Thomas and the Society of Sentinels (8/15)
Chapter Eight
Oddly enough, when Thomas went back upstairs to dress his lordship for dinner, he repeated Margery’s warning about Louis. “Not that I would encourage you to be unkind to the others, either, but Simon is…touchy. And we don’t want a repeat of what happened with Finsworth.”
“I understand, my lord. I’ll be careful.”
“Good,” his lordship said, smiling slightly and turning so that Thomas could help him into his waistcoat.
Once he’d seen his lordship into the drawing room, Thomas went down to the servants’ hall, assuming that-as at Downton-they’d all sit around and wait until the upstairs lot had finished before having their dinner. But to his surprise, half of the servants’ hall table was laid, and the other valets and the ladies’ maids were taking their places. “Here, Thomas,” Margery said, indicating the place between herself and Eileen.
“Thanks.” As he sat, Thomas studied the seating plan. Baxter was at the head of the table, with Eileen and Felicity occupying the places on either side. Louis was next to Felicity, and then on the other side, he was next to Eileen, followed by Margery. He ranked lower than the spinster aunt’s maid, apparently-perhaps because she was older? Or perhaps they just liked to have the seating alternate between men and women, like at an upstairs dinner party. The rest of the table was empty. “The others eat somewhere else?”
“There’s a second seating, after the upstairs dinner is finished,” Margery answered.
Thomas nodded. That made a bit of sense, when he thought about it. At Downton, the valets and ladies’ maids sometimes had to abandon their suppers when their ladies or gentlemen decided to go up a bit early; here, they’d probably stay in the drawing room longer than they wanted to in order to make sure that didn’t happen.
Their dinner service was a bit more formal than Thomas was used to, with platters brought round by hall-boys, just like the footmen were-he guessed-doing upstairs. The hall-boys wore livery, too, but with short coats instead of tails.
He gathered from the conversation that it was a bit unusual for the whole family to come down to dinner. There was a formal service in the dining room every evening, but on any given day, one or two or three of them might have trays in their rooms instead. Lady Grantham would never have put up with that-although, given the way family dinners often deteriorated into squabbling between Lady Mary and Lady Edith, perhaps it would have been a good idea.
The others left him alone, except for occasional questions about how he liked the food or suggestions that he try this or that dish. He was a bit grateful for his lordship’s admonition about “pouncing,” even if Susan did seem to find it amusing. It was much easier to stick to his resolution about keeping his opinions to himself if no one was peppering him with questions. He did keep a wary eye on Louis, but he didn’t seem interested in causing any trouble-at least not on this first night.
His lordship went up shortly after the family left the dining room, and made an early night of it, getting into bed with a glass of whiskey and a book. Thomas did the same, minus the book-all he had was the Whitman poems, and he didn’t particularly want to read them. Being able to make occasional, licit forays into his employer’s liquor was one bit of Sentinel strangeness that he entirely approved of.
Since he had nothing to read, he thought about the day instead, as he sipped his drink. It had gone all right, really-he didn’t think there were any unnoticed disasters looming ahead in the mist. The way his lordship had carried on about his bedroom was a bit funny, looking back on it. He wondered what his lordship would have said if he’d pointed out that when he, Thomas, came back from the war, his own family didn’t even let him in the house. And Downton barely had-although he had gotten his old bedroom back.
He did wonder about what Margery had said, about how they thought his lordship might die, before. A girlish exaggeration, maybe. But you did hear stories about Sentinels dying because they didn’t have Guides. How that could happen, exactly, Thomas wasn’t sure. But his lordship had mentioned something about a three-day enthrallment, once. That could have killed him, if it had lasted much longer.
He’d have to find out more. Get other people talking about the last time his lordship had been here, and build up a complete picture that way. Not right now, though-now he would sleep.
The next day, his lordship roused himself to dress in country tweeds after breakfast, in order to go for a walk with Lady Georgiana. Thomas noted a few alterations he’d have to do, to make the trousers fit better over the prosthetic leg harness. And the low boots he liked to wear for country walks were difficult to get onto the prosthetic foot; Thomas would have to think about that.
He expected to have a chance to do some work on his lordship’s country wardrobe while he had his walk, but it turned out that he and Margery were expected to accompany them. Margery took up a position a few steps behind her mistress; Thomas, for lack of any other instructions, copied her.
His lordship seemed easier and more comfortable talking with his sister alone than he had been in that odd interview in the gallery the day before. They talked about any number of people Thomas didn’t know, and laughed over childhood episodes-occasionally, Margery or even his lordship would explain these to him with parenthetical remarks, which struck him as unnecessary, but nothing in particular seemed to be expected in terms of replies, so that was all right.
“You will go and see Clint soon, won’t you?” Lady Georgiana asked at one point.
“Yes, I will-this afternoon, perhaps.” Looking back over his shoulder at Thomas, he added, “One of the stable lads.” Back to her ladyship, he said, “I don’t entirely understand why my being home is going to remind him about this horse, though.”
“He had in his head he was going to train it up for you,” Lady Georgiana explained. “He thought it would cheer you up, after everything that happened.”
“That was kind of him,” his lordship said. “Odd, in the circumstances, but kind.”
“Anyway, he’ll want to show you your horses.”
“I don’t have any horses,” his lordship objected.
“Yes, you do. The ones you asked him to pick out for you once the war ended.”
“I have no recollection of that.”
Lady Georgiana sighed. “What you actually said was, ‘Do whatever you want,’ and then you turned your face back to the wall. But I managed to convince him that you meant that you’d like it very much if he took charge of rebuilding your stable.”
“Oh,” his lordship said. “In that case, I’ll make sure to go down there and be pleased about it. And thank you, for looking after him.”
“He’s rather easy to please, as long as there’s a horse nearby,” Lady Georgiana said with a shrug. “But he has missed you.”
Why a stable boy would miss a son of the house, Thomas wasn’t sure, but his lordship and her ladyship seemed to take it completely for granted. So once the walk was finished and they were alone in the library, Thomas asked.
“Hm?” his lordship said. “Well, he’s a Guide. And he’s always looked after my horses.”
Not long ago, that answer would have seemed completely nonsensical, but now Thomas thought he could put it together. “So he expects you to take an interest in him?”
“Yes, precisely. He’s one of Euan’s cousins, as well-a bit younger than us, but we did see a fair bit of him growing up. He was horse-mad from the time he could walk, so we’d let him have rides on our ponies and so on.”
Thomas thought of William, who’d often said he’d be happier being a stable-boy than a footman. “And that’s why he doesn’t work in the house, my lord? Because he likes horses?”
“Right again. I think Mama did have him try being a footman for a little while during the war-since most of the horses and the men of military age were away-but he hated it.”
Thomas wondered if they’d have made him stay in the house if he’d been a match for his lordship. Or if he would have wanted to stay.
#
On the way down to the stables, Gerald wondered if he ought to warn Thomas to be nice to Clint…or reassure him that he wasn’t a rival for Gerald’s attentions. But he didn’t seem particularly anxious at the moment; Gerald decided not to stir the pot.
Clint seemed well and happy, more or less. He drooped a bit when he raised the subject of Bella’s foal, but brightened under Gerald’s reassurance that it had been a kind thought, but he was sure Clint had done all anyone could. It struck Gerald how easy he was, not twisted into knots like Thomas. He positively radiated contentment as he brought out the gleaming horses one by one for Gerald’s admiration.
“But you know, Clint,” he said, stroking one velvety nose, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to ride. With my leg the way it is.” He hated to upset Clint, but it needed to be said.
But Clint said, “I’ve been looking into that. Ladies can ride with no legs a’tall on the off side; you ought to be able to manage it with half a leg there.”
“You have a point,” Gerald said. He hadn’t thought of it that way before.
“I picked some nice, steady ones for you,” Clint went on, “and I’m trainin’ ‘em to take cues with a crop on the off side, like ladies’ horses. Then you just need to work on getting your balance back. Been talking to the saddler, too-might have to modify it somehow. Put on a leapin’ horn or suchlike.”
“It sounds like you have it all figured out.” Gerald was impressed; he’d assumed that riding and other country sports were lost to him. “I’m not sure how I’ll get a riding boot on my false leg,” he added, remembering the difficulty they’d had with his walking ones, “but I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
Thomas, who had been hanging back, took half a step forward. “We might ask the bootmaker to put some sort of fasteners along the back seam, my lord. Laces, or perhaps hooks; that’d be less visible.”
“Well, there we are,” Gerald said, impressed again. “I don’t think I’m ready quite yet, but perhaps soon. Although--” He glanced over at Thomas. “Thomas may not know how to ride.”
“My lord?” Thomas said.
“You’d go with me,” Gerald explained. “But with a few lessons and a steady mount, it should be all right. I won’t be doing any galloping or jumping-not for quite some time, at any rate.”
“You might want to start out in the paddock anyway, your lordship,” Clint said. “Till you get the hang of it. So you can learn together,” he added to Thomas.
Thomas nodded, still looking a little wary.
“I expect you’re right,” Gerald agreed.
“I ‘aven’t picked out any cobs for you,” Clint added. “But I’ll find one. A nice, gentle one.”
Euan had always ridden cobs-they were rugged and just over pony size. “Ah, perhaps a horse,” Gerald said, glancing at Thomas. “But gentle, yes.”
Clint looked at him too, and nodded. “Nice, gentle horse,” he agreed.
