are we?"

The door swings open, their butler standing in the doorway. He doesn't progress any further inside once he spies his underling sitting at the table.

Carson looks like he wants to drag Thomas bodily from the room. He stares him down, but the as-of-now former valet doesn't waver. He only spares a passing glance at his former superior. Something that only infuriates the man further.

Robert can't fight this battle on two fronts. It's difficult enough to discuss it with Thomas, he doesn't want to think about what the servants will say.

"I'll explain it later." Is all he can manage. Shame beginning to overwhelm him.

Carson dips out, closing the door firmly. Molsley approaches with a tray, contents no longer important. Freezing before the obstacle standing between him and his objective.

The silence says enough.

Hearing footsteps recede, Thomas blinks expectantly at the rest of the room. "You were saying?"

After that, everyone is thinking of the worst possible outcome. Save for Thomas. He finds this hilarious, but he doesn't dare to let even the slightest laugh slip from his mouth. He needs to keep a good image to make it through this conversation.

Still recovering from the scare, and still not coming to terms with what sits beside them.

"You're going to have to explain it to them at some point."

"That's not going to go over well." Edith chuckles as she picks up her drink.

"That can't really be helped, can it?"

She raises it to her lips with a half-smile. "Not really."

They've all had death in their lives. Namely Matthew and Sybil. Their responses were all different, still sticking with them after all this time. Edith is the more easy-going one by nature, despite her bullheadedness. She's the first to go along with any new change. A long-lost half-brother showing up isn't a change she's had to handle before, but she'll take in all in stride.

It's Mary that can't stand the idea of being moved off her pedestal. She likes things done in a certain way, which is true of everyone, but of her especially. And being the sister that observes the class divide with more importance.

Robert stares at Thomas. A combination of shock and annoyance. "You will say nothing to the servants regarding this."

"I assumed as much." He drawls in that characteristic tone of his. Relaxed in spite of the anxiety they all share. Filling the room and making the air thick with the tension.

Thomas is in no hurry. He enjoys sitting down beside them after being so used to standing and waiting around on them for so long. Robert wrongly assumes that he commands authority in this conversation, no one daring to speak until he can think up other conditions.

"All of Cora's inheritance will be going to Mary."

"Of course." It wouldn't make sense for it to go to him. But what about Edith? Even Tom should be getting something. Mary isn't the only person in her generation in this family. Edith and Tom aren't going to live here until they die of old age, are they?

A clock somewhere, or perhaps its a heartbeat, pounds out the seconds as they pass uncomfortably around them.

Thomas comes up with his own question. "Where will I go?"

They hadn't thought about that before. They honestly didn't think he'd take them up on the offer to join them.

"Which room should I be put in?" He rephrases the incredibly simple question. They're all just staring at him. Someone could've made a suggestion by now.

He closes his eyes longer than he needs to when he blinks. They really hadn't accounted for this. "Stanhope." As the fact of Thomas's inclusion in the family begins to sink in, Robert realizes something that none of them had considered. His name. While they don't often have guests, if one of them remembers there having been a valet by the name of Thomas, and then sees Robert treating this man like his son, there will be a lot of questions. "Your name." is all he says.

"What about it?"

"You'll need to think of a different one."

Rose has remained silent throughout the meal and its dramatic interruption. Eyes swinging between speakers as if she were watching a tennis match. Her brows draw together at this rather odd demand, but she can understand the reasoning behind it. But someone's name is such an intimate thing. To ask someone to change it at the drop of a hat seems almost cruel.

Thomas inhales, straightening his posture. "André."

"André?"

"Yes. It's my middle name. That's what's on my birth certificate." He smiles through gritted teeth. He's oblige this demand, but not without twisting it.

"What about Andrew?"

"André." He holds fast to what remains of his birth name. "We can negotiate the details of the story later if you'd like." Yet he has no reservations about leaving Barrow behind. An ugly name from an ugly man he never cared for.

The lord looks to his wife, wordlessly asking if she can think of any other stipulations to impose on this. She returns it with a blank look, her morning off to a terrible start. Mary glares back, unable to catch her father's attention. Edith, Rose, and Tom all form a remarkably impartial side of the table. A wall of apparent indifference that actually considers this most recent addition to be one full of potential.

Robert finally looks to his son. This man who is finally his son after nearly 37 years. "Do you understand?"

"I won't say anything about this to the others, Cora's inheritance goes to Mary, I'll be put in the Stanhope room, and I am no longer Thomas."

"Do you understand?" He asks tightly. Thomas is never one to give an honest answer if it'll save him later.

"Perfectly." He chirps back with a smile. Keeping it from growing too wide so no one leans across the table and slaps it off his face. He knows somebody wants to. "Will that be all?"

"Yes."

