Thomas and the Society of Sentinels (7/15)
Chapter Seven
By the time the train neared Norfolk the next day, Thomas was fairly optimistic about his long-term future. His lordship didn’t seem to have noticed that he’d been feeling him out on the subject of leaving-which was just fine, because he had several weeks to go before he could leave, anyway. It sounded like his lordship and the rest of the family were familiar with the idea that some Guides might sometimes want to leave service. And they had helped Morgan find another place even after he’d turned down the honor of being Lord Simon’s Guide.
Of course, he couldn’t expect them to take it nearly as well if he said he wanted to leave-there was the matter of him being the only Guide for his lordship, and also the matter of his lordship rescuing him from a life of desperation and ruin, for which he ought to be extremely grateful. They would probably be appalled by his repaying this kindness by leaving his lordship with no one to look after him.
But they were also very likely to think they were punishing him enough by sending him packing with his wages owed and a fair reference and making him find his own next place, instead of finding one for him. And if not, Lord Simon was clearly not nearly as kind as his lordship, and might be holding a grudge against his brother for helping Morgan get away. If he couldn’t come up with some way to use that to his advantage-well, then, O’Brien had taught him nothing.
Just knowing that he had a way out let him breathe a little easier. All right, so no one had asked him if he wanted to have his life turned upside-down and inside-out. He could turn it right way up again if he wanted, before too much longer.
He could put up with anything for three months-he’d put up with the trenches for nearly two years, and that had been bloody awful. And there had been plenty of times during his first few months at Downton when he would have chucked it all if he’d had a home to go back to. Army life had gone from bad to worse, and when he couldn’t take it any more, he’d gotten himself out of it. Downton had gotten better, once he’d gotten used to it. This business of being a Guide could go either way. He’d get used to it, or he’d get out. His choice.
That just left him with the more immediate situation to worry about: in a short time, he’d be turning up at a strange house, full of people he didn’t know, with strange ways. Probably very strange. There were God knew how many new mistakes to make-and all of the old ones, too.
He’d keep his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut, downstairs, that was all. Just lie low. He couldn’t make any enemies that way. Or make the wrong sort of friends.
A car met them at the station. It was only mildly disconcerting to be riding up to the house with his lordship, instead of with the luggage. He was surprised-but also a bit relieved-not to find the household arranged at the entrance to greet the returning heir. Instead, there was just a butler and a footman.
At least, Thomas thought they were a butler and a footman. Here, God only knew. As the one Thomas thought was the butler approached, his lordship said, “Clement,” and that was what he’d said the butler’s name was. So: butlers here dressed like butlers. Good to know.
“I can’t say how pleased we are to have you back, your lordship,” Clement said, extending his hand. He barely came up to Thomas’s shoulder, and the footman was, if anything, even shorter. That was odd.
His lordship shook the butler’s hand in both of his. “I’m just as pleased to be back. Ah, this is Thomas, my new Guide.”
Thomas stepped forward. No hand-shaking for him. All right. He nodded his head.
“Welcome to the household,” Clement said. Gesturing to the maybe-footman, he said to his lordship, “I believe Douglas is new since you were last home.”
“Yes, but don’t tell me….Maisry and Emmet’s son, and Francine’s brother.”
“That’s right, your lordship,” Douglas said, grinning.
“Very good,” his lordship said. “Well, I suppose they’re all in the gallery?”
“Yes, your lordship. And her ladyship is very anxious to meet Thomas.”
She what?
Glancing over at him, his lordship said, “Well, she can wait until he’s had a cup of tea, at least. And perhaps a bite to eat-we didn’t have anything on the train.” He started up the stairs, leaning on his crutch on one side and Thomas on the other. “Thomas, Clement will show you where to go. I’m fairly sure I remember how to get to the gallery on my own. Clement, don’t let everyone down there pounce on him at once-he’s a bit shy. You can bring him up to the gallery when he’s ready. All right, Thomas?”
“Yes, my lord,” he said.
They parted ways in the hall-a very normal sort of entrance hall, with a grand staircase, a fireplace big enough to roast a whole ox, and some bits of statuary sitting around. Douglas went on with his lordship, presumably to the gallery. Thomas followed Clement through a very normal green baize door and down a very normal set of service stairs. He felt as if the house were trying to lull him into a false sense of security.
There were a few people sitting around the table in the servants’ hall when they arrived-a couple of girls and an older woman, all wearing dark dresses like ladies’ maids, and a man about Bates’ age wearing livery. They all stood up when the butler entered, as Thomas would have expected them to in a normal house, but the action revealed that they, too, were all rather short. One of the probably-maids said brightly, “Lord Gerald’s home, then?”
“Yes, he’s upstairs,” Clement said, waving for them all to sit down again. As they did so, a probable-cook and probable-kitchen girl turned up at the other door, and several more people popped out into the corridor behind them, everyone more or less obviously staring at Thomas. The fact that they were all staring up at him did not make it any less disconcerting. “And yes, this is Thomas. Lord Gerald would prefer that you let him catch his breath before you, ahem, ‘pounce on him.’”
Part of the crowd dispersed, and those who remained tried to pretend they had some other reason for being there.
“Mrs. Pirbright,” Clement continued, “they haven’t eaten. If you could get Thomas his tea, I’ll see if they need anything else upstairs.” He departed, and the probable cook started back for the kitchen, returning a second later to drag the kitchen girl off with her.
Thomas took a few steps toward the table, counting chairs and trying to remember if his lordship’s father was alive. Yes, he was-otherwise his lordship would be Lord Yernemuth and not Pellinger. So his man would be first valet, and Thomas’s place would be the third one down from the head of the table-unless that was completely different here too. And it might be, because one of the probably-maids was in that spot.
Noticing his indecision, one of the probably-maids said, “You can sit down if you like. We won’t pounce on you.”
Smiling stiffly, he said, “Thank you,” and made a hasty choice of a place near the middle of the table.
“I’m Margery,” the maid added. “And these are Susan, Eileen, and Baxter.”
Eileen was the older woman, and Baxter was the man. Perhaps he was a valet, since he was called by his surname. But in that case, Thomas ought to be, too. “Thomas Barrow,” he said, indicating himself. He’d wait and see what they did with that, instead of sticking his foot in it.
“We heard,” said Susan.
“Susan,” Eileen said reprovingly.
“What?” Susan answered. “I’m not pouncing.”
“See that you don’t,” Eileen said. She must rank higher than Susan, then. Even though they were both called by their first names. He filed that away to sort out later.
Mrs. Pirbright returned then, putting a slab of cold meat pie in front of him and saying, “You just get started on that, dearie,” before bustling off again.
Thomas reminded himself that he was keeping his mouth shut, and did not object to the “dearie.” It was fairly good pie, and the tea that the kitchen girl delivered was strong and sweet. He was a bit startled, however, when they came in and out several more times, surrounding his tea and pie with an array of sandwiches, small cakes, and other tidbits. He wondered if perhaps they had taken Clement’s words-or his lordship’s-to mean that he hadn’t eaten ever.
#
It was a bit late for tea, but the whole family was still in the gallery: Mama, Papa, Georgiana, Aunt Matilda, and-yes-Simon, along with Louis and Felicity, Simon’s and Mama’s Guides. The others, he supposed, had opted to go downstairs and see Thomas first. Gerald shook his father’s hand and bent awkwardly to kiss Mama on the cheek; he skipped Georgie, because that way he could skip Simon, too, without it seeming pointed.
“Gerry, you look so thin,” Mama said, looking him up and down. “Georgie, doesn’t he look thin?”
“Not any more than usual,” Georgie said. “D’you want tea? Oh-it’s gone cold.”
In lieu of tea, Gerald browsed the rest of the trolley-still overloaded with delicacies, even though the others had clearly already had theirs. “Mrs. Pirbright pulled out all the stops,” he observed, selecting a couple of sandwiches and an éclair.
“Why wouldn’t she, with Our Gerry finally home from the wars?” Simon asked.
“No reason at all,” Mama said reprovingly. She patted the sofa cushion beside herself; Gerald went to sit, then realize that his chances of doing so without spilling the contents of his plate into his mother’s lap were very low.
“Douglas,” he said. If Thomas were here, he wouldn’t have had to ask. Douglas hurried over, and Gerald got him to hold the plate while he went through the production of sitting down. “Thank you.”
“Where is your new Guide?” Mama asked.
“He’s down having his tea,” Gerald answered. Douglas had brought over an ottoman; he gratefully put his leg up on it. “He’s been on a train all day; the last thing he wants is to come up here and be gawped at.”
“I wasn’t planning to gawp,” Mama said.
“And don’t worry, we all know better than to believe anything Si said about him,” Georgie added.
“What did he say?” Gerald demanded.
“Oh, nothing,” Simon answered.
“I thought you said he had strange manners,” Aunt Matilda objected.
“We weren’t going to speak of that, Matty,” Papa said, from his armchair by the fire.
“He doesn’t have strange manners,” Gerald said. “Just…he doesn’t.” What was it about being in a room full of his family that made him feel about six years old?
“I’m sure he’s perfectly charming,” Mama said. “And I’m sure that Simon will be on his very best behavior when you introduce us. Won’t you, Simon.”
It wasn’t really a question, but Simon said obediently, “Yes, Mama.”
“Is the muck pile still where it used to be?” Gerald asked. He’d thrown Simon into it once, when his teasing of Euan got to be too much, and he thought Simon could use the reminder.
“I’d like to see you try,” Simon growled.
“I’ll help!” Georgie said brightly.
“Children!” Mama said.
“Sorry, Mama,” they all said.
Further arguments were prevented by the arrival of Clement with fresh tea. Gerald happily accepted a cup, asking, “Thomas is all right?”
“Yes, I believe Mrs. Pirbright has him well in hand.”
“Good.” He hesitated, not quite wanting to broach the subject with Simon right there, but…. “We should talk about him a bit, later on.”
Clement nodded. “Your lordship.”
He then asked if Gerald wanted anything else, indicating the overloaded tea trolley. Gerald considered asking for a roast joint and potatoes, just to see what would happen, but instead said that he thought he could find enough on the trolley to sustain him until dinner.
Once he had gone, Mama and Georgie got down to the business of filling him in on all the family and household news-marriages and children, new places for Guides and new Guides for relatives. Two of the maids he remembered from before the war had married, and one had her first child already. Another had gone to be personal Guide to one of the cousins on Mama’s side. “What about Wallace?” Gerald asked. He’d been a footman when Gerald was last home.
“Wants to be a butler,” Papa said, making a rare, but characteristically brief, contribution to the conversation.
“He’s at Aunt Viola’s now,” Georgie explained. “Getting some training. If one of us decides to set up our own household, we’ll need someone with experience in a smaller house.”
“Who’s setting up their own household?” He hoped it was Simon.
“Oh, I don’t know, any of us,” Georgie said evasively.
“Is there someone?” he asked. He’d thought Georgie would have mentioned it, if she was thinking of marrying.
“No,” she said. “But I can have my own house if I like. I am a widow.” She glared at Mama as she said so.
“Right you are.” To be honest, Gerald had almost forgotten. When the extremely limited life span of junior officers on the Front became clear, Sentinel families with sons of military age had scrambled to arrange marriages, with the aim of having heirs in the oven before departure. Georgie’s hadn’t caught, so when her husband was killed she’d come home, only having been away a few months. But that reminded him of something else he’d forgotten. “Where’s…” What was her name? “Sophia?” Simon’s marriage had had the desired result, so his wife must be around somewhere.