#
The next week went…well. Thomas managed to keep biting his tongue when he was downstairs, and the other staff seemed to accept the explanation that he was shy. Margery tended to chatter at him whenever she caught him alone. Much of what she said was irrelevant, but there were occasional useful tidbits. He was careful not to act on anything she said unless he’d confirmed it either through his own observation, one of the other staff, or asking his lordship, and he never said much of anything in response. He wouldn’t cry himself to sleep at night if she got tired of these one-sided conversations, but he supposed he didn’t mind them, either.
Eileen was in the habit of pulling him aside and reminding him that he could come to her if he wanted to talk about anything, anything at all. That was just plain annoying. He wondered what secrets she thought he was keeping-and, more to the point, if she was on the trail of any of the ones he really was keeping. But he wasn’t confident he could sound her out on the subject without giving anything away, so he just smiled and said he was fine.
Mr. Clement also pulled him aside from time to time, but he only asked if Thomas had any questions. That wasn’t too surprising after the way his lordship had carried on about it. He didn’t want the butler reporting back to his lordship that he was refusing to ask questions, so he generally tried to have a couple of innocuous ones ready.
The others mostly let him alone to do his job in peace, which suited him just fine.
Not quite so with his lordship. During most meals they took together, as well as evening cuddle time, he asked questions about how Thomas was settling or how he was getting on with the others, and he didn’t seem pleased to take “Fine, my lord,” for an answer. Even worse were the questions about what was bothering him and how he could be made more comfortable. At first, he didn’t know and didn’t want to think about it. As the time wore on, however, it became more and more evident that the real answer was “You could stop asking.” But he couldn’t say that, and he was running out of ways to avoid the questions.
His lordship only got like that when they were alone in his rooms, though. He spent a fair bit of time with his family-occasionally turning up for meals in the dining room or tea in the gallery, but more often seeking the others out one at a time. He’d stop by Lord Yernemuth’s study for a drink, or Lady Georgiana’s sitting room for tea, or chat with Lady Yernemuth in the conservatory. He also visited Mrs. Pellinger in the kitchen, Mr. Clement in his pantry, and Mrs. Hope in her sitting room. Outdoors, too, he made the rounds. In the days following the stable visit, he went into the various gardens and talked to the gardeners; walked down a couple of rows of cottages, greeting the children as they played and the women as they swept the steps or hung washing on the lines; and toured the home farm, conversing with the farm workers about soil acidity and so forth. Thomas was expected to tag along to all of these places, and his lordship usually talked to him on the way there, and sometimes even drew him into the conversation with whoever he was visiting, but he didn’t ask personal questions at those times, so Thomas didn’t particularly mind.
Still, every time it seemed like he was getting a handle on things, some new surprise would pop out. For instance, one afternoon when his lordship went walking with Lady Georgiana again, she said something about Lord Simon’s governess, which ended, “I know he thought Simon was going to break his neck.”
So the next time they were alone again and his lordship informed Thomas that he looked like something was troubling him, Thomas asked about that. “It sounded like her ladyship was saying Lord Simon’s governess was…a man?”
“Yes,” his lordship said uncertainly. Then, “Oh, yes, I see. An Insensate governess is…like a woman tutor, isn’t it? Like Jane Eyre.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“For us, it’s the Guide one has when one’s too old for a nanny but isn’t quite ready to choose a personal Guide yet. A steady sort of man, you know. Chosen by one’s parents, to keep one from running too wild out from under Nanny’s eye. I never had one, because of Euan, but lots of fellows still had them up at Oxford.”
In a way, that sounded reasonable enough to Thomas-he knew plenty of valets who were paid extra by a young gentleman’s parents to provide reports on any particularly outrageous behavior. Why they put up with being called governesses, though, he had no idea.
And apart from when he was asking Thomas personal questions, his lordship seemed healthy and content, as well-much more so than he had been in London. All those walks in the fresh country air were doing him good. Both staff and family had a tendency to marvel at how well he was doing compared with when he’d last been home.
Occasionally, they also said things like, “Thank God for Thomas!” The words would have been music to his ears in other circumstances, but now, when he heard them, he felt his escape tunnel narrowing. If his being there really made that much of a difference, he couldn’t just leave, not and live with himself after. His lordship had been nothing but kind to him-nosy and overbearing, but kind.
He decided to ask Mr. Clement about it, hoping he’d say that things weren’t quite as bleak as the women made them out to be. “A lot of the others have mentioned how much better his lordship is now than when he was last home. Was he really so badly off, then?”
“Yes,” Mr. Clement said, dashing his hopes. “It’s very likely you’ve saved his life by coming to him, Thomas. He was frequently in pain, and quite often he would become enthralled on the pain. Getting him out of it was…difficult. Sometimes it would last for hours. And the senses tend to fluctuate, in the absence of a compatible Guide. They can become painfully acute, or almost entirely numb. Sometimes the smallest amount of light would hurt his eyes, other times he could barely see at all. Fluctuations in the senses of taste and smell made it particularly difficult to eat; there were times when he wouldn’t take anything for days. I’m given to understand that one of the doctors suggested putting a rubber tube down his throat and forcing nutrition that way. He indicated that he’d prefer to starve.”
That was worse than anything he’d imagined. He was reminded of Lieutenant Courtenay, and wondered if his lordship had hoped he would starve to death. “But it can’t have been like that the whole time-can it? It was almost three years. And he was up and about a bit at least, at the Society, before I came.”
“Taking up residence in the Society seemed to help,” Mr. Clement allowed. “He was initially taken there in hopes of finding a compatible Guide, and as you know he did not, but he did improve. There was still a great deal of pain, but the enthrallments and sensory fluctuations became less frequent. He theorizes that being around a large number of Guides, even incompatible ones, brought his senses under some measure of control. Still, during the two and a half years he was there, there were--” He paused in thought for a moment “-four episodes that lead Mr. Weatherby to write telling me to prepare for the worst.”
Four? “What kind of episodes?” Thomas asked.
“He’d go through…spells, or phases, where he’d have a great many enthrallments and sensory fluctuations, nearly constantly throughout the day. Sometimes his spells would only last a day or two, but sometimes much longer. Mr. Weatherby feared-and I expect his lordship did as well-that one day one of these episodes would simply go on until he died.”
“They never worked out what caused them?”
Mr. Clement shook his head. “No. They were never entirely sure why he wasn’t in that state continuously, either.”
That was it, then. He couldn’t leave-not unless he wanted to have his lordship’s death on his hands.
#
“Are you all right?” Gerald asked. Thomas had arrived to dress him for dinner smelling more deeply of despair than he had since they left London. He was moving stiffly, too, and avoiding Gerald’s eyes. “Did something happen?”
“No, my lord. Nothing’s happened. Which cufflinks do you want?” he asked, holding out the box.
Gerald wanted to say that he didn’t care, but clearly it mattered to Thomas. “You choose. You seem upset.”
“What about these?” he said, selecting a pair. “I haven’t seen you wear them. I’m not upset.” He held the cufflinks out for Gerald’s inspection.
The cufflinks really didn’t matter right now, but Thomas was holding them out where Gerald couldn’t avoid looking at them-silver ones, with the house crest on them. “Ah. Those are…were…Euan’s, in fact.” He wondered if Clement hadn’t noticed them when he’d been packing his things, or if he had left them on purpose. “They go with the livery.” Perhaps he ought to give them to Thomas, but he rather liked having something of Euan’s to remember him by. “You’ll have a set of your own, later on.”
Thomas put them back in the box. “I’m sorry, my lord. These, then?” He offered another pair.
“Yes, those will do nicely.”
Thomas replaced the box on the shelf, and started putting them in.
“Thomas, I can tell you’re upset-something must have happened.”
Sighing heavily, Thomas stopped his work. “Mr. Clement was telling me about how much better you were than when you were here during the war,” he said, looking down at the shirt in his hands. “I’d heard a few things, so I asked. I just hadn’t…realized quite how ill you were, that’s all, my lord.”
Oh. That was…not at all what he’d expected. Not some disastrous run-in with one of the other Guides, after all. “I see.” Perhaps he’d under-estimated Thomas. “I was very ill. It’s made a tremendous difference, your coming to be with me.”
Thomas did not seem noticeably reassured-in fact, he seemed to smell even more anxious now.
Gerald went on, “I know that there’s a great deal to learn and to adjust to, in our world, and I think you sometimes feel that perhaps you aren’t learning quickly enough. But the only really important part is that you’re here. And everyone here-the family, the Guides, and even the other staff-knows how very grateful we should be that you are here. So no one’s going to be upset with you if you make mistakes or need time to adjust. All right?”
Thomas said, “Yes, my lord,” and held out the shirt for him to put on. Gerald didn’t take it until Thomas further prompted him, “They’ll be wanting to go in to dinner soon, my lord.”
He hadn’t really understood, if the thought that was more important than the talk they were having-but Gerald supposed that if he were late, it would only upset Thomas more. He finished dressing without further discussion of the subject.
#
After the servants’ dinner, Thomas went outside and smoked several cigarettes in rapid succession. He had an idea that it might help prevent his lordship from sniffing out how he was feeling. The odor did, as he’d been told at the Society, tend to linger, and it just might cover up whatever smells his lordship was using to not quite read his mind. He’d have tried aftershave or scented soap, but given what had happened with the salve, he figured his lordship would just tell him to wash it off. He hadn’t objected to cigarette smoke before now, so, if it worked, he might be able to get away with it.
He’d managed to do a neat enough job of diverting suspicion about precisely what he was upset about-his lordship didn’t seem to have the slightest idea that Thomas had been thinking of leaving or felt trapped. But having his lordship go on about how grateful he was didn’t precisely help him feel any less trapped. He already knew he had to stay.