He gracefully pushes his chair back just far enough to slip out. He leaves it in its place, rather than returning it to its station along the wall. Shoes moving in even paces away from the table. "Oh, and one more thing." He doesn't take a step back to make his addition easier, forcing the other man to turn. "Find a better spot to keep that." He momentarily cocks his head to gesture to the uncovered box lying on its silver platter. He seems to disappear from the room, his departure just as soundless as his arrival.

Cora finally opens the envelope that had been waiting for her throughout the whole ordeal. It's from Isobel, so she didn't know what to expect. Not expecting anything of great importance. "Isobel has asked us over for luncheon." She sighs. So the contents are important now. Isobel loves to hear news from the big house, and this is no exception. It's the most dramatic development in the lives of the youngest three generations.

Barrow has only just left the room, but fate smiles on him once again. Perhaps it's starting to make up for his lifetime of misery.

He removes his gloves as he takes the green stairs,

Holding the cuffs gingerly between his fingers. He makes a beeline for the livery room, neatly arranging them in their place. He won't be needing those again. He breathes deeply as he takes it all in. He'll need to leave the set he's wearing now, but he can't change out of it now without raising more suspicion than he already has. But Thomas has always been under the general eye of the servants, thanks to his predisposition for illicit activities. He hasn't done anything worthy of fault recently. Nothing worse than what anyone else has done.

Lost in thought as he steps through the doorway, head still turned back to look at the racks and cabinets. It's louder than he'd intended it to be.

Just his luck.

A few paces away, a face stares back at him. Carson. He's going to ask a lot of questions. His eyes move to try and gather information. Wanting to determine what on earth Barrow was doing in the livery while the family is finishing breakfast.

His bare hand still holding the knob. Well.

If there was any suspicion that Thomas was staying, that has been laid to rest. He's always been a brazen man but never like this. Abandoning his post during the workday without bothering to tell anyone. If his lordship knows, he definitely hasn't told any of them.

Despite the lack of a smile on Barrow's face, he looks rather pleased with himself. If upsetting the family can somehow be pleasing.

His hand drops to his side.

Thomas and Carson stare at each other. Both daring the other to say something. Knowing that anything Thomas says, despite being an untrustworthy figure, will immediately get picked up by the others. Also knowing that whatever logical explanation Carson can come up with will also reflect poorly on his lordship. The only way to win this is if they both refuse to speak on it.

He can remember his father's instructions, telling him to say nothing to the others. He won't. There's yet another problem his lordship didn't forsee.

If a gossip is suddenly quiet in the midst of what is clearly a mysterious yet scandalous situation, something has happened. Likely involving or because of him.

All the servants are aware by now that something is happening upstairs. Something big. Enough for Lord Grantham to assemble the entire family and then drag Thomas into it. The only question is what the secret is.

Chapter Text

He's left to do damage control with no real idea of what's happened. All he has to go on is the palpable anxiety of the family and the obvious breach of etiquette on Thomas's part. One he cannot be allowed to repeat again.

He herds the man into his office without much difficulty. He'd expected him to weasel his way out of it as usual, but he goes along with it uncomfortably well. He truly doesn't care what Carson thinks anymore.

The door has only just closed behind Thomas when the higher-up begins speaking, a flurry of indignation at this impertinent man who never seems to learn. His rant ends abruptly when he realizes the solution to this years-long problem. His final judgement is passed swiftly and without considering the need to consult their employer. "Thomas, go pack your things. You will no longer be employed at Downton."

"Bloody right I won't."

"I beg your pardon?"

He bites down on his lip. A laugh begins to bubble up in the back of his throat. He swallows it back before the other man can notice. That comment slipped out, but he doesn't want to come across as arrogant. Then again, this bridge was burned the second that man found out he was a homosexual. His notoriety was solidified a long time ago. "Then-"

Lord Grantham enters without knocking, much to the chagrin of both men presently occupying the room.

Flustered by his unannounced entry, Carson tries to explain the circumstances they find themselves in. "Your lordship, Thomas and I were just discussing the future of his employment-" He pauses when he notices that his lordship doesn't actually look upset.

He takes the silence as an opportunity to give another order, this one not given as his boss, but as his father. "Take your things upstairs after you're done packing." It isn't delivered with the finality of dismissing someone from service.

The butler can feel something isn't right. What could possibly lead to Thomas moving upstairs? Upstairs is where the family lives. And he's not one of them.

Thomas has a pleased yet restrained smile on his face. One of triumph being toned down to prevent any distate at his personal victory. He bows out of the conversation graciously. The moment he's out of the room the tone changes.

"He's my son." He informs him bluntly.