“In her room, I expect,” Simon said shortly.
“Can’t stand the smell of food, poor thing,” Georgie elaborated.
“Oh, is she…?” Gerald trailed off delicately.
“Didn’t Simon tell you when he went down to see you in London?” Mama asked.
“Slipped my mind,” Simon answered.
“Congratulations,” Gerald said, as sincerely as he could manage. If Simon had two children-especially if this one was another boy-there shouldn’t be much pressure for him to sire an heir of his own. Just as well, really-with things so unsettled with Thomas, tossing a courtship and marital responsibilities into the mixture would only make everything more complicated. “When is it due?”
“December,” Mama said.
“Ah,” Gerald said. “Well, I suppose I ought to look in on Dennis later.” He vaguely remembered having the squalling infant shoved in his face the last time he was home, but since he’d still been reeling from his losses, he hadn’t noticed much beyond the salient facts that the child was a Sentinel and male. “I suppose he’s walking and talking now?” He knew that the boy must be about three, but he wasn’t sure what they did at that age.
Mama and Aunt Matilda told several amusing stories about the child-or, at least, what they thought were amusing stories. They mostly seemed to involve his unsuccessful efforts to clearly speak the English language. Gerald wasn’t sure if the stories were, perhaps, more amusing if you had been there, or if he was simply running low on patience for dealing with his family en masse. Ordinarily, the gathering would have broken up long ago, but clearly no one would be going anywhere until they had seen Thomas.
“He is getting a little more interesting now,” Georgie admitted. “The other day, we took him down to the stable and put him on Snowflake. Just to take him around the yard on a leading rein, but it’s a start.”
“Good lord; Snowflake’s still around?” All three of them had learned to ride on Snowflake; he had to be nearing thirty. Even for a Shetland pony, that was old.
“Probably not for much longer,” Georgie said. “They had a terrible time keeping weight on him last winter.” She went on talking about the pony’s health, how they’d have to get a new one for Dennis before long, and the efforts to rebuild the stable since losing so many horses in the war. Along the way, Georgie mentioned that he ought to stop by the stable and talk to Clint.
“I will,” Gerald agreed. Clint had always been the one to look after his horses; he couldn’t neglect him just because he didn’t have any horses anymore.
“He’s not still carrying on about that colt, is he?” Simon asked. “It’s been months.”
“He isn’t carrying on,” Georgie said. “But he’ll probably be reminded of it since Gerry’s home.” Turning to Gerald, she explained, “The one he was hand-raising-Bella’s foal?”
Gerald vaguely remembered reading something about it in a letter-the mare had died of foaling complications. “It didn’t survive?”
Georgie shook her head. “He was rather upset.”
“I’ll talk to him about it,” he promised.
Mama moved on to her supply of news about relations too distant to have been covered in the first round. Fortunately, before she could finish the third cousins, Clement returned, bringing Thomas with him. The headache that had been simmering unnoticed behind Gerald’s eyes suddenly eased. “Thomas!” He started looking around for his crutch, then remembered that Mama would surely not be satisfied with a fleeting glimpse at Thomas, so he might as well stay seated.
Thomas approached, looking hesitant. “My lord?”
“Here, sit down,” Gerald said, patting the ottoman next to his leg.
That was a mistake; Thomas stiffened and smelled more-than-usually anxious. It was a bit late to change course now, though. Thomas perched warily on the edge of the ottoman.
“Goodness, he is tall,” Mama said.
Thomas didn’t like that much; Gerald could tell from the set of his shoulders. “Yes, Mama,” Gerald said dryly. “He’s practically a giant. I expect we’ll need to go to a circus outfitter to have his livery made.”
Mama frowned. “I’m not certain that I would go that far, dear.” With a pointed look, she added, “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
As soon as he had, she’d start interrogating him, Gerald knew. But he couldn’t really get out of it-not being introduced wouldn’t stop them from talking about him, and Thomas would likely want to know who everyone was, anyway. “Mama, this is Thomas. Thomas, my mother, Lady Yernemuth. Aunt Matty, Thomas; Thomas, Lady Matilda….” At least by introducing everyone in a rush, he could stop Mama from having a conversational monopoly.
She did get in the first question, though. “I hope Lord Gerald is treating you well?”
“Yes, your ladyship.” Thomas gave Simon just the tiniest fraction of a glare at that. “Thank you.”
“I understand you worked in an Insensate house before,” she continued. Gerald, being familiar with Thomas’s habits, was unsurprised when he didn’t answer, but it took Mama a moment to rally. “This must be quite a change for you.”
“Yes, your ladyship.”
Georgie was the first one to pick up that he was not going to elaborate, no matter how long Mama kept staring at him. “I expect you’re very tired after the train journey,” she said.
That got another, “Yes, your ladyship.”
“Told you,” Simon said in a singsong voice, too low for the Guides to hear.
“It was very tiring,” Gerald said. “In fact, I’d like to go up to my room until dinner.”
Thomas shot to his feet and offered his arm to help him up.
“Yes, about that,” Mama said tentatively, as he stood and got his crutch under his arm. “I had Clement move you to the oriel room.”
“What? ”
“All your things are just the way they were,” Felicity said soothingly. “The furniture and everything. Just in a different room.”
Even so, she had no right to just move him. “What happened to my old room?” A terrible thought occurred to him. “Did you give away my room?”
“I wasn’t going to,” Mama began, “but Simon--”
“If my room is full of Simon’s things, there will be a bonfire on the lawn! Thomas will help me!” Euan had always argued for a conciliatory approach to Simon, but based on what that butler had said about Thomas, Gerald didn’t think he’d have those kinds of scruples.
“But,” Georgie picked up where he had interrupted Mama, “Simon was going to steal it if it stayed empty, so I moved in, because I knew you wouldn’t mind that quite as much. And now Sophia has my room; the one she was in had a smoky chimney.”
She was right that he didn’t mind that quite so much, but it was hardly the point. “Then why not put Sophia in the oriel room? Wherever that is.”
“Thomas knows where it is,” Clement spoke up. “I showed him when we took your things up.”
Naturally, Thomas wouldn’t understand this monumental betrayal-he had never seen Gerald’s old room. But he was looking-and smelling-very nervous about the whole thing, so Gerald knew he had to calm himself down. “Good,” he said, starting for the door. Thomas hurried after him. “Let’s go and see this cupboard my own mother’s stuck me in.” He hurled this parting shot at the door Thomas had just closed behind him, but Mama was a Sentinel; she’d have heard anyway.
“It’s just at the top of the stairs, my lord,” Thomas said cautiously.
“Good.” Gerald forced a smile as he started up the stairs. “Thirty-seven bedrooms in this house, and she had to give mine away?” he grumbled. “Unbelievable.” This staircase was a lot longer than he remembered it being. “Get your leg blown off defending your country, and how do they show their gratitude? By stealing your bedroom, that’s how.” Just because he hadn’t used it for six years; that didn’t mean it was open season on bedrooms.
By the time they reached the top of the staircase, Gerald had run out of complaints. He also realized that in the back of his mind, he’d been waiting for Thomas to step in with some calming and reasonable remark-as Euan would have. Likely he’d have pointed out that out of the thirty-seven, there were only a handful of really good ones. The others had smoky chimneys or windows that rattled in high winds, or there was a shared bathroom, or the dressing room was down the hall….
If he had, Gerald could have pointed out that since he was the heir, he was supposed to have one of the good bedrooms. Whether he was using it or not.
But Thomas just said, “It’s this one, my lord,” opening the door and standing aside.
Once he was inside it, Gerald realized that the “oriel room” was one of the good ones. In fact, it was the one that Simon had been arguing since leaving the nursery should be his, but Mama insisted it had to be kept open for important guests. And seeing all of his familiar things-his bed, his writing desk, his books on the shelf and his pictures on the wall, did settle him down somewhat.
Still, he prowled the room uneasily, peering into the corners and opening the windows to get an idea of the air currents and views. His old room had gotten a nicely herbal-scented breeze from the kitchen gardens; this one didn’t smell right, and the light was coming from the wrong direction. And his carpet, which had been made to fit the old room, didn’t quite reach the corners here.
Once he’d catalogued the room’s deficiencies, he checked the connecting doors. The bathroom was all right-a little bigger than his old one, and it had a fireplace in it. He supposed he could get used to that.
The dressing room looked strangely bare-nothing in it but a bed and a bunch of his clothes and so forth. It slowly dawned on Gerald that what was missing was Euan’s things. Because, of course, the dressing room of Gerald’s old room had been his room since they were sixteen. Euan was naturally tidy, but he’d still managed to accumulate quite a bit of clutter in all that time-books and bric-a-brac and presents Gerald had given him.
All that had been packed away somewhere. Gerald would have to find out where. But maybe it was for the best, them having moved him. Seeing Euan’s room without Euan’s things in it would have been awful, but seeing Euan’s things when Euan was gone might have been worse. And it would be rather difficult for Thomas to make himself at home, as well.
Realizing that Thomas was hovering at his shoulder, Gerald took a few deep breaths, then said, calmly, “Well, this isn’t so bad. I suppose you’ll be all right in here?”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas agreed. He hesitated. “I haven’t finished the unpacking yet.”
“That’s all right,” Gerald said, turning back towards his own room. “Sit with me for a minute, before you get to it.”
They’d brought his sofa, too, though he didn’t like where they’d put it. The sun was in his eyes. Still, it would do for now; he sat and held out his arm for Thomas to settle in under it. Once he had done so, he said, “I’m not really cross about the room.” He stopped. No, lying to his Guide was not good. “That is I am, but I know it isn’t your fault. You know that, right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And I suppose Mama had her reasons.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said again. “Mr. Clement mentioned your other room was…a bit difficult to get to.”
He hadn’t even thought of that. How astonishingly thick he was. His old room was at the top of the east tower. He’d liked that about it; good views in all directions. But perhaps not entirely suitable in his current condition. “Yes, well. I suppose this is better in the circumstances.” He sighed. “Still, I wish they’d asked.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas agreed, with a note in his voice that suggested there was something he wasn’t saying.
“Is there something you’re wondering about?” Gerald hazarded. “Or perhaps a lot of things?”
Thomas hesitated again. Finally he said, “Why is everyone so surprised that I’m tall? Are Guides…supposed to be short?”
“No,” Gerald said. “No, it’s fine. It’s just that our ones here are usually short.”
“Noticed that,” Thomas muttered.
“I suppose you do stand out a bit,” Gerald admitted. There wasn’t anything that could be done about it, but he hoped it wouldn’t bother Thomas too much, if he could be assured that it wasn’t a problem. “They’re all related, you see. The same Guide families tend to stay with the same Sentinel families for generations. I expect the first Earl of Yernemuth must have happened to have a rather short Guide, and some of his siblings and cousins came to live on the estate, and there you have it.”
“I see, my lord,” Thomas said, looking thoughtful. “Is that….” He fell silent.
“What?”
“I’ve been trying to work out who gets called by their surnames. Downstairs, I mean. But I suppose if a lot of people have the same ones, that makes it more complicated.”
“I never really thought about it,” Gerald answered. “You’re likely right. Why, who do you think-who are you used to hearing called by their surnames?” He hastily revised his question midway to avoid implying that what Thomas was used to was incorrect.