The parts about giving him as much time as he needed to adjust didn’t help much, either. He’d hoped that his lordship might, eventually, get used to the idea that Thomas didn’t much like talking about whether he smelt happy or not, and just leave it alone. But it sounded more like he’d just go on pushing for as long as it took. Quite possibly ten years down the road, or even twenty, he’d still be being asked about his feelings every time he turned around. The thought made him feel like he was struggling to breathe in a cloud of phosgene gas.
Best just not to think about it. Thinking about it probably made him smell unhappy, too. Today had been all right, apart from one obstacle he’d managed to get over. Tomorrow would likely be all right, too. If he didn’t look any further forward than that, it all seemed perfectly manageable.
His strategies seemed to work. When they settled on the bedroom sofa for a drink and a cuddle, his lordship didn’t bring up the subject of his unhappiness, for a change. Instead he said, “We’ll be having some visitors soon. My Aunt Elizabeth and Cousin Imogene. They’re coming Friday, and staying at least through Monday.”
“Very good, my lord,” Thomas said, wondering what that had to do with him. Perhaps nothing; sometimes his lordship told him things for no particular reason. “Do I have any particular responsibilities, when they’re here?”
“Nothing in particular, no. Imogene’s coming to get to know Susan, and I’ve always gotten on well with her-with Imogene, I mean-so we’ll probably spend some time with them. Walks and things, maybe a picnic.”
The only Susan Thomas knew was the housemaid; why his lordship’s cousin would want to get to know her, he had no idea. Had he meant to say Lady Sophia, perhaps? But she was still suffering from morning sickness and rarely left her room. “Susan, my lord? The housemaid?”
“Yes. She wants a place as a personal Guide, you see, and Imogene is looking for one. So she’ll be coming without her governess, and Susan will attend on her.”
Susan would be getting a trial as lady’s maid, Thomas translated. That made sense-for Sentinels, at least. “I see, my lord.”
“I’m not sure why Aunt Elizabeth is coming-she’s Mama’s sister; they’ve never gotten on well. Sentinel sisters often don’t, just like Sentinel brothers. But I suppose she thinks Imogene is a bit young to go visiting on her own without a governess.”
“Is her governess a man as well, my lord?” Thomas supposed he didn’t really need to know, but his lordship didn’t seem to mind explaining things like that to him-and he didn’t mind asking, particularly when it distracted him from more personal subjects.
“No, no. Girls have women governesses. But she is a Guide, not a tutor. I expect Imogene’s out of the schoolroom by now.”
Thomas nodded. That was all clear enough. That a single male cousin would be acting as host to a young girl seemed a bit odd to him-but perhaps Lady Georgiana would be along on those walks and picnics as well. And, perhaps, Susan was not the only reason she was here. Now that his lordship was no longer at death’s door, her ladyship might be hoping to make a match for him. “And is she Lady Imogene, or….”
“No-Aunt Elizabeth is Lady Elizabeth, but Imogene’s just an Honorable. You call her Miss Imogene.”
That was what he would have thought, but he was glad to know for sure. “After we’ve been introduced.”
“Yes. Since we will be seeing a bit of her, it’s probably best if you come to the gallery for tea on the day they arrive. I’ll introduce you to both Aunt Elizabeth and Cousin Imogene, and then there won’t be any awkwardness later on.”
Since that first day, his lordship had been skipping family tea in the gallery in favor of having it in his rooms, or else with just Lady Georgiana. Thomas wasn’t too keen on making a reappearance, but with any luck, it wouldn’t be quite as bad as their arrival, since the family would-he hoped-be more interested in the guests than in him. “Yes, my lord.”
Over the next few days, the upcoming visit was the talk of the servants’ hall, and Susan was the center of it. She twittered constantly about all of the things she was doing to make sure Miss Imogene would be comfortable, and sucked up to the ladies’ maids, hanging on their every word as they gave her tips on how to make a good impression. It all seemed like good advice, too-as far as Thomas could tell, there were no efforts to sabotage her into making a mistake that would keep her in her place. And the other housemaids, while they were vocally envious, didn’t seem to be planning to undermine her and seize the opportunity for themselves. It seemed universally agreed that Susan was getting a wonderful chance, and everyone was sincerely happy for her. It was unsettling.
Friday morning, as his lordship sipped his tea before getting out of bed, he said, “I suppose downstairs is in a flurry of preparations for the visit?”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas agreed. “Susan seems quite excited about it.”
“I expect she is.” His lordship set his cup down in the saucer. “She’s been stuck as a housemaid for longer than she liked to be, I think. The war disrupted a lot of things, for women as well as men.”
“I suppose it has, my lord,” Thomas agreed. There were fewer men to marry, for one thing. He wasn’t sure how that would have affected a housemaid’s chances of becoming a lady’s maid. But perhaps Susan would have married, otherwise?
“In a way, it’s a bit like your situation at the other house,” his lordship went on. “She’s gotten a bit disgruntled, picking on the other maids and so forth. But Mama and Georgie have had their eyes open for another place for her.”
Thomas was a bit put out by this sudden left turn into the subject of his feelings, as well as the comparison between himself and a silly maid. But she was the only one of the Guides downstairs who ever said anything that even approached sarcasm or complaint, in his hearing at least. “That’s kind of them, my lord.”
“She’ll be happier once we get her settled in a position she enjoys.”
Yes, all right, point taken. His lordship thought he’d have been a nicer person if he hadn’t been stopped from being a valet all those years. Perhaps he was right, but Thomas didn’t see what difference that made. “Yes, my lord. Are you ready to get up?”
His lordship spent most of the day in his room, reading. If it had been him, Thomas would have called it saving his strength for the upcoming ordeal; perhaps his lordship felt the same way. Thomas himself used the time to do some sewing. He’d noticed that a great many of his lordship’s country things wanted taking in-even accounting for the bulk of the prosthetic leg harness, he had lost quite a bit of weight. There were a few things that fit fairly well; Thomas suspected they were from his lordship’s adolescence, when he’d reached his full height but hadn’t filled out yet. He’d have more choice in what to wear-or Thomas would have more choice in what to put out for him-if some of the other things were altered.
He started out doing his sewing in the dressing room, but after lunch his lordship asked him to continue in the bedroom with him. It was a bit odd, doing that sort of work where his lordship could see him-but not bad, Thomas supposed. He was getting a bit more used to the idea that things could seem strange without being wrong.
A couple of hours later, his lordship closed his book with a snap. “The station car’s just turned up the drive; we’d better get downstairs.”
Thomas hadn’t heard a thing, but then, he wasn’t a Sentinel. He put aside the jacket he was working on and helped his lordship stand up.
It turned out that the household was expected to turn out for the guests’ arrival-why they hadn’t done so last week when his lordship arrived, Thomas didn’t know. Most of them were already there when Thomas and his lordship arrived-the butler, housekeeper, maids, and footmen on one side of the front door, and the family to the other. Margery, Eileen, Felicity, Baxter, and Louis, however, stood at their ladies’ and gentlemen’s shoulders. Thomas followed their example.
The car soon pulled up and came to a stop directly in front of the house. Douglas, the footman, went over to open the doors, but he only helped one of them out-an older woman in a plain dark dress, similar to the ones the maids here wore. She then turned and helped the two ladies out, falling in behind them as they approached Lady Yernemuth.
“Welcome back to Bellerock,” her ladyship said graciously. “How nice to see you, Lizzie dear, and Imogene, how you’ve grown!”
After another minute or two of small talk like that, Susan was called forward to be introduced to Miss Imogene. “Elizabeth, Imogene, Susan will be looking after Imogene during your stay. Susan, Lady Elizabeth and Miss Imogene.”
Susan curtsied and stammered out something about being, “Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m sure we’ll be great friends,” Miss Imogene said.
Then Mrs. Hope, the housekeeper, was made known to the visiting lady’s maid, Miss Simpson-a surname if Thomas had ever heard one; he’d have to sort that out later. Now the group was breaking up, with Mrs. Hope and Susan talking about how the ladies would surely like to see their rooms before tea, and the footmen going after the luggage.
They went inside at the tail end of the group. “Let’s go to the library until tea,” his lordship said. “I’m not keen on going up and down the stairs again, when it’s less than an hour.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Once they were there, his lordship asked Thomas to sit with him. He was sitting on a sofa, as Thomas suspected he had snuggling in mind-but Thomas was not about to do that in a public room of the house. Not unless his lordship explicitly told him to, and perhaps not even then. He sat in a nearby armchair instead, and that was bad enough.
Another unwelcome surprise was in store when they went to the gallery for tea. Thomas had expected they’d go in, he’d get his lordship settled and get the introductions over with, and then with any luck he’d be able to escape to the servants’ hall on grounds of wanting his own tea.
It was not to be. The other valets and the ladies’ maids-including Susan-brought cups of tea and plates of sandwiches and things to their gentlemen and ladies, as he thought they might. But after that, they went back to the tea trolley and fixed cups and plates for themselves. Thomas couldn’t believe it, even when he saw Baxter lifting a teacup to his lips right there in the gallery, in front of God, the Earl, and everybody.
“Thomas?” his lordship said, looking at him in alarm.
Schooling his features, he answered, “My lord?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You look a bit wobbly. Here, sit.” He moved his legs aside to make room for Thomas on the ottoman. “Perhaps one of the others could bring you a cup of tea,” he added as Thomas sat.
One of the others did-Eileen, in fact, and she brought a minced chicken sandwich and a rock cake as well as the tea. All available evidence suggested that he was expected to eat them.