Carson stares. Opening his mouth to try and say something before he thinks better of it. He doesn't really know what to say. The fact that his lordship has a secret child is hard enough for him to match to the mental image he'd constructed of the nobleman. But the fact that this child is Thomas makes it even harder. What poor luck for all of them.

Just not Thomas. This is a brilliant stroke of luck for him.

Thomas goes through his room, opening every drawer and cabinet to collect his belongings and ensure he leaves nothing behind. It's always had two beds in it, but they haven't needed to give him a roommate in quite a while. Even when they had a full staff, they avoided putting anyone in his room if it could be helped. They didn't want to expose anyone to his sinful nature.

He's glad to be leaving service, and happy to be moving out of this depressing room. The empty bed next to his only serves to remind him of the ailing state of both Downton's finances and his own reputation.

He tries to be methodical. Going through the chest of drawers one tier at a time. Packing it neatly in the sole piece of luggage he owns, having commandeered an old box from the pantry for anything that doesn't fit. One at a time, underthings, clothing, personal effects, and the couple of books he's managed to hang on to over the years.

He gets to the bottom level. The disused drawer creaking as he pulls it open. And he remembers why he never opens it.

A swath of olive drab occupies the drawer, shielding him for a moment from the other contents of the space. He's forced to confront them as he removes the clothing, gingerly folding it. Muscle memory takes over as he returns it to the neatly folded square he'd been taught to put it in.

The monotonous task leaves his mind unoccupied for just a second, which is a second too long. Sure, he's packing his things, but he could've done this ages ago. He could've been allowed upstairs ages ago. With the war and everything, why didn't he get told sooner?

His father let him go off to another country and fight in a war. Let him get put in the line of fire. And never bothered to tell him. He could've died, and he never would've known. Nobody else would have known either.

What would have happened to him? Would anyone have bothered to call for his body to be brought over? Would his father have arranged a funeral? Even acknowledge him posthumously as his son? Anything? Anything at all?

He could have died.

Being alone does him no good at the moment. Something he craves desperately that has never done him any good. Allowing him to soak in his dark thoughts as the past comes back with renewed vigor.

Maybe it would have been better that way. A glorious end to an otherwise unimpressive life. And no one there hated him nearly as much as here. Nobody cared. The few that picked up on his nature were too busy fighting a war to pay it much attention, a combination of fatigue and negligence that amounted to nothing ever being done to him.

But ever since returning, he hasn't been the same. Every problem he's ever had is only worse.

Doesn't feel like eating. Rarely sleeps, and any sleep he manages to get is thoroughly unenjoyable and unrefreshing. Smoking more frequently. Biting at people without being driven very far. Pushing them away.

He never should have come back.

Maybe he should-

"What's taking you so long?" The moment Robert has spoken he recognizes that came out sounding too harsh. Especially given that he now knows what's been taking him so long. Thomas doesn't have many things, his wardrobe dismally small as he's had little need for day clothes in such a busy job.

The open garment box tells him enough. He can make out the lapels of a uniform placed inside, a few frayed-edged photographs and a handful of letters thrown on top of it.

Robert isn't a very open man, and neither, it seems, is his son. Emotions hidden behind a face of either respectability or coldness. So he does what he can in the moment. "Why don't you go ahead and get changed?"

He blinks, his mind beginning to pull away from the boxed history on the floor.

"Cora's been invited to luncheon, she wants you to go with her."

He turns his head to look at him. He can't believe that anyone would want to take him anywhere. The box in front of him is graciously removed from his line of sight. One less thing for him to get lost in.

"I'll take this up, now don't take too long." He softens his tone further as he takes the box into his arms. Closing the lid and removing its malignant influence from the space. He uses his spare hand to gingerly pat his shoulder before parting. Having the courtesy to not leave the door open in a way so common among parents.

His thoughts drift away from the moment slowly. Carson is probably sitting in his office now processing the news he's been given. Something his lordship also told him not to communicate to anyone else. Hopefully he'll take the initiative and tell them all so they can be done with it. Better to get it over with while they don't have any guests in the house.

His movements are mechanical as he undresses and redresses. Laying his livery out on the bed before taking it up in his arms. Everything else has been packed now, with nothing to keep him down here except a single task. Or two. The last one isn't strictly necessary.

He forces his face into a smile that becomes almost painful. But in a way it feels so easy. A wide smile with bared teeth that looks vaguely similar to the snarling of a dog. It turns into a genuine expression of irritation and satisfaction in equal measure as he returns his uniform to its resting place. He won't be needing that again.

Thomas makes his approach of the servants' hall, clearly visible down the hallway leaving the livery. He holds his case in one hand, making his way to the other end of the corridor.

Anna and Bates sit across from each other at the table in the servants hall, talking over things as they usually do at this time. Both have parallel roles, so they aren't needed anywhere right now.