“Ah-butlers, housekeepers, cooks, chauffeurs, ladies’ maids. Valets.”
“Goodness. Yes, that would be confusing. Half of them would be called Owens or Morgan.” He considered. “Here, we call the cook by her surname because she’s an Insensate from off the estate, and that’s what she prefers. And we used to have an Insensate driver who went by his surname, but he left during the war, and the new fellow’s a Guide. I assumed we call him Timothy, but I haven’t actually asked. Other than that, we use Christian names for everyone.”
“What about Clement and Baxter, my lord?”
“Those are Christian names. Guide mothers sometimes give their sons names that sound like surnames-they say it means she wants him to grow up to be a butler.”
“Oh. So--” Thomas stopped himself again, but this time it only took a glance from Gerald to remind him that he was allowed to ask questions. “So do I call the butler Clement or Mr. Clement?”
“I…have absolutely no idea,” Gerald admitted slowly. “Euan always called him ‘Uncle Clement,’ but that doesn’t really apply.” What did the other personal Guides call him? Gerald couldn’t remember. “He won’t mind much either way,” he essayed. But given how Thomas hated being wrong, he’d be more comfortable if he knew he had it right. “We’ll have to ask him.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said unhappily.
“No one is going to give you a hard time for asking questions,” Gerald told him. “I’m quite confident of it, but if they do, you can tell me and I’ll take care of it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
That was definitely his “you are a fathead and I don’t believe you” voice, but Gerald didn’t know how else to convince him other than to let him see. “Is there anything else that…seemed unusual to you?” He hoped that phrasing the question might get Thomas to open up more, since he wouldn’t have to actually admit to being mistaken or confused.
Thomas shifted his weight a little. “I’d never been taken into a drawing room to be introduced to an employer’s family before, my lord. So that was a bit unusual.”
“No?” Well, he had been at Downton Abbey for ages, and he’d started as a footman, so it made sense that he wouldn’t have been-he’d have been known to the family already by the time he was made Grantham’s valet. But he seemed not to mean just that he’d never experienced it himself, but that it was unusual for any servant in his position to be introduced. “Does the rest of the family…not speak to valets?” he guessed.
Thomas seemed just as puzzled as he was. “They can, my lord. There generally isn’t much reason to, but it’s not…forbidden, or anything.”
“But how can they, if they haven’t been introduced?”
Thomas stared at him as if he had grown another head. “They just…do, my lord.” Then he looked away. “Are Guides not supposed to speak to people they haven’t been introduced to, then?”
“No,” Gerald said, as understanding began to dawn. “The other way around, in fact. Sentinels don’t speak directly to another Sentinel’s personal Guide. There is a great deal of potential for…misunderstanding.” He was explaining this badly. “Does that make sense?”
“Very little, my lord,” Thomas said tactfully.
“Let me try again.” Before he could begin, he had to think about why Thomas didn’t understand. Why hadn’t Lord Grantham cared who spoke to Thomas?
The answer was staggering in its simplicity: because Thomas hadn’t been his Guide. Now he knew where to start. “Do you remember what happened with Lord Finsworth?” This time, Gerald didn’t need to wait for the “you are being a fathead” voice to realize that he was being a fathead. Of course Thomas remembered.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Perhaps you noticed that Sentinels tend to get rather upset when their Guides are hurt.” That was surely the understatement of the century. “Finsworth was quite wrong, of course, and should have kept his temper, but…he was under a certain amount of strain. As was I. Sentinels are usually very careful in their dealings with other Sentinels’ Guides, in order to prevent such…regrettable losses of control. If a Sentinel were to say or do something to a Guide that was thought, even mistakenly, to be threatening or insulting, the Sentinel of the Guide in question might-as my nanny used to put it-forget that he is an Englishman. This was an especially significant problem in centuries past, when most Sentinels were trained in hand-to-hand combat and carried swords everywhere they went, as you might imagine.”
“I think I see, my lord.”
“Do you? What do you think I said?” They were clearly confronting this topic with vastly different assumptions; God only knew the many terrible ways Thomas could misinterpret what he was saying.
“In the old days, if a Sentinel said the wrong thing to a Guide, the other Sentinel might murder him?”
All right, so he did understand it. “Yes. So the custom developed that Sentinels don’t speak to attached Guides unless they’ve been given permission. The idea is that if you know someone well enough to introduce him to your Guide, you know that he won’t deliberately insult or threaten the Guide, and you expect to be able to keep your temper if there’s a misunderstanding. These days, of course, the chances of a poorly-chosen word ending in actual murder are low, but it’s still the custom not to speak to a Guide you haven’t been introduced to.”
“I’m sure I’ve been spoken to a time or two by other gentlemen at the Society,” Thomas said. “Was that…wrong?”
“Not exactly,” Gerald admitted, although he didn’t like the idea much. “Society Guides are usually considered to be…like household Guides. Butlers and footmen and so on. Anyone can speak to them.”
Thomas was still looking confused, so Gerald added, “The details aren’t that important. Everyone in the household can speak to you now…except my sister-in-law and my nephew; we’ll have to meet them later.”
“What if they do speak to me? My lord.”
“They won’t. Well-Sophia won’t. If you passed her in the corridor before you’ve been introduced, she rightly ought to ignore you. But she’s in confinement, so even that is unlikely to happen. I suppose Dennis might-he’s only three, so he probably hasn’t been taught yet not to speak to strange Guides. In any case, if someone who shouldn’t be speaking to you does, it’s perfectly all right for you to answer.”
Thomas nodded. “What about visitors?”
“As far as I know, we aren’t expecting any in the near future. But if we do have any, you’ll be introduced if there’s a reason to-if you’re in the drawing room with us or something.” Gerald smiled. “But you aren’t hauled in for the express purpose of introducing you. That’s just for family-and now that we’ve got it over with, you won’t need to do it again.” Curious, Gerald asked, “How did you do it in that other house? You just go around speaking to anyone?”
“Ah, no, my lord. We speak when we’re spoken to.”
“Oh.” How strange. “In that case, there’s another detail you should know, for the future. It could happen that you stumble across a guest who has gotten lost or needs some other sort of assistance, but hasn’t been introduced to you. In that case, one is permitted to address a question such as, ‘I wonder how one gets to the drawing room from here?’ to no one in particular. You’re expected to answer.”
“Very good, my lord.” Thomas considered. “So I suppose-at Downton, I used to valet guests sometimes. Even after I was Lord Grantham’s valet, if it was somebody important. Will-”
“Good God, no.” The words burst out of him before he could think about them; the idea was just that obscene. Thomas flinched away from him, a sharp note of fear in his scent. “I’m sorry,” Gerald said, patting his shoulder. “Ah, no, we don’t do that. It would be very, very unusual for a Sentinel to travel without his or her own Guide. Unless they were looking for a new personal Guide, and one of the maids or footmen were interested in the position. Then they might be invited for a visit to give the two a chance to get to know each other. Or if a visitor’s own Guide were ill, or something like that, a maid or footman might be asked to assist. But not a personal Guide, no. Never. It’s considered very poor manners to even touch someone else’s personal Guide.”
“Oh.” Thomas settled back against his side, still a little hesitant. “I’m sure I’ve seen Morgan touch you. At the-place. Prison. For one. Is he-I thought he was Mr. Langley-Smythe’s valet. Is he something else?”
“No, you’re right; he’s Ace’s Guide,” Gerald said. “That was a bit of an emergency, at the prison. He has attended on me a few other times, when I was…when I didn’t have a Guide of my own. But that’s very unusual, and it was very generous of Ace-of both of them, really. I’m sure they’d discussed it beforehand between the two of them. I expect they only allowed it because my situation was so desperate, and because I’ve known Morgan since childhood.”
Thomas nodded. “All right. So no speaking to Sentinels you’ve not introduced me to, and no touching other Sentinels. Have I got it right, my lord?”
“Yes,” Gerald said. But as soon as he said it, he began to imagine any number of scenarios where Thomas’s concern with hewing to the letter of the law might lead to disaster. “Except in an emergency-if Mama or Georgie stumbled on the stairs, for instance, you’d be quite right to steady her without waiting to check with me first. And young children are generally considered exceptions.” Gerald remembered being quite affectionate with Baxter up until he was about twelve or so. “I’m not sure how much we’ll be seeing of Dennis, and his nurse will be trying to teach him not to indiscriminately grab strange Guides, but if you should end up being close with him, that’s fine.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said. “I…haven’t much experience with children.”
“Neither have I.” But Thomas wasn’t mentioning that to make conversation; small-talk was not part of his repertoire. He was trying to ask a question, and given that this was Thomas, it was a question about what Gerald wanted of him. “You aren’t expected to take any particular interest in Dennis-it’s just that you’re allowed to, if you wish. We’ll have to get to know him eventually. He’ll be my heir-well, after Simon, of course-unless something changes drastically, but I expect I’ll wait until he’s a bit older before I have much to do with him.”
“Yes, my lord.” Thomas sounded more confident this time, so that must have been the sort of answer he was looking for.
They sat for a bit longer. Thomas didn’t ask any more questions-or comment hesitantly on any additional topics-and Gerald decided not to press him for any more. He’d already done quite a bit of blathering, without managing to impart much of any immediate practical value, as far as he could see. His first day in a new house, Thomas probably needed to know where the towels were kept, and things like that. Gerald not only had no idea where the towels were kept, he also didn’t know what else “things like that” might consist of. But Thomas seemed reasonably relaxed and content-at least, by Thomas’s usual standards-so Gerald let himself relax too.
#
Thomas had very nearly dozed off, cuddled on the sofa with his lordship, when the butler-Clement, or Mr. Clement, or whatever he was supposed to call him-came in. He jumped away with a start when he heard the door open, as if he were about to be caught doing something he oughtn’t.
He was very nearly certain he wasn’t doing anything wrong, but by the time he had figured that out, he was already standing up and halfway across the room.
Perhaps a quarter of the way across the room. It was a big room.
“Ah, Clement,” his lordship said, sitting up a bit straighter and shooting an anxious glance at Thomas.
“Lord Gerald,” Clement answered. “I came to see if everything was to your liking, in your new room.”
“I’m getting used to it,” his lordship said. “I think I’ll manage to survive the experience. We’ll need to fix Thomas’s room up a bit, though.”
“Of course,” Clement said, although what exactly was wrong with the dressing room, Thomas wasn’t sure. “And are you settling in all right?” he asked, turning to Thomas.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “I haven’t quite finished the unpacking. And I suppose you’ll be dressing for dinner, my lord?” Even if the cuddling was allowed, he wasn’t entirely sure what the butler would make of him doing it when he had tasks at hand.
“I think I have to,” his lordship agreed. “Clement, Thomas was wondering how he should address you. Is it Clement, or Mr. Clement?”
“Most of the younger staff call me Mr. Clement, your lordship.”
Was he one of the “younger staff”? He supposed Mr. Clement thought he was, and he was not, he reminded himself, going to argue about it.
“Ah,” his lordship said. “Well, there you are, Thomas. And of course,” he continued to Mr. Clement, “Thomas should feel entirely welcome to come to you with any questions he may have?”
“Certainly,” Mr. Clement answered. “Will you need any help with the unpacking, Thomas?”