At the same time, his lordship was leaning forward to look at Thomas with a concerned expression, while patting his shoulder. He felt very conspicuous-although in fact, no one but his lordship and Felicity were actually paying much attention. He had to act normally-the way these people thought was normal-if he didn’t want to cause a scene. “Thank you, Felicity,” he said, managing a sip of the tea. “I’m all right, really. I just. Felt funny for a second. My lord.”
His lordship looked doubtful, but he at least let go of Thomas’s shoulder and sat back.
Fortunately, the rest of the family, valets, and ladies’ maids left him alone long enough to gather his wits. A bit of observation proved that yes, the other valets and ladies’ maids were all eating and drinking, and usually sitting down near their Sentinels. Susan seemed a little nervous about it; each time she took a bite or a sip, she looked around as if to make sure no one objected. It might have been a bit comforting to see that someone else felt as he did about it, but the fact that it was a silly housemaid was just irritating.
Watching the others, he began to draw some conclusions about what was expected. The valets and maids often sat on something a bit lower than their employer’s seat-he was certainly not the only one perching on an ottoman. They were always closer to their own master or mistress than to any other Sentinel. They didn’t converse amongst themselves, but they did talk to their own ladies and gentlemen. If the ladies and gentlemen were talking, their Guides listened attentively and occasionally contributed a remark or two, but they didn’t talk much.
Sorting out these rules, and realizing that the scene was not the anarchistic free-for-all he’d initially perceived, Thomas was able to accept the matter a little more calmly. By the time Miss Imogene came over-she had been trapped in a conversation with Lady Yernemuth and her own mother-he felt more or less ready to face the introduction.
“Lovely to see you, Cousin Imogene,” his lordship said. “You’ll excuse me for not standing up, I hope.”
“Of course,” Miss Imogene answered. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”
“Thank you. I expect you’ve heard about my new Guide, Thomas. Thomas, Miss Imogene.”
“How do you do?” Imogene murmured. “And you know Susan, of course.”
His lordship lifted his teacup to his mouth, seemingly to hide the smile that was threatening to break out. Thomas guessed that Miss Imogene hadn’t been supposed to introduce Susan, not when she was a housemaid in this very house. Either Imogene didn’t know that, or she was trying out adult manners for the first time. “Yes, I hope you’re getting to know Susan.”
“She’s a dear,” Miss Imogene said.
They talked a bit about what Miss Imogene had done in London during the recent Season-“So sorry I wasn’t able to see you there,” Imogene said, to which his lordship replied, “I expect you were rather busy, and I wasn’t up for much society.” Then they talked a bit more about plans for Miss Imogene’s stay. A picnic was tentatively slated for the next day’s luncheon.
Not too long after that, Miss Imogene was informed by her mother that they would be resting in their rooms until the dressing gong-whether Imogene liked it or not, was unspoken but very clearly implied.
#
After Aunt Elizabeth and Imogene retired, the rest of them were free to do the same, and Gerald wasted no time in doing so. With guests in the house, dinner would be both grueling and mandatory, and there was no sense wearing himself out early.
“What happened in there?” he asked Thomas, once they were alone.
“My lord?” Thomas asked, sitting down and picking up the sewing he’d laid aside two hours ago. He certainly spent a great deal more time on Gerald’s wardrobe than Euan ever had.
“In the gallery. You seemed--” Panicked, was how he’d seemed, but Gerald didn’t think Thomas would appreciate that choice of word. He settled on, “Startled.”
For a long moment, Thomas studied the seams of the jacket he was working on, and Gerald thought he might not be going to answer at all, not even a “My lord.” But finally, he said, “I was a bit startled that we were having tea with the family, that’s all, my lord. It doesn’t happen in Insensate houses.”
“You’ve had tea with me hundreds of times.” Well, perhaps not that, but dozens. “And with Georgie, too.” Having tea with Gerald had startled Thomas the first time, too, but he’d gotten used to it. He’d have taken care to break the news about tea in the gallery gently-if he had realized Thomas wasn’t expecting it.
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said. It was the “you are being a fathead” voice, which he hadn’t used in days. Gerald had almost missed it.
“But that’s different,” Gerald essayed. Somehow. If he understood how, perhaps he could anticipate any similar surprises.
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said, without elaborating.
In an effort not to be too much of a fathead, Gerald tried to figure it out on his own. What was different about it? It was in a different room, to begin with-if Thomas had been a Sentinel, Gerald would have considered that the most likely problem. But Thomas had been in and out of unfamiliar rooms for the last two weeks, with no sign of any particular difficulty. The family, then-he’d seen a fair amount of each of them, but not en masse like that. Except for when they welcomed the guests, which Thomas hadn’t seemed to mind. The tea and the food were the same things they had in his rooms, so that couldn’t be it.
He gave up. “How is it different?”
Briefly looking up from his sewing, Thomas said, “It just is, my lord. But it’s fine. Now I know, and there’s no harm done.”
“Yes, of course, but I’d like to understand.”
Now Thomas smelled not just of anxiety, but of something sharper. Anger, possibly. Or fear. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. “There’s nothing to understand, my lord. I’m fine.”
Thomas’s voice was absolutely level; if Gerald hadn’t been able to smell him, he have believed he really was perfectly fine. “That isn’t true,” Gerald said gently.
Thomas stood. “I’ve just remembered I need to press your evening coat, my lord. If there isn’t anything else.” Before Gerald had time to think of an answer, he’d disappeared into the dressing room.
Gerald considered getting up and going after him. Thomas had to be very upset to run off like that-it was rather a breach of decorum by anyone’s standards, and probably a worse one by Thomas’s lights than Gerald’s own. He wouldn’t have done it if something wasn’t really wrong.
But for precisely the same reason, if Gerald did go after him, his first thought was likely to be that he was in trouble. Gerald didn’t want to pile another source of worry on top of whatever was already bothering him.
He’d let Thomas press the coat, he decided-even though it surely didn’t need it. He’d be back in time to dress Gerald for dinner, and they could talk then.
#
On the landing of the servants’ stairs, Thomas stopped and leaned against the wall, pressing his forehead against the cool plaster. He knew he’d been wrong to run off-and God knew what he’d be in for when he went back-but he couldn’t stand another second of his lordship’s prying. For God’s sake, why couldn’t he just let it go? Thomas said he was fine-and he had been. He’d handled it himself.
But no, his lordship wanted to understand. It was bad enough that he even knew there had been a problem to begin with; the absolute last thing Thomas wanted to do was help him understand it. Thomas wasn’t sure himself why he had been startled to see the other servants having tea in the gallery, or why he hadn’t been able to shrug it off the way he’d shrugged off so many other strange things since coming to Bellerock. He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know.
As he continued down the stairs, he considered whether there was any possible way he could say that to his lordship. There didn’t seem to be. His lordship wouldn’t understand why what he thought of as a kindness was, to Thomas, like touching a raw nerve. Thomas wasn’t sure about that himself, either. And if he tried to explain it, his lordship would want to know why, and the whole problem would just be even worse.
No, strict denial that there was a problem was the only way. He’d make up some excuse. The evening coat, perhaps-he’d say he was angry at himself for forgetting to press it earlier. His lordship would tell him it didn’t matter, and he’d pretend to be grateful for the reassurance, and the matter could be stuffed back under the carpet where it belonged.
With that decided, he made his way to the pressing room-if the pressing of the jacket was going to figure so heavily in his story, he had better actually press it. But when he approached, he heard voices inside, women’s voices. Thomas stopped, considering. He really didn’t want to talk to anyone. And what were the chances that his lordship would actually check his story about pressing the jacket? Fairly low, he thought-but it could come up, given the way the servants here gossiped with the family.
“-a bit strange, really.” That was Margery, speaking.
The answering voice was unfamiliar. “Strange how?”
“He just has all sorts of odd habits. Apparently he was quite nasty to everyone down in London. His lordship wants us to be patient with him. We’re giving him a bit of privacy-be cordial, but let him keep to himself if he’d rather. Except Lord Gerald’s asked a couple of us, me and Eileen, to try and draw him out a bit.”
That was just the bleeding limit. Boiling over with rage, Thomas jerked the door open. The two women turned to look at him-Margery and the visiting lady’s maid. If the content of the discussion left any doubt that they’d been talking about him, the expressions on their faces removed it.
“Hello, Thomas,” Margery said cautiously.
Thomas stared at her. “So his lordship’s been--” He wasn’t even sure what to call it. “Talking to you lot about me?”
“A bit,” she answered. “To Mr. Clement, really. He told the rest of us.”
“Told you what?”
“That you’d…had a bit of a hard time. That it’s left you…bitter, and not always very nice?”
“Typical,” he said, although it wasn’t typical at all. He should have realized. He’d only thought that he’d been managing rather well for himself. Really, he’d been managed. His lordship just had to meddle, didn’t he?
“He were only trying to help,” Margery said, watching him as if he were a shell that might explode at any moment.
By spreading Thomas’s personal business across the whole house? Some help that was. “Very kind of him,” Thomas said sarcastically.
“It was,” Margery answered, looking over at Miss Simpson as if for support. Miss Simpson stepped back, her expression blank.
“Pardon me if I don’t agree,” Thomas said, his voice as cold as ice. “I have to press this,” he added, raising the coat slightly.
The two women left quickly. Thomas heated an iron and pressed the coat, trying to smooth away his troubled thoughts with each stroke of the iron. If he went back upstairs as angry as he was, his lordship would surely notice, and he would ask, and Thomas would…he wasn’t sure what he’d do, but it wouldn’t be pretty.