Molesley has just looked up from polishing a bit of silver. Seeing this now, there's no doubt in his mind that something scandalous has occurred. His shock attracts the attention of the happy couple across from him, sitting with their backs to the scene. What had been softened laughter moments ago fades into nothingness as they too recognize the significance of this parting.

"Do you have a half-day?" Molesley asks cautiously, not wanting to provoke the man. The likelihood of him having a half-day is slim.

He steps closer to the gathering, his lack of noble intentions subtly apparent. "Oh, either his lordship or Carson should be around to explain it all later." He informs them matter-of-factly.

"Explain what?" Anna asks as he manages to hastily hide her anxiety. What has Thomas done this time that's so bad it warrants an explanation from either of them?

"I'm sworn to secrecy." His nose scrunches in a smug microexpression. "Sorry."

The three remaining servants exchange looks. Oh. This is bad.

Thomas passes out of the room as Daisy enters with a couple of books under her arm. She's recently taken to studying in her free time. "What was that about?" She's not as knowledgeable on the gossip of the other staff, being well aversed in the kitchen's own messes.

"I think Thomas is leaving?" Bates ventures a guess.

"Worse!" Thomas shouts back down the stairs, giving a parting wave to Daisy as she looks through the doorway.

"Are you coming with us to luncheon?" Cora checks on her daughter, looking over some notes in the library.

"I think I'd rather stay here." Mary replies, giving a sort-of-smile that has such little warmth it hardly qualifies.

Cora sighs. "Suit yourself." Mary is still upset over this, just as she is, but brooding over it won't change anything. The only way is to adjust. Thomas isn't one to back down from a fight. If someone is rude to him, he'll return the favor by being even worse.

But she'll have to learn that sooner or later.

Cora joins the others in the entryway, all ready to leave by now. For one of them, the longer they wait to leave, the more he worries.

Even out of his livery, it'd be easy to conclude he's a member of the working class. Nevermind that he isn't one anymore. He feels odd tagging along while looking so out of place among them. Maybe he should've stayed behind. He reminds himself this was Cora's idea, and Cora would make a powerful ally in the house. If she and Robert ever get into any disagreements over him, it would be helpful if she had a better opinion of him that she previously did.

This has to start somewhere.

Which turns out to be luncheon at the Crawley House.

Isobel greets them at the door, delighted to see them. Most of them. Thomas's presence is unexpected. Her face falls as she takes it in. Why on earth is he here?

"It's a long story." Cora sighs. She isn't going to tell her everything on her doorstep.

Isobel ushers them inside, a touch of reluctance as the man follows a few steps behind them.

Cora gives a brief summary of the dilemma they find themselves in. Explaining the package yesterday, the conversation with her family, and Thomas's decision this morning. Conveniently forgetting the conditions imposed on it.

"And Papa wants him to change his name." Edith laments, subtly indicating how utterly ridiculous that demand of his was. She can understand his reasoning, but it's still a big ask.

"What is he now?" She dismisses the reasoning temporarily. She can ask more questions when they've been seated.

"Andre."

"Andre? Why not Andrew?"

He sighs. Even though Isobel doesn't know the answer to her question, it's annoying to have to respond to the second instance of it today.

"Robert asked that question too, but Andre is already part of his name."

Edith continues to think aloud. "But how many people remember the servants in the houses they visit? Nobody really pays attention to them, or even their own. No offense." She tacks on awkwardly.

"None taken." He recognizes the truth of what she's said. How many people outside of the Crawley family would remember both the names and faces of Downton's servants? Besides, Thomas is an extremely common name.

They progress further within the house, following their host down the main hallway. Rather than eat in the dining room, they're placed at a table in the drawing room, where she would normally be having tea. Maybe it's to make this all less formal. If that's the reasoning behind it, he appreciates it. Yet despite the table being perfectly square, he can't help but feel that he's been pushed to the far end away from everyone else.

"How is Robert doing?" She asks her visitors as a start to the conversation while they all take their seats.

Edith chuckles without any humor. "He just sat there in silence until we all went up for the night. I can't imagine he's taking this very well."

"A mysterious parcel informs his wife of the son he's had working as his servant since 1910. No, I can't imagine he's taking it very well either." Thomas dryly remarks.

"Did you do that?" Cora frowns. "Did you send that package?"

"No. I wish I did, though." He begins to smile over his drink before his mouth disappears behind it. Regardless of his lack of experience in high society, he seems to be the one setting the tone of their meeting. For better or for worse.

Cora carries on talking without him. "Robert said he could either keep the package and leave, or he could return it and stay."

"That's a difficult ultimatum."

Edith breaks in again. "He brought it in on a platter. You should've seen the look on papa's face, he looked like he'd seen a ghost."

"Life at the Abbey is more interesting than I thought it'd be."