“I think I can manage,” Thomas answered, withholding any remarks he may have wanted to make about how well he knew his job. “I expect I’ll have to press a few things for tonight, but if someone can point me to the place for doing that, I should be fine.”
“Do you remember how to get back down to the servants’ hall?”
“Yes,” Thomas said, with slightly more confidence than he felt.
“Then it’s at the end of the passage to the left. You can ask anyone, if there’s something you can’t find.”
“Thank you, Mr. Clement.” He scurried off.
The unpacking went quickly-his lordship hadn’t brought much, since his country things were still here where he had left them before the war. Mr. Clement seemed to have settled in his lordship’s room for a cozy chat-about the other staff, from the occasional stray remark Thomas could make out-so he gathered up a set of evening things and went looking for the servants’ area.
He found it with only a couple of wrong turns, and the pressing room was right where Mr. Clement had said it would be. The pressing irons, clothes brushes, and other tools of the trade were all perfectly ordinary, and arranged so that it was easy to find what he needed.
The normality of it all was a bit comforting, after what Thomas was willing to admit-in the privacy of his own head, at least-had been a trying couple of days. At least for the next little while, he knew precisely what he was supposed to be doing.
He’d given the coat and trousers a bit of a touch-up, and had moved on to a hotter iron for the shirt and tie when Margery, who’d been in the servants’ hall earlier, came in. “Oh, Thomas,” she said with a smile, setting up another ironing board. “Hard at work already, I see.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“I just have to press a blouse for Lady Georgiana. I’m running a bit behind today.”
So what? He wasn’t behind; he’d have had his lordship’s evening things ready ages ago if they hadn’t just been on a long train journey.
“How is he?” she asked. “Lord Gerald, I mean.”
“He’s fine.”
“M’lady says said he was a bit tired-but Lord Simon was giving him a bit of a hard time.”
“Yes,” Thomas said vaguely. He wasn’t about to be caught gossiping.
“He must be better than he was, if he’s dressing for dinner,” Margery continued. “When he was last here-after the Army sent him home-he never got up, barely even spoke. M’lady said he was like a shadow, or a ghost.”
Thomas hadn’t realized things had been that bad-at the Society, his lordship had tended to mope and avoid dressing, but he didn’t seem to have a problem speaking. “Yes, he’s a bit better, then.”
“I’m glad.” She lowered her voice to a confidential tone. “We thought he might pine away and die; we really did. When we couldn’t find another Guide for him.”
Thomas didn’t know quite what to say to that; he just took the small iron and began working on the shirt cuffs. Margery took up the larger iron that he’d put back to keep warm, and licked her finger to test the heat of it.
For all he knew, Thomas reminded himself, it was perfectly acceptable in this household to steal a man’s hot iron out from under his nose. He put another one on the stove without comment.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Margery said. “I thought you were finished with this one.”
“I’ve still the back to do. But it doesn’t matter.”
“I always finish with the larger iron first, and then start on the details.”
Fascinating. He nodded.
“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am.” He was finished with the cuffs now, but the new iron wouldn’t be hot yet. Might as well start on the white tie; he usually did it with the big iron, but it could be done with the smaller one.
“That’ll make a bit of a change, around here,” Margery said cheerfully. “Have you met anyone yet, apart from us who were there when you had your tea?”
“Not really.”
“What do you mean, ‘not really’?”
He meant, not really. “Lord Simon’s man and Lady Yernemuth’s maid were there when I was introduced to the family, but we didn’t speak.”
“Mm. Well, you’ll see everyone at dinner. If you don’t mind a bit of friendly advice, it’s probably best you keep your distance from Louis. With the way Lord Simon and Lord Gerald get on, it’s more trouble than it’s worth trying to be mates with him.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” In fact, he’d already planned to be a bit cautious of Louis, given what his master was like. But he wouldn’t go looking for trouble on Margery’s say-so, either. He’d had enough of being led round by the nose by scheming ladies’ maids. But the topic did give him a chance to ask a few questions she’d have no reason to lie about. “You’re Lady Georgiana’s personal maid, then?” She must be, given what she was doing, but he’d start there.
“Yes. Miss Eileen is Lady Matilda’s Guide, and Baxter is his lordship’s-your lordship’s father’s, I mean.”
That was more or less what he had thought. “What about Susan?” There didn’t seem to be any ladies left, unless the absent Lady Sophia’s maid had been lollygagging in the servants’ hall while her mistress was ill in her room.
“Oh, she’s a housemaid. She just likes to leave her apron off when she thinks she can get away with it.”
So the housemaids wore dark dresses here, but you could tell them from ladies’ maids by the aprons, except for Susan. All right. He wondered about the men’s uniforms-but since he knew Louis and Baxter were valets, and Douglas was a footman, he should be able to sort it out on his own. “I see.”
“The other housemaids are Dora, Agnes, and Ruth,” Margery went on, “and the footmen are Douglas and Gordon. Mrs. Hope is the housekeeper, and you know Mrs. Pirbright….”
She went on to name all of the rest of the staff, from kitchen girls to boot-boys and laundresses. Thomas knew he’d never remember all the names-they were all fancy sorts of things, not a plain John or Mary among them. But had a handle on the important ones, at least, and the house seemed to be organized in much the same was as he was used to, so that was a start.
#
Gerald talked of this and that with Clement until they heard Thomas leave the dressing room by the hallway door. Clement brought his description of his niece’s courtship with an under-gardener to a swift close, and said, “About Thomas, your lordship?”
“Yes,” Gerald said with a sigh. “I’m not sure where to start.” Might as well just jump in somewhere, and start swimming. “First off, his manner toward me will probably strike many of the others as cold.” He might as well be blunt. “Or even rude. He’s not used to our ways, and his previous training was…strange. You might want to reassure the others, if they’re concerned, that he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds. He tends to be at his most formal when he’s worried or thinks he’s done something wrong, so I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of it over the next few days. He is a bit warmer when it’s just the two of us and he feels comfortable.”
“Very understandable, your lordship,” Clement said. “Service in Insensate houses is…different.”
So he knew that, did he? “I’m not sure I realized how different, until recently. I’ve made a bit of a botch of things, in more ways than one. But I suppose the most important thing for you to know is that he’s had a very hard time of it, and it’s left him unhappy and fearful. I don’t think he’s ever been properly looked after.” He explained what little he knew of Thomas’s childhood-mostly that his family had rejected him because of some sort of indiscretion with another boy. “He doesn’t like to talk about them, and I haven’t pried, but I can’t imagine his upbringing was much at all like a normal Guide’s. And then at that Insensate house….” He described Thomas’s struggles to become a valet, his lack of friends downstairs, and Lord Grantham’s distant treatment of his servants in general and his particular dislike of Thomas. “Somewhere in the middle of all that he went into the Army Medical Corps and spent two years at a battalion aid station in the Somme, entirely on his own. He was wounded-you saw his hand?”
Clement nodded.
“He doesn’t like people looking at it; that’s why he wears the glove. He doesn’t talk about the war, either, but I’m sure he had a terrible time of it, because everybody did.” He went on to explain Thomas’s arrest, and how he had been tricked into his indiscretion by the one person on the staff he considered a friend. “Then we brought him to the Society, and that’s where things become really strange.”
He described Thomas’s behavior towards him-how quiet and shy he’d seemed, both hungry for affection and wary of it. Then the assault by Lord Finsworth, which caused Clement to utter an oath under his breath. “After that happened, I found out from Weatherby that he’s shown an entirely different face downstairs. Very aggressive towards the other Guides.” He described a few of the incidents. “I don’t quite understand it. I’m sure they were welcoming to him; they always are. One would think he’d be relieved to be among his own sort, and to be shown some kindness, but-well.” He shrugged helplessly.
“Mr. Weatherby sent me a letter, which makes a bit more sense now that I’ve heard a fuller description of events, your lordship,” Clement said. “I may be able to offer an explanation.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “I gather from Mr. Weatherby that the Guides at the Society tend to welcome the new lads by offering a great deal of unsolicited advice. Given recent events, I think it likely that Thomas was…suspicious of their motives.”
“Oh, yes,” Gerald said, nodding. “I expect he would be. And there’s another thing-he doesn’t like it at all when he’s told he’s made a mistake.” Much of the unsolicited advice must have seemed like precisely that.
“Doesn’t like it in what way?”
Gerald thought about it, calling to mind how Thomas smelled at those times. “Frightened and angry. I expect he’s mostly angry at himself, but….”
“But he strikes out at anyone nearby who he thinks is weaker than himself,” Clement concluded. “Not a very pleasant habit, but not unusual in the Insensate world. I expect he learned it from any number of sources.”
“Now I think I understand.” Gerald sighed again. “That doesn’t help answer the question of what to do about it. I’m sure the others downstairs will be as patient as they can, but there’s only so much we can expect them to take. I’d like it if he made a friend or two, but it’s even more important to keep from getting the whole staff in an uproar.”
“Indeed, your lordship,” Clement said firmly. “I’ll have to give the matter some thought, but I think perhaps-with your permission-I might share a bit of what you’ve told me with a well-chosen few of the other Guides, and encourage them to, as you say, be patient, and to try to find a way of talking with him which does not upset him. The rest can be advised that he likes to keep himself to himself, and asked not to snub him, but to maintain a bit of distance and to respect his privacy.”
Gerald nodded. “That sounds as though it may work. It’s certainly a place to start.” He went on to explain a few more points-Thomas’s fear of asking questions, and how he seemed particularly anxious about points of protocol. “I thought at first to avoid overwhelming him with those sorts of trivial details, but he seems to find it reassuring to know what’s correct. When Lord Simon came down to London a few weeks ago, he made fun of him for calling him ‘my lord,’ and I swear he’s still smarting from it.”
Clement nodded. “I’d heard about that. I’ll make sure the others know that there should be no mention of the incident.”
“Good. But that’s another thing.” One that Gerald hadn’t thought of until now. “Someone must impress upon my brother that he cannot speak to Thomas the way he did Euan. Euan was used to his teasing; he was able to take it calmly and to encourage me to take it calmly as well. Absolutely none of that is true of Thomas, and if Simon insists on antagonizing him, it will end in bloodshed.” Whose blood, he wasn’t prepared to say-if they met on level ground, Gerald thought he could manage to acquit himself decently, but there were plenty of ways for Simon to gain the advantage. “I’m not sure who is the best person to make this clear to him; certainly if I try it will only encourage him. But it’s vitally important and should be done today.”
“Yes, your lordship,” Clement said. “I agree. I’ll begin by speaking to him myself. I might also ask Louis, Lady Georgiana, and perhaps Nanny Rose to contribute their voices to the task.”
“Yes, good ideas,” Gerald agreed. Particularly Simon’s old nanny; Simon still visited her regularly, so she must have some influence.
“But along the same lines,” Clement added, “Thomas should be warned to be on his best behavior toward Louis. It will be difficult enough to persuade Lord Simon to restrain himself; Thomas must not provide him with an excuse to lose his temper.”
Gerald nodded. “You’re right, of course.” He hadn’t thought of that, either. “I’ll speak to him about it personally. He’ll understand he’s to take it seriously, if it comes from me.”
“Very good, your lordship.” He looked expectant.
“I think that’s all for now,” Gerald said. “I’m sure we’ll have reason to speak again; if anything happens that I should know about, please tell me right away.”
Clement stood. “I shall.”