Link to Chapter Nine
Oddly enough, when Thomas went back upstairs to dress his lordship for dinner, he repeated Margery’s warning about Louis. “Not that I would encourage you to be unkind to the others, either, but Simon is…touchy. And we don’t want a repeat of what happened with Finsworth.”
“I understand, my lord. I’ll be careful.”
“Good,” his lordship said, smiling slightly and turning so that Thomas could help him into his waistcoat.
Once he’d seen his lordship into the drawing room, Thomas went down to the servants’ hall, assuming that-as at Downton-they’d all sit around and wait until the upstairs lot had finished before having their dinner. But to his surprise, half of the servants’ hall table was laid, and the other valets and the ladies’ maids were taking their places. “Here, Thomas,” Margery said, indicating the place between herself and Eileen.
“Thanks.” As he sat, Thomas studied the seating plan. Baxter was at the head of the table, with Eileen and Felicity occupying the places on either side. Louis was next to Felicity, and then on the other side, he was next to Eileen, followed by Margery. He ranked lower than the spinster aunt’s maid, apparently-perhaps because she was older? Or perhaps they just liked to have the seating alternate between men and women, like at an upstairs dinner party. The rest of the table was empty. “The others eat somewhere else?”
“There’s a second seating, after the upstairs dinner is finished,” Margery answered.
Thomas nodded. That made a bit of sense, when he thought about it. At Downton, the valets and ladies’ maids sometimes had to abandon their suppers when their ladies or gentlemen decided to go up a bit early; here, they’d probably stay in the drawing room longer than they wanted to in order to make sure that didn’t happen.
Their dinner service was a bit more formal than Thomas was used to, with platters brought round by hall-boys, just like the footmen were-he guessed-doing upstairs. The hall-boys wore livery, too, but with short coats instead of tails.
He gathered from the conversation that it was a bit unusual for the whole family to come down to dinner. There was a formal service in the dining room every evening, but on any given day, one or two or three of them might have trays in their rooms instead. Lady Grantham would never have put up with that-although, given the way family dinners often deteriorated into squabbling between Lady Mary and Lady Edith, perhaps it would have been a good idea.
The others left him alone, except for occasional questions about how he liked the food or suggestions that he try this or that dish. He was a bit grateful for his lordship’s admonition about “pouncing,” even if Susan did seem to find it amusing. It was much easier to stick to his resolution about keeping his opinions to himself if no one was peppering him with questions. He did keep a wary eye on Louis, but he didn’t seem interested in causing any trouble-at least not on this first night.
His lordship went up shortly after the family left the dining room, and made an early night of it, getting into bed with a glass of whiskey and a book. Thomas did the same, minus the book-all he had was the Whitman poems, and he didn’t particularly want to read them. Being able to make occasional, licit forays into his employer’s liquor was one bit of Sentinel strangeness that he entirely approved of.
Since he had nothing to read, he thought about the day instead, as he sipped his drink. It had gone all right, really-he didn’t think there were any unnoticed disasters looming ahead in the mist. The way his lordship had carried on about his bedroom was a bit funny, looking back on it. He wondered what his lordship would have said if he’d pointed out that when he, Thomas, came back from the war, his own family didn’t even let him in the house. And Downton barely had-although he had gotten his old bedroom back.
He did wonder about what Margery had said, about how they thought his lordship might die, before. A girlish exaggeration, maybe. But you did hear stories about Sentinels dying because they didn’t have Guides. How that could happen, exactly, Thomas wasn’t sure. But his lordship had mentioned something about a three-day enthrallment, once. That could have killed him, if it had lasted much longer.
He’d have to find out more. Get other people talking about the last time his lordship had been here, and build up a complete picture that way. Not right now, though-now he would sleep.
The next day, his lordship roused himself to dress in country tweeds after breakfast, in order to go for a walk with Lady Georgiana. Thomas noted a few alterations he’d have to do, to make the trousers fit better over the prosthetic leg harness. And the low boots he liked to wear for country walks were difficult to get onto the prosthetic foot; Thomas would have to think about that.
He expected to have a chance to do some work on his lordship’s country wardrobe while he had his walk, but it turned out that he and Margery were expected to accompany them. Margery took up a position a few steps behind her mistress; Thomas, for lack of any other instructions, copied her.
His lordship seemed easier and more comfortable talking with his sister alone than he had been in that odd interview in the gallery the day before. They talked about any number of people Thomas didn’t know, and laughed over childhood episodes-occasionally, Margery or even his lordship would explain these to him with parenthetical remarks, which struck him as unnecessary, but nothing in particular seemed to be expected in terms of replies, so that was all right.
“You will go and see Clint soon, won’t you?” Lady Georgiana asked at one point.
“Yes, I will-this afternoon, perhaps.” Looking back over his shoulder at Thomas, he added, “One of the stable lads.” Back to her ladyship, he said, “I don’t entirely understand why my being home is going to remind him about this horse, though.”
“He had in his head he was going to train it up for you,” Lady Georgiana explained. “He thought it would cheer you up, after everything that happened.”
“That was kind of him,” his lordship said. “Odd, in the circumstances, but kind.”
“Anyway, he’ll want to show you your horses.”
“I don’t have any horses,” his lordship objected.
“Yes, you do. The ones you asked him to pick out for you once the war ended.”
“I have no recollection of that.”
Lady Georgiana sighed. “What you actually said was, ‘Do whatever you want,’ and then you turned your face back to the wall. But I managed to convince him that you meant that you’d like it very much if he took charge of rebuilding your stable.”
“Oh,” his lordship said. “In that case, I’ll make sure to go down there and be pleased about it. And thank you, for looking after him.”
“He’s rather easy to please, as long as there’s a horse nearby,” Lady Georgiana said with a shrug. “But he has missed you.”
Why a stable boy would miss a son of the house, Thomas wasn’t sure, but his lordship and her ladyship seemed to take it completely for granted. So once the walk was finished and they were alone in the library, Thomas asked.
“Hm?” his lordship said. “Well, he’s a Guide. And he’s always looked after my horses.”
Not long ago, that answer would have seemed completely nonsensical, but now Thomas thought he could put it together. “So he expects you to take an interest in him?”
“Yes, precisely. He’s one of Euan’s cousins, as well-a bit younger than us, but we did see a fair bit of him growing up. He was horse-mad from the time he could walk, so we’d let him have rides on our ponies and so on.”
Thomas thought of William, who’d often said he’d be happier being a stable-boy than a footman. “And that’s why he doesn’t work in the house, my lord? Because he likes horses?”
“Right again. I think Mama did have him try being a footman for a little while during the war-since most of the horses and the men of military age were away-but he hated it.”
Thomas wondered if they’d have made him stay in the house if he’d been a match for his lordship. Or if he would have wanted to stay.
#
On the way down to the stables, Gerald wondered if he ought to warn Thomas to be nice to Clint…or reassure him that he wasn’t a rival for Gerald’s attentions. But he didn’t seem particularly anxious at the moment; Gerald decided not to stir the pot.
Clint seemed well and happy, more or less. He drooped a bit when he raised the subject of Bella’s foal, but brightened under Gerald’s reassurance that it had been a kind thought, but he was sure Clint had done all anyone could. It struck Gerald how easy he was, not twisted into knots like Thomas. He positively radiated contentment as he brought out the gleaming horses one by one for Gerald’s admiration.
“But you know, Clint,” he said, stroking one velvety nose, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to ride. With my leg the way it is.” He hated to upset Clint, but it needed to be said.
But Clint said, “I’ve been looking into that. Ladies can ride with no legs a’tall on the off side; you ought to be able to manage it with half a leg there.”
“You have a point,” Gerald said. He hadn’t thought of it that way before.
“I picked some nice, steady ones for you,” Clint went on, “and I’m trainin’ ‘em to take cues with a crop on the off side, like ladies’ horses. Then you just need to work on getting your balance back. Been talking to the saddler, too-might have to modify it somehow. Put on a leapin’ horn or suchlike.”
“It sounds like you have it all figured out.” Gerald was impressed; he’d assumed that riding and other country sports were lost to him. “I’m not sure how I’ll get a riding boot on my false leg,” he added, remembering the difficulty they’d had with his walking ones, “but I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
Thomas, who had been hanging back, took half a step forward. “We might ask the bootmaker to put some sort of fasteners along the back seam, my lord. Laces, or perhaps hooks; that’d be less visible.”
“Well, there we are,” Gerald said, impressed again. “I don’t think I’m ready quite yet, but perhaps soon. Although--” He glanced over at Thomas. “Thomas may not know how to ride.”
“My lord?” Thomas said.
“You’d go with me,” Gerald explained. “But with a few lessons and a steady mount, it should be all right. I won’t be doing any galloping or jumping-not for quite some time, at any rate.”
“You might want to start out in the paddock anyway, your lordship,” Clint said. “Till you get the hang of it. So you can learn together,” he added to Thomas.
Thomas nodded, still looking a little wary.
“I expect you’re right,” Gerald agreed.
“I ‘aven’t picked out any cobs for you,” Clint added. “But I’ll find one. A nice, gentle one.”
Euan had always ridden cobs-they were rugged and just over pony size. “Ah, perhaps a horse,” Gerald said, glancing at Thomas. “But gentle, yes.”
Clint looked at him too, and nodded. “Nice, gentle horse,” he agreed.