"It is now." She glances to her half-brother. "Although I think he may liven things up a bit."

He can't tell if that was a slight or a joke. Edith can be rude when she wants to, but she's always been one to root for the underdog. He figures it must be a joke.

"And what of George? Will he inherit anything?" Isobel suddenly switches gears, bringing the conversation back around to its original subject.

"Robert said he would." Thomas quietly reminds them. He isn't sure how easy that would be to arrange.

He thinks back, searching his mind for any relevant information. Stumbling into a fragment of a conversation from years ago. Robert had received some bad news, something pertaining to Cora's inheritance. What follows is a half-paraphrased recollection of the details of a legal arrangement.

Cora's inheritance is tied to the estate. It's part of it now. Meaning that there is no way to legally detach it. And since Thomas now stands to inherit the estate, that means what Robert wanted to go to Mary can't. Unless he can undo a decades-old marriage contract. The only avenue he can think of is framing their marriage as invalid, but all the papers indicate that the separation between his lordship and his first wife was indeed permanent.

"Thomas," Edith starts to call to him before correcting herself, "what's on your mind?"

He notices everyone staring at him. They haven't said anything since he'd spoken. He can't bring up what he was just thinking about, or they'll misunderstand his stance on it. "Everything." While he isn't lying, he isn't answering the question in a way she would've liked.

"Come on, it's got to be something. Start somewhere."

And how does he say it without sounding too eager? "Will I get to help Tom and Mary run the estate eventually?" They don't know what kind of an education he's gotten, but it can't have been the best. He's literate, though, which is a start.

"You're clever. Try asking Tom about it, he'll tell you everything. Then you can try to learn about what goes into running it." Tom is nothing if not enthusiastic about his hopes for the estate's future. It's just that his lordship doesn't always agree with his vision of the future.

He nods.

Cora slips in her own thoughts. Not at all related to what's just been said. "I suppose you changing your name works out, otherwise somebody might get confused. Since you have the same given name."

"Only part of it." He thinks over what she's said. "And how could someone confuse the two of us?"

"You look like a Thomas. Its difficult to think of you with a different name now." Edith muses.

He smiles halfway. She's trying to make conversation while avoiding anything that isn't explicitly about his unwelcome entrance. It's related to that, but he'll give her credit for trying. Mary didn't even show up.

"What's your full name, then?" Isobel asks, realizing how quiet she's been throughout this.

"Marie-Thomas Andre Crawley." He sounds as if he isn't very fond of it either. "It's still better than Thomas Barrow."

"What's wrong with that?"

He stares coldly. "My stepfather is the one that changed it. The English one." With no response, he almost feels the need to explain himself. But they aren't owed an explanation.

Isobel can feel this chat deteriorating slowly. She has to come up with something to keep this from going downhill even faster. "I can see a resemblance." She looks at him a little longer than necessary. Even though she's been nothing but friendly since he got here, he still feels unwanted. "You've got his eyes." There's a glimmer of approval in her own. So this wasn't all for nothing.

Chapter Text

"We're still… negotiating, but he's kept up his end of the bargain."

"Negotiating?" Lord Grantham might be his boss, but that doesn't mean Carson has to agree with him on everything. They've disagreed on the memorial before. They can disagree more.

He inhales and exhales, careful not to make it sound like a sigh. "We don't have all the details of the arrangement worked out yet. But the general idea of it is that he'll be moving upstairs. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."

He doesn't need to remind his lordship how tricky Thomas is. That man has been dealt a bad hand, but he still manages to play it to the best of his abilities, even if it gets in someone else's way.

"Before dinner, I'll tell the staff. You shouldn't have to tell them."

"Thank you, sir." Is all he can muster. It's not something he'd be overjoyed to tell them.

No sooner has his lordship exited his office than Mrs Hughes looks in. Stopping in front of the doorway with that calm yet concerned expression of hers. The look of someone who likes to keep things under control.

And this is clearly not under control. With all the comings and goings, the servants have started talking. Mrs Hughes is more up-to-date on their positions and their confusing web of reputations and alliances. Carson is just the figurehead.

"Do you have a moment?" Her question is innocent enough, but they both know what this is about. Well, he knows. She thinks she knows.

"I do." He doesn't want to talk about this. It isn't right to, but at the same time he feels someone needs to tell her.

She takes only a few steps, hand not even having left the doorknob, before she asks the question Carson had been dreading explaining.

"Where's Barrow?"

"He is no longer working at Downton." It's true, just not the whole truth.

"What on earth happened?"

"I shouldn't say."

She begins to realize something is amiss. "Why?"

"His lordship said he would explain it all later. The only trouble is when later is." His disdain for these recent events is evident in his measured voice.