Link to Chapter Eight
By the time the train neared Norfolk the next day, Thomas was fairly optimistic about his long-term future. His lordship didn’t seem to have noticed that he’d been feeling him out on the subject of leaving-which was just fine, because he had several weeks to go before he could leave, anyway. It sounded like his lordship and the rest of the family were familiar with the idea that some Guides might sometimes want to leave service. And they had helped Morgan find another place even after he’d turned down the honor of being Lord Simon’s Guide.
Of course, he couldn’t expect them to take it nearly as well if he said he wanted to leave-there was the matter of him being the only Guide for his lordship, and also the matter of his lordship rescuing him from a life of desperation and ruin, for which he ought to be extremely grateful. They would probably be appalled by his repaying this kindness by leaving his lordship with no one to look after him.
But they were also very likely to think they were punishing him enough by sending him packing with his wages owed and a fair reference and making him find his own next place, instead of finding one for him. And if not, Lord Simon was clearly not nearly as kind as his lordship, and might be holding a grudge against his brother for helping Morgan get away. If he couldn’t come up with some way to use that to his advantage-well, then, O’Brien had taught him nothing.
Just knowing that he had a way out let him breathe a little easier. All right, so no one had asked him if he wanted to have his life turned upside-down and inside-out. He could turn it right way up again if he wanted, before too much longer.
He could put up with anything for three months-he’d put up with the trenches for nearly two years, and that had been bloody awful. And there had been plenty of times during his first few months at Downton when he would have chucked it all if he’d had a home to go back to. Army life had gone from bad to worse, and when he couldn’t take it any more, he’d gotten himself out of it. Downton had gotten better, once he’d gotten used to it. This business of being a Guide could go either way. He’d get used to it, or he’d get out. His choice.
That just left him with the more immediate situation to worry about: in a short time, he’d be turning up at a strange house, full of people he didn’t know, with strange ways. Probably very strange. There were God knew how many new mistakes to make-and all of the old ones, too.
He’d keep his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut, downstairs, that was all. Just lie low. He couldn’t make any enemies that way. Or make the wrong sort of friends.
A car met them at the station. It was only mildly disconcerting to be riding up to the house with his lordship, instead of with the luggage. He was surprised-but also a bit relieved-not to find the household arranged at the entrance to greet the returning heir. Instead, there was just a butler and a footman.
At least, Thomas thought they were a butler and a footman. Here, God only knew. As the one Thomas thought was the butler approached, his lordship said, “Clement,” and that was what he’d said the butler’s name was. So: butlers here dressed like butlers. Good to know.
“I can’t say how pleased we are to have you back, your lordship,” Clement said, extending his hand. He barely came up to Thomas’s shoulder, and the footman was, if anything, even shorter. That was odd.
His lordship shook the butler’s hand in both of his. “I’m just as pleased to be back. Ah, this is Thomas, my new Guide.”
Thomas stepped forward. No hand-shaking for him. All right. He nodded his head.
“Welcome to the household,” Clement said. Gesturing to the maybe-footman, he said to his lordship, “I believe Douglas is new since you were last home.”
“Yes, but don’t tell me….Maisry and Emmet’s son, and Francine’s brother.”
“That’s right, your lordship,” Douglas said, grinning.
“Very good,” his lordship said. “Well, I suppose they’re all in the gallery?”
“Yes, your lordship. And her ladyship is very anxious to meet Thomas.”
She what?
Glancing over at him, his lordship said, “Well, she can wait until he’s had a cup of tea, at least. And perhaps a bite to eat-we didn’t have anything on the train.” He started up the stairs, leaning on his crutch on one side and Thomas on the other. “Thomas, Clement will show you where to go. I’m fairly sure I remember how to get to the gallery on my own. Clement, don’t let everyone down there pounce on him at once-he’s a bit shy. You can bring him up to the gallery when he’s ready. All right, Thomas?”
“Yes, my lord,” he said.
They parted ways in the hall-a very normal sort of entrance hall, with a grand staircase, a fireplace big enough to roast a whole ox, and some bits of statuary sitting around. Douglas went on with his lordship, presumably to the gallery. Thomas followed Clement through a very normal green baize door and down a very normal set of service stairs. He felt as if the house were trying to lull him into a false sense of security.
There were a few people sitting around the table in the servants’ hall when they arrived-a couple of girls and an older woman, all wearing dark dresses like ladies’ maids, and a man about Bates’ age wearing livery. They all stood up when the butler entered, as Thomas would have expected them to in a normal house, but the action revealed that they, too, were all rather short. One of the probably-maids said brightly, “Lord Gerald’s home, then?”
“Yes, he’s upstairs,” Clement said, waving for them all to sit down again. As they did so, a probable-cook and probable-kitchen girl turned up at the other door, and several more people popped out into the corridor behind them, everyone more or less obviously staring at Thomas. The fact that they were all staring up at him did not make it any less disconcerting. “And yes, this is Thomas. Lord Gerald would prefer that you let him catch his breath before you, ahem, ‘pounce on him.’”
Part of the crowd dispersed, and those who remained tried to pretend they had some other reason for being there.
“Mrs. Pirbright,” Clement continued, “they haven’t eaten. If you could get Thomas his tea, I’ll see if they need anything else upstairs.” He departed, and the probable cook started back for the kitchen, returning a second later to drag the kitchen girl off with her.
Thomas took a few steps toward the table, counting chairs and trying to remember if his lordship’s father was alive. Yes, he was-otherwise his lordship would be Lord Yernemuth and not Pellinger. So his man would be first valet, and Thomas’s place would be the third one down from the head of the table-unless that was completely different here too. And it might be, because one of the probably-maids was in that spot.
Noticing his indecision, one of the probably-maids said, “You can sit down if you like. We won’t pounce on you.”
Smiling stiffly, he said, “Thank you,” and made a hasty choice of a place near the middle of the table.
“I’m Margery,” the maid added. “And these are Susan, Eileen, and Baxter.”
Eileen was the older woman, and Baxter was the man. Perhaps he was a valet, since he was called by his surname. But in that case, Thomas ought to be, too. “Thomas Barrow,” he said, indicating himself. He’d wait and see what they did with that, instead of sticking his foot in it.
“We heard,” said Susan.
“Susan,” Eileen said reprovingly.
“What?” Susan answered. “I’m not pouncing.”
“See that you don’t,” Eileen said. She must rank higher than Susan, then. Even though they were both called by their first names. He filed that away to sort out later.
Mrs. Pirbright returned then, putting a slab of cold meat pie in front of him and saying, “You just get started on that, dearie,” before bustling off again.
Thomas reminded himself that he was keeping his mouth shut, and did not object to the “dearie.” It was fairly good pie, and the tea that the kitchen girl delivered was strong and sweet. He was a bit startled, however, when they came in and out several more times, surrounding his tea and pie with an array of sandwiches, small cakes, and other tidbits. He wondered if perhaps they had taken Clement’s words-or his lordship’s-to mean that he hadn’t eaten ever.
#
It was a bit late for tea, but the whole family was still in the gallery: Mama, Papa, Georgiana, Aunt Matilda, and-yes-Simon, along with Louis and Felicity, Simon’s and Mama’s Guides. The others, he supposed, had opted to go downstairs and see Thomas first. Gerald shook his father’s hand and bent awkwardly to kiss Mama on the cheek; he skipped Georgie, because that way he could skip Simon, too, without it seeming pointed.
“Gerry, you look so thin,” Mama said, looking him up and down. “Georgie, doesn’t he look thin?”
“Not any more than usual,” Georgie said. “D’you want tea? Oh-it’s gone cold.”
In lieu of tea, Gerald browsed the rest of the trolley-still overloaded with delicacies, even though the others had clearly already had theirs. “Mrs. Pirbright pulled out all the stops,” he observed, selecting a couple of sandwiches and an éclair.
“Why wouldn’t she, with Our Gerry finally home from the wars?” Simon asked.
“No reason at all,” Mama said reprovingly. She patted the sofa cushion beside herself; Gerald went to sit, then realize that his chances of doing so without spilling the contents of his plate into his mother’s lap were very low.
“Douglas,” he said. If Thomas were here, he wouldn’t have had to ask. Douglas hurried over, and Gerald got him to hold the plate while he went through the production of sitting down. “Thank you.”
“Where is your new Guide?” Mama asked.
“He’s down having his tea,” Gerald answered. Douglas had brought over an ottoman; he gratefully put his leg up on it. “He’s been on a train all day; the last thing he wants is to come up here and be gawped at.”
“I wasn’t planning to gawp,” Mama said.
“And don’t worry, we all know better than to believe anything Si said about him,” Georgie added.
“What did he say?” Gerald demanded.
“Oh, nothing,” Simon answered.
“I thought you said he had strange manners,” Aunt Matilda objected.
“We weren’t going to speak of that, Matty,” Papa said, from his armchair by the fire.
“He doesn’t have strange manners,” Gerald said. “Just…he doesn’t.” What was it about being in a room full of his family that made him feel about six years old?
“I’m sure he’s perfectly charming,” Mama said. “And I’m sure that Simon will be on his very best behavior when you introduce us. Won’t you, Simon.”
It wasn’t really a question, but Simon said obediently, “Yes, Mama.”
“Is the muck pile still where it used to be?” Gerald asked. He’d thrown Simon into it once, when his teasing of Euan got to be too much, and he thought Simon could use the reminder.
“I’d like to see you try,” Simon growled.
“I’ll help!” Georgie said brightly.
“Children!” Mama said.
“Sorry, Mama,” they all said.
Further arguments were prevented by the arrival of Clement with fresh tea. Gerald happily accepted a cup, asking, “Thomas is all right?”
“Yes, I believe Mrs. Pirbright has him well in hand.”
“Good.” He hesitated, not quite wanting to broach the subject with Simon right there, but…. “We should talk about him a bit, later on.”
Clement nodded. “Your lordship.”
He then asked if Gerald wanted anything else, indicating the overloaded tea trolley. Gerald considered asking for a roast joint and potatoes, just to see what would happen, but instead said that he thought he could find enough on the trolley to sustain him until dinner.
Once he had gone, Mama and Georgie got down to the business of filling him in on all the family and household news-marriages and children, new places for Guides and new Guides for relatives. Two of the maids he remembered from before the war had married, and one had her first child already. Another had gone to be personal Guide to one of the cousins on Mama’s side. “What about Wallace?” Gerald asked. He’d been a footman when Gerald was last home.
“Wants to be a butler,” Papa said, making a rare, but characteristically brief, contribution to the conversation.
“He’s at Aunt Viola’s now,” Georgie explained. “Getting some training. If one of us decides to set up our own household, we’ll need someone with experience in a smaller house.”
“Who’s setting up their own household?” He hoped it was Simon.
“Oh, I don’t know, any of us,” Georgie said evasively.
“Is there someone?” he asked. He’d thought Georgie would have mentioned it, if she was thinking of marrying.
“No,” she said. “But I can have my own house if I like. I am a widow.” She glared at Mama as she said so.
“Right you are.” To be honest, Gerald had almost forgotten. When the extremely limited life span of junior officers on the Front became clear, Sentinel families with sons of military age had scrambled to arrange marriages, with the aim of having heirs in the oven before departure. Georgie’s hadn’t caught, so when her husband was killed she’d come home, only having been away a few months. But that reminded him of something else he’d forgotten. “Where’s…” What was her name? “Sophia?” Simon’s marriage had had the desired result, so his wife must be around somewhere.
