Footman in Training

Thomas left Eric’s hotel room before first light, arriving at the back door of Downton just as a sliver of sun peeked over the hills. He had barely slept, preferring instead to watch the steady rise and fall of Eric’s chest while he dreamed. Thomas tried to explain that it would be nearly impossible for him to find an excuse to spend a night in London, at least not any time soon. Eric said he would wait as long as it took, but he was sure Thomas could invent something. Thomas wasn’t a bit tired, feeling practically euphoric, other than the little voice in his head that reminded him Eric would only ever be an affair. He subverted the voice, for the moment, and allowed himself to feel happy. At breakfast, Thomas surveyed the table over his coffee cup and noticed someone missing. “Where’s David this morning?” he asked Mr. Carson. “He took a piece of toast and said he wasn’t feeling very hungry. I believe he’s out in the courtyard. Though I don’t want to see him milling around the kitchen in an hour. The house may be empty of most of the Crawleys but we still have jobs to do.” Thomas spun his coffee cup around with a finger, trying not to let curiosity get the best of him. But it always did, and he quickly finished his porridge and headed to the courtyard. It took Thomas a minute to locate Price, hidden in a far corner by a pile of pallets. He sat on an upturned milk crate, petting a stable cat. Thomas lit a cigarette and approached Price. “Not feeling well this morning?” Price looked up from the calico cat by his feet. “Not especially, thank you for asking.” “Those things bite, you know,” Thomas advised, motioning to the cat with his cigarette. “They say the same thing about you, and yet I keep coming back for more.” Price smiled, then returned his eyes to the cat, who was rubbing her body back and forth across his shins. Thomas laughed. “What’s funny?” “Just that you compare me to a cat, and I always think you resemble a puppy.” Price laughed as well, petting the cat’s ear. “A dog? What about me is canine?” Thomas leaned his shoulder against the courtyard wall. “For example, when I was sewing your finger? Mrs. Hughes came in and you gave her these big, simple puppy eyes.” Thomas demonstrated. “‘Sorry I bled everywhere, don’t hit me with a newspaper.’ It’s a little act you put on. Happy little puppy. Then you turn around sneak out at night like a bad dog.” Price shook his head. “Then there’s you. Like a cat, going out at night to hunt.” “I wish I did have a rolled up newspaper right now,” Thomas said, pushing another milkcrate next to Price with his foot. He sat down, and the cat came to him for a rub. “You look perfectly healthy,” Thomas observed. “So, why are you out here?” Price was quiet for a moment. “I got a telegram from my brother this morning. My father is ill.” “How ill?” Thomas asked, taking a drag. “Gravely.” Price snapped his fingers and the cat came back to him. “Are you going to go see him?” Price looked at the house. “I don’t see how I could get to London on my half day.” “Not what I mean. The family’s gone. Tell Mrs. Hughes the trouble and she’ll soften up old Carson. There’s plenty of people here to keep things running til you’re back.” “Moody like a cat, too. Are you truly being nice, or are you scheming to claw me when I turn my back?” “Surely I haven’t been that bad to you?” “No, you haven’t. But I’ve heard you can be.” Thomas flicked his cigarette. “You should spend less time listening to what others say about me.” Price nodded. “I agree. But when you do treat me poorly, it’s hard to ignore the chatter.” “I suppose that’s fair.” The cat grew bored of the men's company and headed off to the fields in search of mice. They both watched the cat patter out of the courtyard and disappear into the grass. “You know what I want to ask you.” Thomas shrugged. “Don’t think I do.” “How was your night?” Thomas rolled his eyes. “You don’t let up.” Price batted his eyelashes. “No no, I’m so innocent as you say.” Thomas lit another cigarette. He took a long drag, contemplating what to say next. “David, you know I can’t answer your questions. Fine if you want to be my friend, but accept that there are parts of my life I will not share.” Thomas’s acceptance of his friendship moved Price. He looked away. “What?” “What if… what if... I understood.” “How do you mean?” Price’s voice was hushed even though no members of the staff were anywhere near them to hear. “Would you feel more comfortable sharing with me… if you knew I understood those parts you’re uncomfortable sharing?” Thomas shook the ash from his cigarette, still staring at the grass in the distance. “Sometimes we say things we can’t take back. You should be careful not to say one of those things now, not when you’re feeling raw after getting a telegram about your father.” Price was quiet for a length, and then sniffled. Thomas looked back from the grass and patted Price’s knee. “Go see Mrs. Hughes.” Price wiped his eye with the heel of his hand. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. Ignore me.” “You said nothing,” Thomas nodded. “And if you ever have something to say with a clearer head, then maybe we can talk.” Price laughed, taking Thomas aback. “God am I stupid,” he said more to himself than Thomas. “I’ll go find Mrs. Hughes now. Thank you. Truly.” “You’re not stupid,” Thomas said. “Maybe just a little too softhearted for your own good.” “There’s worse things to be, I suppose.” “Like an ornery tomcat?” Price stood and brushed off his trousers. “Eh, you just have to know the right way to deal with those critters,” he said, and headed in to find Mrs. Hughes. ** Price returned to Downton the same day as the family. Downstairs was chaotic, and Price fell into the tempo of the activity quickly upon his return. Mrs. Hughes asked Price if he was capable of handling the busy day, but Price thanked her and told her he welcomed the distraction. There were pale blue circles under his eyes and his hands shook slightly, but he didn’t miss a beat. Most of the staff told him they were sorry to hear his father was unwell, which made it all the more obvious to him that Moore had not. While Price was away, the staff was allowed to head into Ripon to see a picture. Moore sat next to the kitchen maid, and took advantage of the dark theater to rest his knee against hers, and then his hand. He had also rearranged his usual seat at the servants’ table to sit next to her, Price noticed his first meal back. “So dear old dad isn’t doing so hot?” Moore finally said across the table during tea. “No. He isn’t.” “Pity. What’ll happen to his shop?” Price sipped his tea and swallowed his frustration. “I haven’t thought about it. I imagine it will go to my brother.” “Your brother? But he’s younger than you.” The hallboys and house maids seated by them started listening to the conversation. “Well, he’s trained in the business. He’s taking care of it now that my father is ill. It seems like a natural choice.” Moore smirked. “And you’ll just let your brother get your inheritance without so much as a peep?” More heads turned to the two men, including Thomas’s. “I’m not worrying about that right now. My father is still alive.” “Yes but not for long. And then you’re high and dry.” Price placed his cup on its saucer. “What’s your game, Sean? What do you want me to say?” “I don’t know. Be a man, maybe? For once?” Finally, Mr. Carson was aware of the activity at the end of the table. “What is going on down there? Sean, David just returned from a very difficult trip. Why are you badgering him?” Moore looked at his kitchen maid, then at Moore. “Just turns my stomach to eat with such a pitiful little crybaby.” Price couldn’t hide his pained expression. He excused himself from the table and went to his room. “Sean, that’s enough,” Mr. Carson puffed. “Go occupy yourself somewhere else until we prepare for dinner. And don’t go near David.” The mood was too dark, and the staff cleaned up their tea. About ten minutes later a door slammed so hard in the men’s dormitory that the staff could hear it downstairs. Mr. Carson moved to the stairs, but Thomas stopped him. “I can go,” he said. Mr. Carson gladly handed over the task of having to investigate the problem. Both Price and Moore’s doors were closed. The hall was quiet, but as Thomas approached Price’s door he heard muffled crying. He entered without knocking and shut the door quietly behind himself. Price was seated on the floor with his back against the wall, face in the crook of his left arm. He gasped and sobbed, and didn’t hear Thomas approach him. Thomas crouched next to Price and put his hand on the younger man’s arm. Price yanked his arm away, then, realizing it was Thomas, balled his hands into fists. “As if I wasn’t embarrassed enough. Why are you here?” “We could hear a door slam from downstairs.” Price punched his fists together. “David, what happened?” Thomas sat against the wall next to him. “He just says such hateful things, and I’m in no place to hear them.” “What did he say?” Price felt overcome again and covered his face. “You won’t want me to say.” “I think we’re past that at this point. What was more hateful than what he said during tea?” Price looked at the door. “No one can hear you.” “He’s was rubbing Ellie in my face. That kitchen maid. I know he fancies her. But…” “Yes?” Price looked into Thomas’s eyes. “I thought he fancied me. I know he did.” Thomas’s pulse quickened at the candor of Price’s words. “How do you know that?” Price seemed to choke on a sob, then looked at the floor. “I asked him - I asked, how can you be with her when you clearly like being with someone like me?” Thomas searched Price’s eyes. “What did he say?” “He said-” Price stopped, caught his breath, and spoke more clearly. “He said, ‘When my eyes were closed, it didn't matter whose lips are on me. But my eyes are open now, and I don’t want your lips anywhere near mine’.” Thomas frowned and balled his own fist before putting his hand on Price’s back. “He won’t have the last word.” “What do you mean?” “I’ve known my fair share of men like him. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.” Price wiped his nose on his handkerchief. “You mean hurt him?” “Not physically. But yes. I will hurt him, and he deserves it. No loss for this house, everyone’ll be glad to see the back of him.” There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Hughes entered. “I think David should have the night off,” Thomas said. “Oh, I agree, Mr. Barrow. I thought that before the incident at tea even happened. David, take a bath, read a book, and get some rest. Things will be clearer in the morning.” “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes,” Price said, climbing to his feet with Thomas’s help. “What do we do about Sean?” Mrs. Hughes wondered to Thomas as they returned to their duties. “I’m sure Mr. Carson will come up with something,” Thomas said with a tight-lipped smile. “Hmm. I know that smile, Mr. Barrow. Do let Mr. Carson handle it, won’t you?” Thomas smiled again, with teeth. “Oh, absolutely. I’d never interfere.” Mrs. Hughes shook her head. “Pardon me if I’m incredulous,” she said as she went off to find Mr. Carson. Thomas watched the kitchen maid through the kitchen window, considering at least half a dozen ways to properly interfere.