The door bounces ever so slightly against the frame as a knock disturbs it. Easy to assume who's behind it, they open the door without delay. Clearly regretting leaving so soon, Lord Grantham had circled back to the office.

"Now might be the best time." His judgement is an accurate one. Soon after, the staff will eat their dinner, and then head off to dress the family or prepare their meal. This will at least give them some time to settle before they need to get back to work.

No time like the present.

"He said it was worse than leaving, though." Bates reminds the group. They want to get to the bottom of this. The sooner the better.

Anna proposes the simplest explanation. "Worse for us?"

"It makes it sound like he's staying." Molesley deduces.

He was smiling when he said it. Meaning it's worse for them, better for him. It must be much better for him if it got that kind of reaction. They each run through the facts silently. He packed his things, brought them upstairs, was out of livery and wasn't on a half-day, and isn't leaving.

And did anyone see his lordship slip into Carson's office when he was chewing out Thomas? Only for the valet to leave moments later looking no worse for wear. So he couldn't have upset his lordship, but clearly did something to upset the butler. Another confusing fact to add to the list. It doesn't make this mystery any easier to solve.

They carry on their investigation while not attracting the attention of said butler. It's easy to keep their voices down, but it's difficult to discuss such things without looking suspicious.

It becomes more difficult to ignore the growing gathering around them. A few hallboys filing in, followed by a maid, then another, until slowly all the staff have assembled together. Something is happening. They must have underestimated the magnitude of this mysterious event. It's brought everyone together at the same time, breaking their work schedules and abandoning duties to meet.

Carson's entrance alone is enough to attract attention. They only know that they were supposed to be here, but not the why behind it. What they're all longing to know.

"Everyone, his lordship has something important to say."

The patter dies down in an instant, attention turning to the man.

"I'm sure you're wondering what's been going on, what with Thomas leaving." Deep breath, deep breath. "He's not leaving, not really. He's going to be moving upstairs."

The staring is starting to get to him. More than a dozen people are all packed into the hall, and their undivided attention rests on him.

"Thomas is my son." He breaks the news in an even tone.

As soon as the last word leaves his mouth, the hall erupts into chaos. The scullery maids, seated near the end of the table, begin to animatedly converse amongst themselves, still the quietest of the lot. Their counterparts, the hallboys, try to get in even the most basic of questions. Who's the mother? What does this mean for Downton? Meanwhile, the higher-ups have to battle their shock.

Mrs Hughes scoffs, as if one of the servants had told her they'd gone out and gotten a girl pregnant. Molesley looks on in horror as he stumbles over his words to try and form a response. Bates holds his head in his hands, his wife taking a more vocal stance. Merely throwing a stunned what?! into the fray of jumbled responses. Mrs Baxter passes through a whole range of emotions. She'd been the one that thought she knew the most about Thomas, but she never could've predicted this.

Carson stands in silence.

They can have this moment. They all can. It's been the best kept secret for the last 36 years. Now he's paying the price for it.

Bates remains staring at the table. "So do we… "

"Do we have to…" Molesley tries to finish the question, but finds himself unable to.

A high voice pipes up from the back. "They don't want to serve him because they hate him." A maid remarks loudly and without asking permission. She's entirely right. While he might deserve some of that disdain, he hasn't been all bad. The way the maid says they seems to imply she doesn't have the same feelings as her superiors.

The eldest hallboy quickly comes to her support. "It's your job!" He remarks, pointing at the senior staff. "If you don't want to do it, then quit! I'd be happy to learn how to be a footman!" This revelation seems to have done more than interest them. Now it seems its going to tear them all apart.

One of the maids falls silent, and the others around her soon follow. Eyes tracking hers to the front of the room. That corner near the opening Carson normally uses to enter the servants' hall.

Thomas leans back against the doorframe dressed in the nicest outfit he has. It's not anywhere near as nice as what his father wears, but it's more comfortable than his livery.

Robert is the only one brave enough to ask the question. "How long have you been standing there?"

He doesn't feel the need to respond immediately. He's in no rush, and he likes finally being the center of attention without being in trouble. Which is a first. "The entire time."

Robert narrows his eyes slightly. He didn't see Thomas come down behind him, and he didn't hear him either. But he's here now.

He gives a half-hearted grin they all take as smugness. "How is everyone getting on without me?" He might have hated being a servant, but he loved being useful. Teaching a hallboy to wind the clocks properly after persistent begging, imparting sound relationship advice to a young maid in the form of men are heartless, and even giving Molesley some tips on the best way to polish silver.

"That's quite enough of that." Carson makes the mistake of trying to issue an order to a man that no longer works for him. A man he now works for.

"No." He responds simply. "I don't think it is."

The room is still and quiet. The only noise comes when Bates clears his throat awkwardly, trying to stifle a cough. Thomas appearing out of nowhere when they'd just been talking about him is enough to startle them into silence.