#
The next week went…well. Thomas managed to keep biting his tongue when he was downstairs, and the other staff seemed to accept the explanation that he was shy. Margery tended to chatter at him whenever she caught him alone. Much of what she said was irrelevant, but there were occasional useful tidbits. He was careful not to act on anything she said unless he’d confirmed it either through his own observation, one of the other staff, or asking his lordship, and he never said much of anything in response. He wouldn’t cry himself to sleep at night if she got tired of these one-sided conversations, but he supposed he didn’t mind them, either.
Eileen was in the habit of pulling him aside and reminding him that he could come to her if he wanted to talk about anything, anything at all. That was just plain annoying. He wondered what secrets she thought he was keeping-and, more to the point, if she was on the trail of any of the ones he really was keeping. But he wasn’t confident he could sound her out on the subject without giving anything away, so he just smiled and said he was fine.
Mr. Clement also pulled him aside from time to time, but he only asked if Thomas had any questions. That wasn’t too surprising after the way his lordship had carried on about it. He didn’t want the butler reporting back to his lordship that he was refusing to ask questions, so he generally tried to have a couple of innocuous ones ready.
The others mostly let him alone to do his job in peace, which suited him just fine.
Not quite so with his lordship. During most meals they took together, as well as evening cuddle time, he asked questions about how Thomas was settling or how he was getting on with the others, and he didn’t seem pleased to take “Fine, my lord,” for an answer. Even worse were the questions about what was bothering him and how he could be made more comfortable. At first, he didn’t know and didn’t want to think about it. As the time wore on, however, it became more and more evident that the real answer was “You could stop asking.” But he couldn’t say that, and he was running out of ways to avoid the questions.
His lordship only got like that when they were alone in his rooms, though. He spent a fair bit of time with his family-occasionally turning up for meals in the dining room or tea in the gallery, but more often seeking the others out one at a time. He’d stop by Lord Yernemuth’s study for a drink, or Lady Georgiana’s sitting room for tea, or chat with Lady Yernemuth in the conservatory. He also visited Mrs. Pellinger in the kitchen, Mr. Clement in his pantry, and Mrs. Hope in her sitting room. Outdoors, too, he made the rounds. In the days following the stable visit, he went into the various gardens and talked to the gardeners; walked down a couple of rows of cottages, greeting the children as they played and the women as they swept the steps or hung washing on the lines; and toured the home farm, conversing with the farm workers about soil acidity and so forth. Thomas was expected to tag along to all of these places, and his lordship usually talked to him on the way there, and sometimes even drew him into the conversation with whoever he was visiting, but he didn’t ask personal questions at those times, so Thomas didn’t particularly mind.
Still, every time it seemed like he was getting a handle on things, some new surprise would pop out. For instance, one afternoon when his lordship went walking with Lady Georgiana again, she said something about Lord Simon’s governess, which ended, “I know he thought Simon was going to break his neck.”
So the next time they were alone again and his lordship informed Thomas that he looked like something was troubling him, Thomas asked about that. “It sounded like her ladyship was saying Lord Simon’s governess was…a man?”
“Yes,” his lordship said uncertainly. Then, “Oh, yes, I see. An Insensate governess is…like a woman tutor, isn’t it? Like Jane Eyre.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“For us, it’s the Guide one has when one’s too old for a nanny but isn’t quite ready to choose a personal Guide yet. A steady sort of man, you know. Chosen by one’s parents, to keep one from running too wild out from under Nanny’s eye. I never had one, because of Euan, but lots of fellows still had them up at Oxford.”
In a way, that sounded reasonable enough to Thomas-he knew plenty of valets who were paid extra by a young gentleman’s parents to provide reports on any particularly outrageous behavior. Why they put up with being called governesses, though, he had no idea.
And apart from when he was asking Thomas personal questions, his lordship seemed healthy and content, as well-much more so than he had been in London. All those walks in the fresh country air were doing him good. Both staff and family had a tendency to marvel at how well he was doing compared with when he’d last been home.
Occasionally, they also said things like, “Thank God for Thomas!” The words would have been music to his ears in other circumstances, but now, when he heard them, he felt his escape tunnel narrowing. If his being there really made that much of a difference, he couldn’t just leave, not and live with himself after. His lordship had been nothing but kind to him-nosy and overbearing, but kind.
He decided to ask Mr. Clement about it, hoping he’d say that things weren’t quite as bleak as the women made them out to be. “A lot of the others have mentioned how much better his lordship is now than when he was last home. Was he really so badly off, then?”
“Yes,” Mr. Clement said, dashing his hopes. “It’s very likely you’ve saved his life by coming to him, Thomas. He was frequently in pain, and quite often he would become enthralled on the pain. Getting him out of it was…difficult. Sometimes it would last for hours. And the senses tend to fluctuate, in the absence of a compatible Guide. They can become painfully acute, or almost entirely numb. Sometimes the smallest amount of light would hurt his eyes, other times he could barely see at all. Fluctuations in the senses of taste and smell made it particularly difficult to eat; there were times when he wouldn’t take anything for days. I’m given to understand that one of the doctors suggested putting a rubber tube down his throat and forcing nutrition that way. He indicated that he’d prefer to starve.”
That was worse than anything he’d imagined. He was reminded of Lieutenant Courtenay, and wondered if his lordship had hoped he would starve to death. “But it can’t have been like that the whole time-can it? It was almost three years. And he was up and about a bit at least, at the Society, before I came.”
“Taking up residence in the Society seemed to help,” Mr. Clement allowed. “He was initially taken there in hopes of finding a compatible Guide, and as you know he did not, but he did improve. There was still a great deal of pain, but the enthrallments and sensory fluctuations became less frequent. He theorizes that being around a large number of Guides, even incompatible ones, brought his senses under some measure of control. Still, during the two and a half years he was there, there were--” He paused in thought for a moment “-four episodes that lead Mr. Weatherby to write telling me to prepare for the worst.”
Four? “What kind of episodes?” Thomas asked.
“He’d go through…spells, or phases, where he’d have a great many enthrallments and sensory fluctuations, nearly constantly throughout the day. Sometimes his spells would only last a day or two, but sometimes much longer. Mr. Weatherby feared-and I expect his lordship did as well-that one day one of these episodes would simply go on until he died.”
“They never worked out what caused them?”
Mr. Clement shook his head. “No. They were never entirely sure why he wasn’t in that state continuously, either.”
That was it, then. He couldn’t leave-not unless he wanted to have his lordship’s death on his hands.
#
“Are you all right?” Gerald asked. Thomas had arrived to dress him for dinner smelling more deeply of despair than he had since they left London. He was moving stiffly, too, and avoiding Gerald’s eyes. “Did something happen?”
“No, my lord. Nothing’s happened. Which cufflinks do you want?” he asked, holding out the box.
Gerald wanted to say that he didn’t care, but clearly it mattered to Thomas. “You choose. You seem upset.”
“What about these?” he said, selecting a pair. “I haven’t seen you wear them. I’m not upset.” He held the cufflinks out for Gerald’s inspection.
The cufflinks really didn’t matter right now, but Thomas was holding them out where Gerald couldn’t avoid looking at them-silver ones, with the house crest on them. “Ah. Those are…were…Euan’s, in fact.” He wondered if Clement hadn’t noticed them when he’d been packing his things, or if he had left them on purpose. “They go with the livery.” Perhaps he ought to give them to Thomas, but he rather liked having something of Euan’s to remember him by. “You’ll have a set of your own, later on.”
Thomas put them back in the box. “I’m sorry, my lord. These, then?” He offered another pair.
“Yes, those will do nicely.”
Thomas replaced the box on the shelf, and started putting them in.
“Thomas, I can tell you’re upset-something must have happened.”
Sighing heavily, Thomas stopped his work. “Mr. Clement was telling me about how much better you were than when you were here during the war,” he said, looking down at the shirt in his hands. “I’d heard a few things, so I asked. I just hadn’t…realized quite how ill you were, that’s all, my lord.”
Oh. That was…not at all what he’d expected. Not some disastrous run-in with one of the other Guides, after all. “I see.” Perhaps he’d under-estimated Thomas. “I was very ill. It’s made a tremendous difference, your coming to be with me.”
Thomas did not seem noticeably reassured-in fact, he seemed to smell even more anxious now.
Gerald went on, “I know that there’s a great deal to learn and to adjust to, in our world, and I think you sometimes feel that perhaps you aren’t learning quickly enough. But the only really important part is that you’re here. And everyone here-the family, the Guides, and even the other staff-knows how very grateful we should be that you are here. So no one’s going to be upset with you if you make mistakes or need time to adjust. All right?”
Thomas said, “Yes, my lord,” and held out the shirt for him to put on. Gerald didn’t take it until Thomas further prompted him, “They’ll be wanting to go in to dinner soon, my lord.”
He hadn’t really understood, if the thought that was more important than the talk they were having-but Gerald supposed that if he were late, it would only upset Thomas more. He finished dressing without further discussion of the subject.
#
After the servants’ dinner, Thomas went outside and smoked several cigarettes in rapid succession. He had an idea that it might help prevent his lordship from sniffing out how he was feeling. The odor did, as he’d been told at the Society, tend to linger, and it just might cover up whatever smells his lordship was using to not quite read his mind. He’d have tried aftershave or scented soap, but given what had happened with the salve, he figured his lordship would just tell him to wash it off. He hadn’t objected to cigarette smoke before now, so, if it worked, he might be able to get away with it.
He’d managed to do a neat enough job of diverting suspicion about precisely what he was upset about-his lordship didn’t seem to have the slightest idea that Thomas had been thinking of leaving or felt trapped. But having his lordship go on about how grateful he was didn’t precisely help him feel any less trapped. He already knew he had to stay.