“In her room, I expect,” Simon said shortly.
“Can’t stand the smell of food, poor thing,” Georgie elaborated.
“Oh, is she…?” Gerald trailed off delicately.
“Didn’t Simon tell you when he went down to see you in London?” Mama asked.
“Slipped my mind,” Simon answered.
“Congratulations,” Gerald said, as sincerely as he could manage. If Simon had two children-especially if this one was another boy-there shouldn’t be much pressure for him to sire an heir of his own. Just as well, really-with things so unsettled with Thomas, tossing a courtship and marital responsibilities into the mixture would only make everything more complicated. “When is it due?”
“December,” Mama said.
“Ah,” Gerald said. “Well, I suppose I ought to look in on Dennis later.” He vaguely remembered having the squalling infant shoved in his face the last time he was home, but since he’d still been reeling from his losses, he hadn’t noticed much beyond the salient facts that the child was a Sentinel and male. “I suppose he’s walking and talking now?” He knew that the boy must be about three, but he wasn’t sure what they did at that age.
Mama and Aunt Matilda told several amusing stories about the child-or, at least, what they thought were amusing stories. They mostly seemed to involve his unsuccessful efforts to clearly speak the English language. Gerald wasn’t sure if the stories were, perhaps, more amusing if you had been there, or if he was simply running low on patience for dealing with his family en masse. Ordinarily, the gathering would have broken up long ago, but clearly no one would be going anywhere until they had seen Thomas.
“He is getting a little more interesting now,” Georgie admitted. “The other day, we took him down to the stable and put him on Snowflake. Just to take him around the yard on a leading rein, but it’s a start.”
“Good lord; Snowflake’s still around?” All three of them had learned to ride on Snowflake; he had to be nearing thirty. Even for a Shetland pony, that was old.
“Probably not for much longer,” Georgie said. “They had a terrible time keeping weight on him last winter.” She went on talking about the pony’s health, how they’d have to get a new one for Dennis before long, and the efforts to rebuild the stable since losing so many horses in the war. Along the way, Georgie mentioned that he ought to stop by the stable and talk to Clint.
“I will,” Gerald agreed. Clint had always been the one to look after his horses; he couldn’t neglect him just because he didn’t have any horses anymore.
“He’s not still carrying on about that colt, is he?” Simon asked. “It’s been months.”
“He isn’t carrying on,” Georgie said. “But he’ll probably be reminded of it since Gerry’s home.” Turning to Gerald, she explained, “The one he was hand-raising-Bella’s foal?”
Gerald vaguely remembered reading something about it in a letter-the mare had died of foaling complications. “It didn’t survive?”
Georgie shook her head. “He was rather upset.”
“I’ll talk to him about it,” he promised.
Mama moved on to her supply of news about relations too distant to have been covered in the first round. Fortunately, before she could finish the third cousins, Clement returned, bringing Thomas with him. The headache that had been simmering unnoticed behind Gerald’s eyes suddenly eased. “Thomas!” He started looking around for his crutch, then remembered that Mama would surely not be satisfied with a fleeting glimpse at Thomas, so he might as well stay seated.
Thomas approached, looking hesitant. “My lord?”
“Here, sit down,” Gerald said, patting the ottoman next to his leg.
That was a mistake; Thomas stiffened and smelled more-than-usually anxious. It was a bit late to change course now, though. Thomas perched warily on the edge of the ottoman.
“Goodness, he is tall,” Mama said.
Thomas didn’t like that much; Gerald could tell from the set of his shoulders. “Yes, Mama,” Gerald said dryly. “He’s practically a giant. I expect we’ll need to go to a circus outfitter to have his livery made.”
Mama frowned. “I’m not certain that I would go that far, dear.” With a pointed look, she added, “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
As soon as he had, she’d start interrogating him, Gerald knew. But he couldn’t really get out of it-not being introduced wouldn’t stop them from talking about him, and Thomas would likely want to know who everyone was, anyway. “Mama, this is Thomas. Thomas, my mother, Lady Yernemuth. Aunt Matty, Thomas; Thomas, Lady Matilda….” At least by introducing everyone in a rush, he could stop Mama from having a conversational monopoly.
She did get in the first question, though. “I hope Lord Gerald is treating you well?”
“Yes, your ladyship.” Thomas gave Simon just the tiniest fraction of a glare at that. “Thank you.”
“I understand you worked in an Insensate house before,” she continued. Gerald, being familiar with Thomas’s habits, was unsurprised when he didn’t answer, but it took Mama a moment to rally. “This must be quite a change for you.”
“Yes, your ladyship.”
Georgie was the first one to pick up that he was not going to elaborate, no matter how long Mama kept staring at him. “I expect you’re very tired after the train journey,” she said.
That got another, “Yes, your ladyship.”
“Told you,” Simon said in a singsong voice, too low for the Guides to hear.
“It was very tiring,” Gerald said. “In fact, I’d like to go up to my room until dinner.”
Thomas shot to his feet and offered his arm to help him up.
“Yes, about that,” Mama said tentatively, as he stood and got his crutch under his arm. “I had Clement move you to the oriel room.”
“What? ”
“All your things are just the way they were,” Felicity said soothingly. “The furniture and everything. Just in a different room.”
Even so, she had no right to just move him. “What happened to my old room?” A terrible thought occurred to him. “Did you give away my room?”
“I wasn’t going to,” Mama began, “but Simon--”
“If my room is full of Simon’s things, there will be a bonfire on the lawn! Thomas will help me!” Euan had always argued for a conciliatory approach to Simon, but based on what that butler had said about Thomas, Gerald didn’t think he’d have those kinds of scruples.
“But,” Georgie picked up where he had interrupted Mama, “Simon was going to steal it if it stayed empty, so I moved in, because I knew you wouldn’t mind that quite as much. And now Sophia has my room; the one she was in had a smoky chimney.”
She was right that he didn’t mind that quite so much, but it was hardly the point. “Then why not put Sophia in the oriel room? Wherever that is.”
“Thomas knows where it is,” Clement spoke up. “I showed him when we took your things up.”
Naturally, Thomas wouldn’t understand this monumental betrayal-he had never seen Gerald’s old room. But he was looking-and smelling-very nervous about the whole thing, so Gerald knew he had to calm himself down. “Good,” he said, starting for the door. Thomas hurried after him. “Let’s go and see this cupboard my own mother’s stuck me in.” He hurled this parting shot at the door Thomas had just closed behind him, but Mama was a Sentinel; she’d have heard anyway.
“It’s just at the top of the stairs, my lord,” Thomas said cautiously.
“Good.” Gerald forced a smile as he started up the stairs. “Thirty-seven bedrooms in this house, and she had to give mine away?” he grumbled. “Unbelievable.” This staircase was a lot longer than he remembered it being. “Get your leg blown off defending your country, and how do they show their gratitude? By stealing your bedroom, that’s how.” Just because he hadn’t used it for six years; that didn’t mean it was open season on bedrooms.
By the time they reached the top of the staircase, Gerald had run out of complaints. He also realized that in the back of his mind, he’d been waiting for Thomas to step in with some calming and reasonable remark-as Euan would have. Likely he’d have pointed out that out of the thirty-seven, there were only a handful of really good ones. The others had smoky chimneys or windows that rattled in high winds, or there was a shared bathroom, or the dressing room was down the hall….
If he had, Gerald could have pointed out that since he was the heir, he was supposed to have one of the good bedrooms. Whether he was using it or not.
But Thomas just said, “It’s this one, my lord,” opening the door and standing aside.
Once he was inside it, Gerald realized that the “oriel room” was one of the good ones. In fact, it was the one that Simon had been arguing since leaving the nursery should be his, but Mama insisted it had to be kept open for important guests. And seeing all of his familiar things-his bed, his writing desk, his books on the shelf and his pictures on the wall, did settle him down somewhat.
Still, he prowled the room uneasily, peering into the corners and opening the windows to get an idea of the air currents and views. His old room had gotten a nicely herbal-scented breeze from the kitchen gardens; this one didn’t smell right, and the light was coming from the wrong direction. And his carpet, which had been made to fit the old room, didn’t quite reach the corners here.
Once he’d catalogued the room’s deficiencies, he checked the connecting doors. The bathroom was all right-a little bigger than his old one, and it had a fireplace in it. He supposed he could get used to that.
The dressing room looked strangely bare-nothing in it but a bed and a bunch of his clothes and so forth. It slowly dawned on Gerald that what was missing was Euan’s things. Because, of course, the dressing room of Gerald’s old room had been his room since they were sixteen. Euan was naturally tidy, but he’d still managed to accumulate quite a bit of clutter in all that time-books and bric-a-brac and presents Gerald had given him.
All that had been packed away somewhere. Gerald would have to find out where. But maybe it was for the best, them having moved him. Seeing Euan’s room without Euan’s things in it would have been awful, but seeing Euan’s things when Euan was gone might have been worse. And it would be rather difficult for Thomas to make himself at home, as well.
Realizing that Thomas was hovering at his shoulder, Gerald took a few deep breaths, then said, calmly, “Well, this isn’t so bad. I suppose you’ll be all right in here?”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas agreed. He hesitated. “I haven’t finished the unpacking yet.”
“That’s all right,” Gerald said, turning back towards his own room. “Sit with me for a minute, before you get to it.”
They’d brought his sofa, too, though he didn’t like where they’d put it. The sun was in his eyes. Still, it would do for now; he sat and held out his arm for Thomas to settle in under it. Once he had done so, he said, “I’m not really cross about the room.” He stopped. No, lying to his Guide was not good. “That is I am, but I know it isn’t your fault. You know that, right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And I suppose Mama had her reasons.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said again. “Mr. Clement mentioned your other room was…a bit difficult to get to.”
He hadn’t even thought of that. How astonishingly thick he was. His old room was at the top of the east tower. He’d liked that about it; good views in all directions. But perhaps not entirely suitable in his current condition. “Yes, well. I suppose this is better in the circumstances.” He sighed. “Still, I wish they’d asked.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas agreed, with a note in his voice that suggested there was something he wasn’t saying.
“Is there something you’re wondering about?” Gerald hazarded. “Or perhaps a lot of things?”
Thomas hesitated again. Finally he said, “Why is everyone so surprised that I’m tall? Are Guides…supposed to be short?”
“No,” Gerald said. “No, it’s fine. It’s just that our ones here are usually short.”
“Noticed that,” Thomas muttered.
“I suppose you do stand out a bit,” Gerald admitted. There wasn’t anything that could be done about it, but he hoped it wouldn’t bother Thomas too much, if he could be assured that it wasn’t a problem. “They’re all related, you see. The same Guide families tend to stay with the same Sentinel families for generations. I expect the first Earl of Yernemuth must have happened to have a rather short Guide, and some of his siblings and cousins came to live on the estate, and there you have it.”
“I see, my lord,” Thomas said, looking thoughtful. “Is that….” He fell silent.
“What?”
“I’ve been trying to work out who gets called by their surnames. Downstairs, I mean. But I suppose if a lot of people have the same ones, that makes it more complicated.”
“I never really thought about it,” Gerald answered. “You’re likely right. Why, who do you think-who are you used to hearing called by their surnames?” He hastily revised his question midway to avoid implying that what Thomas was used to was incorrect.