"Does anyone have any questions?" His own earnest question goes unanswered for a few awkward moments before one brave maid raises her hand. She can't be any older than 16, but her apparent inexperience in the field takes on a new meaning now. Rather than fearing the man's frustration, she puts her curiosity at higher priority.

"Who's your mum?"

He doesn't need to even think about his response. "A Parisian socialite." While he didn't say it, he might as well have. Anyone who knows what a courtesan is can assume that's what Thomas was trying to say. But it can also be taken at the innocent face value. He didn't explicitly state that his mother was a prostitute. If someone happens to assume she was, that's hardly his fault. He does his father the service of avoiding the most honest answer while not technically lying. Lord knows Robert wants this conversation over as soon as possible.

The girl makes a face, the odd detail sinking in. Who would've guessed his mother was French?

"So when you… you know… will he be Lord Grantham then?" A hallboy poses the next question. The younger among them have more courage and less wisdom, and so aren't as concerned about anyone else's opinion on how they should be acting. Right now, everyone is driven by their desire to know more. It's just that some of them aren't too afraid to ask questions.

Thomas doesn't want to answer this question. He'd been asking it himself, but wasn't brave enough to say it aloud just yet. But this hallboy is doing the work for him. And it would be satisfying to hear his father say it. In front of everyone.

"Yes, he will." Robert is made uncomfortable briefly, but it's not enough to make up for what's he's done.

Throughout the room, both father and son can see the dread in their eyes. The people that would've been friends with a different footman or valet are taking this the worst. They know what he's like. Carson is horrified, though he hides it well. With any luck, he'll be gone before that day arrives.

This only confirms what Thomas had known for a long time. Some of them might've tried to deny it, but he knows the truth. He wouldn't have been missed if he'd simply been fired, but a future with him as the head of the family is simply too much to bear.

It is better to be feared than loved.

It was his mother that shared that bit of wisdom with him. He disagrees with it heartily, but it's the only thing to comfort him. He's absolutely certain nobody in this house loves him, despite his father's abysmal attempts to the contrary. So if they won't love him, this is the best he's going to get. He'd never wanted anyone to hate him. Nothing ever really… worked out the way it should have. The small consolation is that the smallest creatures in this house bear no ill-will towards him. The hallboys and maids aren't afraid of him, and little Sybbie and George practically adore him.

But nobody cares what any of those people think, do they?

Thomas glances back to Carson. "Now I think that's enough." Finally giving his permission to end that tangent. His eyes settle uncomfortably over the grouping he'd usually be seated with. A footman, a valet, and a pair of ladies maids. They normally love getting onto him over the smallest slight, but they're silent now.

Huh.

It's interesting how that worked out.

"Will that be all?"

Mrs Hughes nods, eagerly dismissing him in the easiest way she can right now. He doesn't turn his back to them as he steps into the hall, only turning then to go up the stairs.

The hall is left in shambles and far too much on their minds. So not only is he Robert's son, but a whole other list of interesting details one could assume based on what little information they've been given. Nobody knows his exact age, but even with his youthful looks, they've figure out he's slightly older than Lady Mary.

Bates sighs suddenly, covering his eyes with a hand. No. This can't possibly be any worse. He's stuck with Thomas for the remainder of his career at Downton. Unless one of them dies first.

Oh God. There's a thought. How much will things change when Robert dies, and his son replaces him as Lord Grantham? It's almost sickening to consider that such a thing will happen someday.

They're down a footman, meaning Molesley and Carson will both have to serve for the entirety of the night. It's uncommon for the butler to do much, usually just pouring the wine, but now he has to take on a larger role, stooping to fulfill the leftover duties of a footman.

"Is something wrong?"

He shakes his head quickly. He knew Thomas would be here with them, but it's much different actually seeing him with the family. He's part of it now.

Robert casts him a look that says be nice. Thomas deflects it innocently. He was simply asking if something was wrong. He wasn't being rude, was he? It's just common decency to ask after someone if they appear worried. 

Violet isn't here to keep her son in line. An odd sort of dance has begun. Everything Thomas says and does is second-guessed, and Robert will always second-guess anything Thomas says and does. It's impossible for anything to be done that results in a different response from his father. He can try to play nice, but it'll take a long time for anyone to honestly believe he is. He supposes he's ruined that for himself. 

Thomas returns to his room immediately after dinner, probably scheming as the others speak downstairs. But in reality it's a bit more like a frightened animal hiding in its den. This is more than he'd hoped to achieve in his miserable life, and he does not like sticking out. He's already caught Mary's eye as a target for her ire.