The parts about giving him as much time as he needed to adjust didn’t help much, either. He’d hoped that his lordship might, eventually, get used to the idea that Thomas didn’t much like talking about whether he smelt happy or not, and just leave it alone. But it sounded more like he’d just go on pushing for as long as it took. Quite possibly ten years down the road, or even twenty, he’d still be being asked about his feelings every time he turned around. The thought made him feel like he was struggling to breathe in a cloud of phosgene gas.
Best just not to think about it. Thinking about it probably made him smell unhappy, too. Today had been all right, apart from one obstacle he’d managed to get over. Tomorrow would likely be all right, too. If he didn’t look any further forward than that, it all seemed perfectly manageable.
His strategies seemed to work. When they settled on the bedroom sofa for a drink and a cuddle, his lordship didn’t bring up the subject of his unhappiness, for a change. Instead he said, “We’ll be having some visitors soon. My Aunt Elizabeth and Cousin Imogene. They’re coming Friday, and staying at least through Monday.”
“Very good, my lord,” Thomas said, wondering what that had to do with him. Perhaps nothing; sometimes his lordship told him things for no particular reason. “Do I have any particular responsibilities, when they’re here?”
“Nothing in particular, no. Imogene’s coming to get to know Susan, and I’ve always gotten on well with her-with Imogene, I mean-so we’ll probably spend some time with them. Walks and things, maybe a picnic.”
The only Susan Thomas knew was the housemaid; why his lordship’s cousin would want to get to know her, he had no idea. Had he meant to say Lady Sophia, perhaps? But she was still suffering from morning sickness and rarely left her room. “Susan, my lord? The housemaid?”
“Yes. She wants a place as a personal Guide, you see, and Imogene is looking for one. So she’ll be coming without her governess, and Susan will attend on her.”
Susan would be getting a trial as lady’s maid, Thomas translated. That made sense-for Sentinels, at least. “I see, my lord.”
“I’m not sure why Aunt Elizabeth is coming-she’s Mama’s sister; they’ve never gotten on well. Sentinel sisters often don’t, just like Sentinel brothers. But I suppose she thinks Imogene is a bit young to go visiting on her own without a governess.”
“Is her governess a man as well, my lord?” Thomas supposed he didn’t really need to know, but his lordship didn’t seem to mind explaining things like that to him-and he didn’t mind asking, particularly when it distracted him from more personal subjects.
“No, no. Girls have women governesses. But she is a Guide, not a tutor. I expect Imogene’s out of the schoolroom by now.”
Thomas nodded. That was all clear enough. That a single male cousin would be acting as host to a young girl seemed a bit odd to him-but perhaps Lady Georgiana would be along on those walks and picnics as well. And, perhaps, Susan was not the only reason she was here. Now that his lordship was no longer at death’s door, her ladyship might be hoping to make a match for him. “And is she Lady Imogene, or….”
“No-Aunt Elizabeth is Lady Elizabeth, but Imogene’s just an Honorable. You call her Miss Imogene.”
That was what he would have thought, but he was glad to know for sure. “After we’ve been introduced.”
“Yes. Since we will be seeing a bit of her, it’s probably best if you come to the gallery for tea on the day they arrive. I’ll introduce you to both Aunt Elizabeth and Cousin Imogene, and then there won’t be any awkwardness later on.”
Since that first day, his lordship had been skipping family tea in the gallery in favor of having it in his rooms, or else with just Lady Georgiana. Thomas wasn’t too keen on making a reappearance, but with any luck, it wouldn’t be quite as bad as their arrival, since the family would-he hoped-be more interested in the guests than in him. “Yes, my lord.”
Over the next few days, the upcoming visit was the talk of the servants’ hall, and Susan was the center of it. She twittered constantly about all of the things she was doing to make sure Miss Imogene would be comfortable, and sucked up to the ladies’ maids, hanging on their every word as they gave her tips on how to make a good impression. It all seemed like good advice, too-as far as Thomas could tell, there were no efforts to sabotage her into making a mistake that would keep her in her place. And the other housemaids, while they were vocally envious, didn’t seem to be planning to undermine her and seize the opportunity for themselves. It seemed universally agreed that Susan was getting a wonderful chance, and everyone was sincerely happy for her. It was unsettling.
Friday morning, as his lordship sipped his tea before getting out of bed, he said, “I suppose downstairs is in a flurry of preparations for the visit?”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas agreed. “Susan seems quite excited about it.”
“I expect she is.” His lordship set his cup down in the saucer. “She’s been stuck as a housemaid for longer than she liked to be, I think. The war disrupted a lot of things, for women as well as men.”
“I suppose it has, my lord,” Thomas agreed. There were fewer men to marry, for one thing. He wasn’t sure how that would have affected a housemaid’s chances of becoming a lady’s maid. But perhaps Susan would have married, otherwise?
“In a way, it’s a bit like your situation at the other house,” his lordship went on. “She’s gotten a bit disgruntled, picking on the other maids and so forth. But Mama and Georgie have had their eyes open for another place for her.”
Thomas was a bit put out by this sudden left turn into the subject of his feelings, as well as the comparison between himself and a silly maid. But she was the only one of the Guides downstairs who ever said anything that even approached sarcasm or complaint, in his hearing at least. “That’s kind of them, my lord.”
“She’ll be happier once we get her settled in a position she enjoys.”
Yes, all right, point taken. His lordship thought he’d have been a nicer person if he hadn’t been stopped from being a valet all those years. Perhaps he was right, but Thomas didn’t see what difference that made. “Yes, my lord. Are you ready to get up?”
His lordship spent most of the day in his room, reading. If it had been him, Thomas would have called it saving his strength for the upcoming ordeal; perhaps his lordship felt the same way. Thomas himself used the time to do some sewing. He’d noticed that a great many of his lordship’s country things wanted taking in-even accounting for the bulk of the prosthetic leg harness, he had lost quite a bit of weight. There were a few things that fit fairly well; Thomas suspected they were from his lordship’s adolescence, when he’d reached his full height but hadn’t filled out yet. He’d have more choice in what to wear-or Thomas would have more choice in what to put out for him-if some of the other things were altered.
He started out doing his sewing in the dressing room, but after lunch his lordship asked him to continue in the bedroom with him. It was a bit odd, doing that sort of work where his lordship could see him-but not bad, Thomas supposed. He was getting a bit more used to the idea that things could seem strange without being wrong.
A couple of hours later, his lordship closed his book with a snap. “The station car’s just turned up the drive; we’d better get downstairs.”
Thomas hadn’t heard a thing, but then, he wasn’t a Sentinel. He put aside the jacket he was working on and helped his lordship stand up.
It turned out that the household was expected to turn out for the guests’ arrival-why they hadn’t done so last week when his lordship arrived, Thomas didn’t know. Most of them were already there when Thomas and his lordship arrived-the butler, housekeeper, maids, and footmen on one side of the front door, and the family to the other. Margery, Eileen, Felicity, Baxter, and Louis, however, stood at their ladies’ and gentlemen’s shoulders. Thomas followed their example.
The car soon pulled up and came to a stop directly in front of the house. Douglas, the footman, went over to open the doors, but he only helped one of them out-an older woman in a plain dark dress, similar to the ones the maids here wore. She then turned and helped the two ladies out, falling in behind them as they approached Lady Yernemuth.
“Welcome back to Bellerock,” her ladyship said graciously. “How nice to see you, Lizzie dear, and Imogene, how you’ve grown!”
After another minute or two of small talk like that, Susan was called forward to be introduced to Miss Imogene. “Elizabeth, Imogene, Susan will be looking after Imogene during your stay. Susan, Lady Elizabeth and Miss Imogene.”
Susan curtsied and stammered out something about being, “Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m sure we’ll be great friends,” Miss Imogene said.
Then Mrs. Hope, the housekeeper, was made known to the visiting lady’s maid, Miss Simpson-a surname if Thomas had ever heard one; he’d have to sort that out later. Now the group was breaking up, with Mrs. Hope and Susan talking about how the ladies would surely like to see their rooms before tea, and the footmen going after the luggage.
They went inside at the tail end of the group. “Let’s go to the library until tea,” his lordship said. “I’m not keen on going up and down the stairs again, when it’s less than an hour.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Once they were there, his lordship asked Thomas to sit with him. He was sitting on a sofa, as Thomas suspected he had snuggling in mind-but Thomas was not about to do that in a public room of the house. Not unless his lordship explicitly told him to, and perhaps not even then. He sat in a nearby armchair instead, and that was bad enough.
Another unwelcome surprise was in store when they went to the gallery for tea. Thomas had expected they’d go in, he’d get his lordship settled and get the introductions over with, and then with any luck he’d be able to escape to the servants’ hall on grounds of wanting his own tea.
It was not to be. The other valets and the ladies’ maids-including Susan-brought cups of tea and plates of sandwiches and things to their gentlemen and ladies, as he thought they might. But after that, they went back to the tea trolley and fixed cups and plates for themselves. Thomas couldn’t believe it, even when he saw Baxter lifting a teacup to his lips right there in the gallery, in front of God, the Earl, and everybody.
“Thomas?” his lordship said, looking at him in alarm.
Schooling his features, he answered, “My lord?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You look a bit wobbly. Here, sit.” He moved his legs aside to make room for Thomas on the ottoman. “Perhaps one of the others could bring you a cup of tea,” he added as Thomas sat.
One of the others did-Eileen, in fact, and she brought a minced chicken sandwich and a rock cake as well as the tea. All available evidence suggested that he was expected to eat them.