“Ah-butlers, housekeepers, cooks, chauffeurs, ladies’ maids. Valets.”
“Goodness. Yes, that would be confusing. Half of them would be called Owens or Morgan.” He considered. “Here, we call the cook by her surname because she’s an Insensate from off the estate, and that’s what she prefers. And we used to have an Insensate driver who went by his surname, but he left during the war, and the new fellow’s a Guide. I assumed we call him Timothy, but I haven’t actually asked. Other than that, we use Christian names for everyone.”
“What about Clement and Baxter, my lord?”
“Those are Christian names. Guide mothers sometimes give their sons names that sound like surnames-they say it means she wants him to grow up to be a butler.”
“Oh. So--” Thomas stopped himself again, but this time it only took a glance from Gerald to remind him that he was allowed to ask questions. “So do I call the butler Clement or Mr. Clement?”
“I…have absolutely no idea,” Gerald admitted slowly. “Euan always called him ‘Uncle Clement,’ but that doesn’t really apply.” What did the other personal Guides call him? Gerald couldn’t remember. “He won’t mind much either way,” he essayed. But given how Thomas hated being wrong, he’d be more comfortable if he knew he had it right. “We’ll have to ask him.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said unhappily.
“No one is going to give you a hard time for asking questions,” Gerald told him. “I’m quite confident of it, but if they do, you can tell me and I’ll take care of it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
That was definitely his “you are a fathead and I don’t believe you” voice, but Gerald didn’t know how else to convince him other than to let him see. “Is there anything else that…seemed unusual to you?” He hoped that phrasing the question might get Thomas to open up more, since he wouldn’t have to actually admit to being mistaken or confused.
Thomas shifted his weight a little. “I’d never been taken into a drawing room to be introduced to an employer’s family before, my lord. So that was a bit unusual.”
“No?” Well, he had been at Downton Abbey for ages, and he’d started as a footman, so it made sense that he wouldn’t have been-he’d have been known to the family already by the time he was made Grantham’s valet. But he seemed not to mean just that he’d never experienced it himself, but that it was unusual for any servant in his position to be introduced. “Does the rest of the family…not speak to valets?” he guessed.
Thomas seemed just as puzzled as he was. “They can, my lord. There generally isn’t much reason to, but it’s not…forbidden, or anything.”
“But how can they, if they haven’t been introduced?”
Thomas stared at him as if he had grown another head. “They just…do, my lord.” Then he looked away. “Are Guides not supposed to speak to people they haven’t been introduced to, then?”
“No,” Gerald said, as understanding began to dawn. “The other way around, in fact. Sentinels don’t speak directly to another Sentinel’s personal Guide. There is a great deal of potential for…misunderstanding.” He was explaining this badly. “Does that make sense?”
“Very little, my lord,” Thomas said tactfully.
“Let me try again.” Before he could begin, he had to think about why Thomas didn’t understand. Why hadn’t Lord Grantham cared who spoke to Thomas?
The answer was staggering in its simplicity: because Thomas hadn’t been his Guide. Now he knew where to start. “Do you remember what happened with Lord Finsworth?” This time, Gerald didn’t need to wait for the “you are being a fathead” voice to realize that he was being a fathead. Of course Thomas remembered.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Perhaps you noticed that Sentinels tend to get rather upset when their Guides are hurt.” That was surely the understatement of the century. “Finsworth was quite wrong, of course, and should have kept his temper, but…he was under a certain amount of strain. As was I. Sentinels are usually very careful in their dealings with other Sentinels’ Guides, in order to prevent such…regrettable losses of control. If a Sentinel were to say or do something to a Guide that was thought, even mistakenly, to be threatening or insulting, the Sentinel of the Guide in question might-as my nanny used to put it-forget that he is an Englishman. This was an especially significant problem in centuries past, when most Sentinels were trained in hand-to-hand combat and carried swords everywhere they went, as you might imagine.”
“I think I see, my lord.”
“Do you? What do you think I said?” They were clearly confronting this topic with vastly different assumptions; God only knew the many terrible ways Thomas could misinterpret what he was saying.
“In the old days, if a Sentinel said the wrong thing to a Guide, the other Sentinel might murder him?”
All right, so he did understand it. “Yes. So the custom developed that Sentinels don’t speak to attached Guides unless they’ve been given permission. The idea is that if you know someone well enough to introduce him to your Guide, you know that he won’t deliberately insult or threaten the Guide, and you expect to be able to keep your temper if there’s a misunderstanding. These days, of course, the chances of a poorly-chosen word ending in actual murder are low, but it’s still the custom not to speak to a Guide you haven’t been introduced to.”
“I’m sure I’ve been spoken to a time or two by other gentlemen at the Society,” Thomas said. “Was that…wrong?”
“Not exactly,” Gerald admitted, although he didn’t like the idea much. “Society Guides are usually considered to be…like household Guides. Butlers and footmen and so on. Anyone can speak to them.”
Thomas was still looking confused, so Gerald added, “The details aren’t that important. Everyone in the household can speak to you now…except my sister-in-law and my nephew; we’ll have to meet them later.”
“What if they do speak to me? My lord.”
“They won’t. Well-Sophia won’t. If you passed her in the corridor before you’ve been introduced, she rightly ought to ignore you. But she’s in confinement, so even that is unlikely to happen. I suppose Dennis might-he’s only three, so he probably hasn’t been taught yet not to speak to strange Guides. In any case, if someone who shouldn’t be speaking to you does, it’s perfectly all right for you to answer.”
Thomas nodded. “What about visitors?”
“As far as I know, we aren’t expecting any in the near future. But if we do have any, you’ll be introduced if there’s a reason to-if you’re in the drawing room with us or something.” Gerald smiled. “But you aren’t hauled in for the express purpose of introducing you. That’s just for family-and now that we’ve got it over with, you won’t need to do it again.” Curious, Gerald asked, “How did you do it in that other house? You just go around speaking to anyone?”
“Ah, no, my lord. We speak when we’re spoken to.”
“Oh.” How strange. “In that case, there’s another detail you should know, for the future. It could happen that you stumble across a guest who has gotten lost or needs some other sort of assistance, but hasn’t been introduced to you. In that case, one is permitted to address a question such as, ‘I wonder how one gets to the drawing room from here?’ to no one in particular. You’re expected to answer.”
“Very good, my lord.” Thomas considered. “So I suppose-at Downton, I used to valet guests sometimes. Even after I was Lord Grantham’s valet, if it was somebody important. Will-”
“Good God, no.” The words burst out of him before he could think about them; the idea was just that obscene. Thomas flinched away from him, a sharp note of fear in his scent. “I’m sorry,” Gerald said, patting his shoulder. “Ah, no, we don’t do that. It would be very, very unusual for a Sentinel to travel without his or her own Guide. Unless they were looking for a new personal Guide, and one of the maids or footmen were interested in the position. Then they might be invited for a visit to give the two a chance to get to know each other. Or if a visitor’s own Guide were ill, or something like that, a maid or footman might be asked to assist. But not a personal Guide, no. Never. It’s considered very poor manners to even touch someone else’s personal Guide.”
“Oh.” Thomas settled back against his side, still a little hesitant. “I’m sure I’ve seen Morgan touch you. At the-place. Prison. For one. Is he-I thought he was Mr. Langley-Smythe’s valet. Is he something else?”
“No, you’re right; he’s Ace’s Guide,” Gerald said. “That was a bit of an emergency, at the prison. He has attended on me a few other times, when I was…when I didn’t have a Guide of my own. But that’s very unusual, and it was very generous of Ace-of both of them, really. I’m sure they’d discussed it beforehand between the two of them. I expect they only allowed it because my situation was so desperate, and because I’ve known Morgan since childhood.”
Thomas nodded. “All right. So no speaking to Sentinels you’ve not introduced me to, and no touching other Sentinels. Have I got it right, my lord?”
“Yes,” Gerald said. But as soon as he said it, he began to imagine any number of scenarios where Thomas’s concern with hewing to the letter of the law might lead to disaster. “Except in an emergency-if Mama or Georgie stumbled on the stairs, for instance, you’d be quite right to steady her without waiting to check with me first. And young children are generally considered exceptions.” Gerald remembered being quite affectionate with Baxter up until he was about twelve or so. “I’m not sure how much we’ll be seeing of Dennis, and his nurse will be trying to teach him not to indiscriminately grab strange Guides, but if you should end up being close with him, that’s fine.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said. “I…haven’t much experience with children.”
“Neither have I.” But Thomas wasn’t mentioning that to make conversation; small-talk was not part of his repertoire. He was trying to ask a question, and given that this was Thomas, it was a question about what Gerald wanted of him. “You aren’t expected to take any particular interest in Dennis-it’s just that you’re allowed to, if you wish. We’ll have to get to know him eventually. He’ll be my heir-well, after Simon, of course-unless something changes drastically, but I expect I’ll wait until he’s a bit older before I have much to do with him.”
“Yes, my lord.” Thomas sounded more confident this time, so that must have been the sort of answer he was looking for.
They sat for a bit longer. Thomas didn’t ask any more questions-or comment hesitantly on any additional topics-and Gerald decided not to press him for any more. He’d already done quite a bit of blathering, without managing to impart much of any immediate practical value, as far as he could see. His first day in a new house, Thomas probably needed to know where the towels were kept, and things like that. Gerald not only had no idea where the towels were kept, he also didn’t know what else “things like that” might consist of. But Thomas seemed reasonably relaxed and content-at least, by Thomas’s usual standards-so Gerald let himself relax too.
#
Thomas had very nearly dozed off, cuddled on the sofa with his lordship, when the butler-Clement, or Mr. Clement, or whatever he was supposed to call him-came in. He jumped away with a start when he heard the door open, as if he were about to be caught doing something he oughtn’t.
He was very nearly certain he wasn’t doing anything wrong, but by the time he had figured that out, he was already standing up and halfway across the room.
Perhaps a quarter of the way across the room. It was a big room.
“Ah, Clement,” his lordship said, sitting up a bit straighter and shooting an anxious glance at Thomas.
“Lord Gerald,” Clement answered. “I came to see if everything was to your liking, in your new room.”
“I’m getting used to it,” his lordship said. “I think I’ll manage to survive the experience. We’ll need to fix Thomas’s room up a bit, though.”
“Of course,” Clement said, although what exactly was wrong with the dressing room, Thomas wasn’t sure. “And are you settling in all right?” he asked, turning to Thomas.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “I haven’t quite finished the unpacking. And I suppose you’ll be dressing for dinner, my lord?” Even if the cuddling was allowed, he wasn’t entirely sure what the butler would make of him doing it when he had tasks at hand.
“I think I have to,” his lordship agreed. “Clement, Thomas was wondering how he should address you. Is it Clement, or Mr. Clement?”
“Most of the younger staff call me Mr. Clement, your lordship.”
Was he one of the “younger staff”? He supposed Mr. Clement thought he was, and he was not, he reminded himself, going to argue about it.
“Ah,” his lordship said. “Well, there you are, Thomas. And of course,” he continued to Mr. Clement, “Thomas should feel entirely welcome to come to you with any questions he may have?”
“Certainly,” Mr. Clement answered. “Will you need any help with the unpacking, Thomas?”