Robert had told him he'd move into the Stanhope room. He's entered this room maybe just once before today. He could vaguely recall its interior before he opened the door for the second time, finding it almost what he remembered. Seeing it for the third time today, this room isn't as sad as his old one in the servants' quarters. There's color and softness and wamrth.

The walls covered in a pale gold wallpaper laced with the faint outlines of tiny flowers, visible from a few paces back only as a slight glimmer on the wall when light hits it just right. Maroon is the main color in this room, composing the comforter, a few chairs, and the base color of the hearth rug.

He knows he won't sleep tonight, but there's still no point in delaying the pretending of it. It's still rest, just not the type he needs.

He quickly sheds his clothes, laying them out over his bed. He can take care of that later. It feels good to take them off, feeling the uncomfortable needs to claw his skin off after it. He saw the way they looked at him, or how they refused to look at him. Only a few of them have any innocence in this matter. Rose is practically a stranger, and Edith at least tried to befriend him. He still didn't bother to stick around for whiskey and cigars, or join the women in the drawing room. Straight upstairs. No one can bother him here.

An attempt is made, multiple attempts, to put those thoughts from his mind. Beginning the long monotonous task of drawing a bath. The white enamel is soon clouded by steaming water, the line rising ever higher. Once it's full enough, he turns the knob again to shut it off. He pays little attention to his surroundings as he settles into the scalding water. He doesn't want to think of anything at the moment. Not of his new family or their obvious lack of affection for him. Not of his former coworkers and their equally obvious dislike of him. Nothing.

He just wants to sit here for a while. When he'd been a servant, he was only allowed enough time in the bath to clean himself, his occupation not affording him any opportunity to truly relax.

A bottle of lavender bath salts sits on a ledge near the bath. It's a small luxury, but one he'll be taking advantage of nonetheless. He empties the contents into the water, not caring for having used so much. He's just tired. As his fingers peel away from the wet glass, a thin layer of dust clings to his fingertips, telling him this room probably hasn't been used in ages. They rarely ever have guests, and rarely so many that they need to use so many rooms. Being so close to his lordship and ladyship's room, it's typically the last one to be filled by a visitor.

It's for the privacy. There's another luxury Thomas hasn't known in ages. His father surely thinks little of it, his voice audible through the wall. Just on the other side is their bedroom. They likely have a habit of chatting before going to bed, but it's not just them right now.

"…how long he'll last…"

His ears prick at the snippet of muffled conversation. He doesn't need to hear a name to know who the subject is. Both eager to and dreading to hear more, he shifts in the water, sliding closer to the one thing between him and them.

"He's stubborn, Robert, but he's also smart. Give him something to do." He knows Cora isn't very fond of him, but she seems to be putting in more effort than her husband.

"What if he messes up? You know we can't trust him."

"We're going to have to learn how to." There might be a wall between them, but he can make out the hesitation in her voice. She doesn't want to trust him either.

He can hear an exhausted sigh on the other side. "Do you think he belongs here?"

"Where else? He's proven his loyalty to the family, you just wouldn't let him in it."

"Cora, you can't blame me for that-"

"I can and I will." She corrects him. She has the right to be upset about this. It isn't just Robert's problem, he's messed up badly enough that now everyone has to worry about it. He doesn't get to tell her he's blameless.

He can tell the argument is heating up. Their voices drop lower to avoid the high volume common with such a row. He can't hear anything as clearly now, only leaving him with more doubts.

He was never meant to be here. He was never meant to be born, to make it to Downton, to ever find out who he was. He was never meant to get this far. All of those things were accidents, pure chance that drifted roughly in his favor. He knows all of this, but it doesn't make it any easier to hear from someone else.

He climbs out of the bath, not wanting to spend another moment in there where he might catch more whispered insults. Damp footprints track back into the bedroom, hastily getting dressed for the night. He's in no mood to take care of anything else, shifting the dinner clothes to a chair rather than hanging them up. 

Face-to-face with the wall behind it, he notices what flower he's surrounded by.

It's been a while since he's made a study of flowers, but he can still recall the names of quite a few. The one on his wall is quite memorable. A rather ugly little thing with only 4 scraggly petals. Just like the wallpaper, it's also yellow, making this out to be common rue. 

Oh.

He won't have any luck going to sleep now that he's beginning to understand this. The bedrooms were redone shortly after Thomas got here. He was a fool to not notice this sooner. The Stanhope room is normally the one designated as the eldest son's room. The room that would've been Thomas's if he'd been allowed into the family sooner. He can think back to an awkward afternoon, his lordship and ladyship in the library discussing potential combinations, when his lordship had suddenly asked for his opinion. He'd run out of ideas, he claimed, and Cora had told him to figure out the new styles of the men's rooms. 

Thomas had said red and gold. 

He's not going to let them have the privilege of being right. They're going to regret not having told him sooner.