At the same time, his lordship was leaning forward to look at Thomas with a concerned expression, while patting his shoulder. He felt very conspicuous-although in fact, no one but his lordship and Felicity were actually paying much attention. He had to act normally-the way these people thought was normal-if he didn’t want to cause a scene. “Thank you, Felicity,” he said, managing a sip of the tea. “I’m all right, really. I just. Felt funny for a second. My lord.”
His lordship looked doubtful, but he at least let go of Thomas’s shoulder and sat back.
Fortunately, the rest of the family, valets, and ladies’ maids left him alone long enough to gather his wits. A bit of observation proved that yes, the other valets and ladies’ maids were all eating and drinking, and usually sitting down near their Sentinels. Susan seemed a little nervous about it; each time she took a bite or a sip, she looked around as if to make sure no one objected. It might have been a bit comforting to see that someone else felt as he did about it, but the fact that it was a silly housemaid was just irritating.
Watching the others, he began to draw some conclusions about what was expected. The valets and maids often sat on something a bit lower than their employer’s seat-he was certainly not the only one perching on an ottoman. They were always closer to their own master or mistress than to any other Sentinel. They didn’t converse amongst themselves, but they did talk to their own ladies and gentlemen. If the ladies and gentlemen were talking, their Guides listened attentively and occasionally contributed a remark or two, but they didn’t talk much.
Sorting out these rules, and realizing that the scene was not the anarchistic free-for-all he’d initially perceived, Thomas was able to accept the matter a little more calmly. By the time Miss Imogene came over-she had been trapped in a conversation with Lady Yernemuth and her own mother-he felt more or less ready to face the introduction.
“Lovely to see you, Cousin Imogene,” his lordship said. “You’ll excuse me for not standing up, I hope.”
“Of course,” Miss Imogene answered. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”
“Thank you. I expect you’ve heard about my new Guide, Thomas. Thomas, Miss Imogene.”
“How do you do?” Imogene murmured. “And you know Susan, of course.”
His lordship lifted his teacup to his mouth, seemingly to hide the smile that was threatening to break out. Thomas guessed that Miss Imogene hadn’t been supposed to introduce Susan, not when she was a housemaid in this very house. Either Imogene didn’t know that, or she was trying out adult manners for the first time. “Yes, I hope you’re getting to know Susan.”
“She’s a dear,” Miss Imogene said.
They talked a bit about what Miss Imogene had done in London during the recent Season-“So sorry I wasn’t able to see you there,” Imogene said, to which his lordship replied, “I expect you were rather busy, and I wasn’t up for much society.” Then they talked a bit more about plans for Miss Imogene’s stay. A picnic was tentatively slated for the next day’s luncheon.
Not too long after that, Miss Imogene was informed by her mother that they would be resting in their rooms until the dressing gong-whether Imogene liked it or not, was unspoken but very clearly implied.
#
After Aunt Elizabeth and Imogene retired, the rest of them were free to do the same, and Gerald wasted no time in doing so. With guests in the house, dinner would be both grueling and mandatory, and there was no sense wearing himself out early.
“What happened in there?” he asked Thomas, once they were alone.
“My lord?” Thomas asked, sitting down and picking up the sewing he’d laid aside two hours ago. He certainly spent a great deal more time on Gerald’s wardrobe than Euan ever had.
“In the gallery. You seemed--” Panicked, was how he’d seemed, but Gerald didn’t think Thomas would appreciate that choice of word. He settled on, “Startled.”
For a long moment, Thomas studied the seams of the jacket he was working on, and Gerald thought he might not be going to answer at all, not even a “My lord.” But finally, he said, “I was a bit startled that we were having tea with the family, that’s all, my lord. It doesn’t happen in Insensate houses.”
“You’ve had tea with me hundreds of times.” Well, perhaps not that, but dozens. “And with Georgie, too.” Having tea with Gerald had startled Thomas the first time, too, but he’d gotten used to it. He’d have taken care to break the news about tea in the gallery gently-if he had realized Thomas wasn’t expecting it.
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said. It was the “you are being a fathead” voice, which he hadn’t used in days. Gerald had almost missed it.
“But that’s different,” Gerald essayed. Somehow. If he understood how, perhaps he could anticipate any similar surprises.
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said, without elaborating.
In an effort not to be too much of a fathead, Gerald tried to figure it out on his own. What was different about it? It was in a different room, to begin with-if Thomas had been a Sentinel, Gerald would have considered that the most likely problem. But Thomas had been in and out of unfamiliar rooms for the last two weeks, with no sign of any particular difficulty. The family, then-he’d seen a fair amount of each of them, but not en masse like that. Except for when they welcomed the guests, which Thomas hadn’t seemed to mind. The tea and the food were the same things they had in his rooms, so that couldn’t be it.
He gave up. “How is it different?”
Briefly looking up from his sewing, Thomas said, “It just is, my lord. But it’s fine. Now I know, and there’s no harm done.”
“Yes, of course, but I’d like to understand.”
Now Thomas smelled not just of anxiety, but of something sharper. Anger, possibly. Or fear. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. “There’s nothing to understand, my lord. I’m fine.”
Thomas’s voice was absolutely level; if Gerald hadn’t been able to smell him, he have believed he really was perfectly fine. “That isn’t true,” Gerald said gently.
Thomas stood. “I’ve just remembered I need to press your evening coat, my lord. If there isn’t anything else.” Before Gerald had time to think of an answer, he’d disappeared into the dressing room.
Gerald considered getting up and going after him. Thomas had to be very upset to run off like that-it was rather a breach of decorum by anyone’s standards, and probably a worse one by Thomas’s lights than Gerald’s own. He wouldn’t have done it if something wasn’t really wrong.
But for precisely the same reason, if Gerald did go after him, his first thought was likely to be that he was in trouble. Gerald didn’t want to pile another source of worry on top of whatever was already bothering him.
He’d let Thomas press the coat, he decided-even though it surely didn’t need it. He’d be back in time to dress Gerald for dinner, and they could talk then.
#
On the landing of the servants’ stairs, Thomas stopped and leaned against the wall, pressing his forehead against the cool plaster. He knew he’d been wrong to run off-and God knew what he’d be in for when he went back-but he couldn’t stand another second of his lordship’s prying. For God’s sake, why couldn’t he just let it go? Thomas said he was fine-and he had been. He’d handled it himself.
But no, his lordship wanted to understand. It was bad enough that he even knew there had been a problem to begin with; the absolute last thing Thomas wanted to do was help him understand it. Thomas wasn’t sure himself why he had been startled to see the other servants having tea in the gallery, or why he hadn’t been able to shrug it off the way he’d shrugged off so many other strange things since coming to Bellerock. He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know.
As he continued down the stairs, he considered whether there was any possible way he could say that to his lordship. There didn’t seem to be. His lordship wouldn’t understand why what he thought of as a kindness was, to Thomas, like touching a raw nerve. Thomas wasn’t sure about that himself, either. And if he tried to explain it, his lordship would want to know why, and the whole problem would just be even worse.
No, strict denial that there was a problem was the only way. He’d make up some excuse. The evening coat, perhaps-he’d say he was angry at himself for forgetting to press it earlier. His lordship would tell him it didn’t matter, and he’d pretend to be grateful for the reassurance, and the matter could be stuffed back under the carpet where it belonged.
With that decided, he made his way to the pressing room-if the pressing of the jacket was going to figure so heavily in his story, he had better actually press it. But when he approached, he heard voices inside, women’s voices. Thomas stopped, considering. He really didn’t want to talk to anyone. And what were the chances that his lordship would actually check his story about pressing the jacket? Fairly low, he thought-but it could come up, given the way the servants here gossiped with the family.
“-a bit strange, really.” That was Margery, speaking.
The answering voice was unfamiliar. “Strange how?”
“He just has all sorts of odd habits. Apparently he was quite nasty to everyone down in London. His lordship wants us to be patient with him. We’re giving him a bit of privacy-be cordial, but let him keep to himself if he’d rather. Except Lord Gerald’s asked a couple of us, me and Eileen, to try and draw him out a bit.”
That was just the bleeding limit. Boiling over with rage, Thomas jerked the door open. The two women turned to look at him-Margery and the visiting lady’s maid. If the content of the discussion left any doubt that they’d been talking about him, the expressions on their faces removed it.
“Hello, Thomas,” Margery said cautiously.
Thomas stared at her. “So his lordship’s been--” He wasn’t even sure what to call it. “Talking to you lot about me?”
“A bit,” she answered. “To Mr. Clement, really. He told the rest of us.”
“Told you what?”
“That you’d…had a bit of a hard time. That it’s left you…bitter, and not always very nice?”
“Typical,” he said, although it wasn’t typical at all. He should have realized. He’d only thought that he’d been managing rather well for himself. Really, he’d been managed. His lordship just had to meddle, didn’t he?
“He were only trying to help,” Margery said, watching him as if he were a shell that might explode at any moment.
By spreading Thomas’s personal business across the whole house? Some help that was. “Very kind of him,” Thomas said sarcastically.
“It was,” Margery answered, looking over at Miss Simpson as if for support. Miss Simpson stepped back, her expression blank.
“Pardon me if I don’t agree,” Thomas said, his voice as cold as ice. “I have to press this,” he added, raising the coat slightly.
The two women left quickly. Thomas heated an iron and pressed the coat, trying to smooth away his troubled thoughts with each stroke of the iron. If he went back upstairs as angry as he was, his lordship would surely notice, and he would ask, and Thomas would…he wasn’t sure what he’d do, but it wouldn’t be pretty.
Link to Chapter Nine