“I think I can manage,” Thomas answered, withholding any remarks he may have wanted to make about how well he knew his job. “I expect I’ll have to press a few things for tonight, but if someone can point me to the place for doing that, I should be fine.”
“Do you remember how to get back down to the servants’ hall?”
“Yes,” Thomas said, with slightly more confidence than he felt.
“Then it’s at the end of the passage to the left. You can ask anyone, if there’s something you can’t find.”
“Thank you, Mr. Clement.” He scurried off.
The unpacking went quickly-his lordship hadn’t brought much, since his country things were still here where he had left them before the war. Mr. Clement seemed to have settled in his lordship’s room for a cozy chat-about the other staff, from the occasional stray remark Thomas could make out-so he gathered up a set of evening things and went looking for the servants’ area.
He found it with only a couple of wrong turns, and the pressing room was right where Mr. Clement had said it would be. The pressing irons, clothes brushes, and other tools of the trade were all perfectly ordinary, and arranged so that it was easy to find what he needed.
The normality of it all was a bit comforting, after what Thomas was willing to admit-in the privacy of his own head, at least-had been a trying couple of days. At least for the next little while, he knew precisely what he was supposed to be doing.
He’d given the coat and trousers a bit of a touch-up, and had moved on to a hotter iron for the shirt and tie when Margery, who’d been in the servants’ hall earlier, came in. “Oh, Thomas,” she said with a smile, setting up another ironing board. “Hard at work already, I see.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“I just have to press a blouse for Lady Georgiana. I’m running a bit behind today.”
So what? He wasn’t behind; he’d have had his lordship’s evening things ready ages ago if they hadn’t just been on a long train journey.
“How is he?” she asked. “Lord Gerald, I mean.”
“He’s fine.”
“M’lady says said he was a bit tired-but Lord Simon was giving him a bit of a hard time.”
“Yes,” Thomas said vaguely. He wasn’t about to be caught gossiping.
“He must be better than he was, if he’s dressing for dinner,” Margery continued. “When he was last here-after the Army sent him home-he never got up, barely even spoke. M’lady said he was like a shadow, or a ghost.”
Thomas hadn’t realized things had been that bad-at the Society, his lordship had tended to mope and avoid dressing, but he didn’t seem to have a problem speaking. “Yes, he’s a bit better, then.”
“I’m glad.” She lowered her voice to a confidential tone. “We thought he might pine away and die; we really did. When we couldn’t find another Guide for him.”
Thomas didn’t know quite what to say to that; he just took the small iron and began working on the shirt cuffs. Margery took up the larger iron that he’d put back to keep warm, and licked her finger to test the heat of it.
For all he knew, Thomas reminded himself, it was perfectly acceptable in this household to steal a man’s hot iron out from under his nose. He put another one on the stove without comment.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Margery said. “I thought you were finished with this one.”
“I’ve still the back to do. But it doesn’t matter.”
“I always finish with the larger iron first, and then start on the details.”
Fascinating. He nodded.
“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am.” He was finished with the cuffs now, but the new iron wouldn’t be hot yet. Might as well start on the white tie; he usually did it with the big iron, but it could be done with the smaller one.
“That’ll make a bit of a change, around here,” Margery said cheerfully. “Have you met anyone yet, apart from us who were there when you had your tea?”
“Not really.”
“What do you mean, ‘not really’?”
He meant, not really. “Lord Simon’s man and Lady Yernemuth’s maid were there when I was introduced to the family, but we didn’t speak.”
“Mm. Well, you’ll see everyone at dinner. If you don’t mind a bit of friendly advice, it’s probably best you keep your distance from Louis. With the way Lord Simon and Lord Gerald get on, it’s more trouble than it’s worth trying to be mates with him.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” In fact, he’d already planned to be a bit cautious of Louis, given what his master was like. But he wouldn’t go looking for trouble on Margery’s say-so, either. He’d had enough of being led round by the nose by scheming ladies’ maids. But the topic did give him a chance to ask a few questions she’d have no reason to lie about. “You’re Lady Georgiana’s personal maid, then?” She must be, given what she was doing, but he’d start there.
“Yes. Miss Eileen is Lady Matilda’s Guide, and Baxter is his lordship’s-your lordship’s father’s, I mean.”
That was more or less what he had thought. “What about Susan?” There didn’t seem to be any ladies left, unless the absent Lady Sophia’s maid had been lollygagging in the servants’ hall while her mistress was ill in her room.
“Oh, she’s a housemaid. She just likes to leave her apron off when she thinks she can get away with it.”
So the housemaids wore dark dresses here, but you could tell them from ladies’ maids by the aprons, except for Susan. All right. He wondered about the men’s uniforms-but since he knew Louis and Baxter were valets, and Douglas was a footman, he should be able to sort it out on his own. “I see.”
“The other housemaids are Dora, Agnes, and Ruth,” Margery went on, “and the footmen are Douglas and Gordon. Mrs. Hope is the housekeeper, and you know Mrs. Pirbright….”
She went on to name all of the rest of the staff, from kitchen girls to boot-boys and laundresses. Thomas knew he’d never remember all the names-they were all fancy sorts of things, not a plain John or Mary among them. But had a handle on the important ones, at least, and the house seemed to be organized in much the same was as he was used to, so that was a start.
#
Gerald talked of this and that with Clement until they heard Thomas leave the dressing room by the hallway door. Clement brought his description of his niece’s courtship with an under-gardener to a swift close, and said, “About Thomas, your lordship?”
“Yes,” Gerald said with a sigh. “I’m not sure where to start.” Might as well just jump in somewhere, and start swimming. “First off, his manner toward me will probably strike many of the others as cold.” He might as well be blunt. “Or even rude. He’s not used to our ways, and his previous training was…strange. You might want to reassure the others, if they’re concerned, that he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds. He tends to be at his most formal when he’s worried or thinks he’s done something wrong, so I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of it over the next few days. He is a bit warmer when it’s just the two of us and he feels comfortable.”
“Very understandable, your lordship,” Clement said. “Service in Insensate houses is…different.”
So he knew that, did he? “I’m not sure I realized how different, until recently. I’ve made a bit of a botch of things, in more ways than one. But I suppose the most important thing for you to know is that he’s had a very hard time of it, and it’s left him unhappy and fearful. I don’t think he’s ever been properly looked after.” He explained what little he knew of Thomas’s childhood-mostly that his family had rejected him because of some sort of indiscretion with another boy. “He doesn’t like to talk about them, and I haven’t pried, but I can’t imagine his upbringing was much at all like a normal Guide’s. And then at that Insensate house….” He described Thomas’s struggles to become a valet, his lack of friends downstairs, and Lord Grantham’s distant treatment of his servants in general and his particular dislike of Thomas. “Somewhere in the middle of all that he went into the Army Medical Corps and spent two years at a battalion aid station in the Somme, entirely on his own. He was wounded-you saw his hand?”
Clement nodded.
“He doesn’t like people looking at it; that’s why he wears the glove. He doesn’t talk about the war, either, but I’m sure he had a terrible time of it, because everybody did.” He went on to explain Thomas’s arrest, and how he had been tricked into his indiscretion by the one person on the staff he considered a friend. “Then we brought him to the Society, and that’s where things become really strange.”
He described Thomas’s behavior towards him-how quiet and shy he’d seemed, both hungry for affection and wary of it. Then the assault by Lord Finsworth, which caused Clement to utter an oath under his breath. “After that happened, I found out from Weatherby that he’s shown an entirely different face downstairs. Very aggressive towards the other Guides.” He described a few of the incidents. “I don’t quite understand it. I’m sure they were welcoming to him; they always are. One would think he’d be relieved to be among his own sort, and to be shown some kindness, but-well.” He shrugged helplessly.
“Mr. Weatherby sent me a letter, which makes a bit more sense now that I’ve heard a fuller description of events, your lordship,” Clement said. “I may be able to offer an explanation.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “I gather from Mr. Weatherby that the Guides at the Society tend to welcome the new lads by offering a great deal of unsolicited advice. Given recent events, I think it likely that Thomas was…suspicious of their motives.”
“Oh, yes,” Gerald said, nodding. “I expect he would be. And there’s another thing-he doesn’t like it at all when he’s told he’s made a mistake.” Much of the unsolicited advice must have seemed like precisely that.
“Doesn’t like it in what way?”
Gerald thought about it, calling to mind how Thomas smelled at those times. “Frightened and angry. I expect he’s mostly angry at himself, but….”
“But he strikes out at anyone nearby who he thinks is weaker than himself,” Clement concluded. “Not a very pleasant habit, but not unusual in the Insensate world. I expect he learned it from any number of sources.”
“Now I think I understand.” Gerald sighed again. “That doesn’t help answer the question of what to do about it. I’m sure the others downstairs will be as patient as they can, but there’s only so much we can expect them to take. I’d like it if he made a friend or two, but it’s even more important to keep from getting the whole staff in an uproar.”
“Indeed, your lordship,” Clement said firmly. “I’ll have to give the matter some thought, but I think perhaps-with your permission-I might share a bit of what you’ve told me with a well-chosen few of the other Guides, and encourage them to, as you say, be patient, and to try to find a way of talking with him which does not upset him. The rest can be advised that he likes to keep himself to himself, and asked not to snub him, but to maintain a bit of distance and to respect his privacy.”
Gerald nodded. “That sounds as though it may work. It’s certainly a place to start.” He went on to explain a few more points-Thomas’s fear of asking questions, and how he seemed particularly anxious about points of protocol. “I thought at first to avoid overwhelming him with those sorts of trivial details, but he seems to find it reassuring to know what’s correct. When Lord Simon came down to London a few weeks ago, he made fun of him for calling him ‘my lord,’ and I swear he’s still smarting from it.”
Clement nodded. “I’d heard about that. I’ll make sure the others know that there should be no mention of the incident.”
“Good. But that’s another thing.” One that Gerald hadn’t thought of until now. “Someone must impress upon my brother that he cannot speak to Thomas the way he did Euan. Euan was used to his teasing; he was able to take it calmly and to encourage me to take it calmly as well. Absolutely none of that is true of Thomas, and if Simon insists on antagonizing him, it will end in bloodshed.” Whose blood, he wasn’t prepared to say-if they met on level ground, Gerald thought he could manage to acquit himself decently, but there were plenty of ways for Simon to gain the advantage. “I’m not sure who is the best person to make this clear to him; certainly if I try it will only encourage him. But it’s vitally important and should be done today.”
“Yes, your lordship,” Clement said. “I agree. I’ll begin by speaking to him myself. I might also ask Louis, Lady Georgiana, and perhaps Nanny Rose to contribute their voices to the task.”
“Yes, good ideas,” Gerald agreed. Particularly Simon’s old nanny; Simon still visited her regularly, so she must have some influence.
“But along the same lines,” Clement added, “Thomas should be warned to be on his best behavior toward Louis. It will be difficult enough to persuade Lord Simon to restrain himself; Thomas must not provide him with an excuse to lose his temper.”
Gerald nodded. “You’re right, of course.” He hadn’t thought of that, either. “I’ll speak to him about it personally. He’ll understand he’s to take it seriously, if it comes from me.”
“Very good, your lordship.” He looked expectant.
“I think that’s all for now,” Gerald said. “I’m sure we’ll have reason to speak again; if anything happens that I should know about, please tell me right away.”
Clement stood. “I shall.”
Link to Chapter Eight