Thomas and the Society of Sentinels (9/15)
Chapter Nine
Thomas didn’t return until the dressing gong sounded, and Gerald could see as soon as he entered the room that he hadn’t calmed down at all. He was holding himself very stiffly, and his movements were sharp and controlled. His face was completely blank, but his heart was pounding, and his scent was a roil of confused emotions.
“Thomas?” Gerald said tentatively.
“My lord,” Thomas said. That wasn’t even the “fathead” voice; it was something worse-absolutely flat and hollow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, my lord.” Briskly, he began taking off Gerald’s jacket.
“But--”
“No, my lord.”
Gerald was startled into subsiding, shedding the rest of his day clothes in silence. Thomas had never spoken to him like that, had never shut him out this completely. His impulse was to pursue the problem like a terrier after rat, to chase it down and fix it, but it was clear Thomas did not want to talk about it. Not right now, at least. “All right,” he said. He’d talk to Clement, see if he knew about anything that had happened. It might be easier for Thomas to open up if Gerald already knew something about it. “Perhaps we can talk later.”
Thomas didn’t answer that at all, just shoved Gerald’s evening trousers at him. He didn’t even brush the back of Gerald’s coat, once he’d put it on him.
When Gerald entered the drawing room, Clement was handing round the pre-dinner drinks, and Simon hadn’t arrived yet. Good. He pulled Clement aside, and asked, “Has something happened with Thomas?”
“Not that I know of, your lordship,” Clement said.
“Look into it, please. We’ll talk later.”
During dinner, he tried to put the matter out of his mind and concentrate on playing host to Cousin Imogene. That she mostly wanted to talk about Susan didn’t help, but fortunately, she didn’t require, or even expect, that Gerald would say much. All he had to do was nod and smile as she talked about what a dear Susan was and how much they had in common.
“She was telling me earlier that her favorite doll growing up was called Gladys, and so was mine! I really think that’s a sign, don’t you?”
“Mm, yes, certainly.”
After the ladies withdrew for the drawing room, Gerald, Simon, and their father stayed in the dining room only long enough for a perfunctory glass of port, just enough to give the ladies time to sit down. With no male guests, there was no need to linger.
“Shall we go through?” Papa said once they’d finished.
They all stood up. “I’m just going to speak to Clement for a moment,” Gerald said. “I’ll be along shortly.”
The others left; Gerald listened to make sure Simon was really gone. He’d been on his best behavior lately, but Gerald didn’t want to hand him any ammunition he could use against Thomas. Once he was sure, he nodded and looked expectantly at Clement.
“Something has happened, but I haven’t been able to find out what, your lordship. Thomas has indicated that he does not wish to speak about it, and none of the others have come to me with anything. Shall I make inquiries?”
Gerald considered, and nodded. “Yes, I think you had better.” If there was some misunderstanding they could clear up, or a problem that could be nipped in the bud, it was better to do it now than to wait for Thomas to say something. “Where is he now?”
“Having a walk,” Clement answered. “He expressed a desire for fresh air, and I encouraged him to take as long as he needed to think things over.”
“Good.” Gerald nodded again. “That’s good. Thank you. Let me know what you find out, and when he comes in.”
Going through to the drawing room, Gerald chatted a bit with Mama and Aunt Elizabeth, who managed to be at each other’s throats in a much more polite and restrained way than he and Simon ever did. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Thomas, and periodically caught himself casting out his hearing in search of him. It was a bad idea, with Thomas so far away and Gerald in a room full of other people who were all talking, breathing, and moving around. When he caught himself doing it, he forcibly drew his attention back inside the room, but it kept happening every time his attention wandered.
In the circumstances, enthrallment was nearly inevitable. Gerald wasn’t the least bit surprised when his hearing caught, not on Thomas, but on a barn owl pursuing some fleeing bit of prey. He first keyed in on the eerie, screeching call, but once he’d found the animal, he could hear the whisper of the great wings and the rapid beat of the heart.
It was fascinating. He could almost picture what the owl was doing, based on what he heard-stooping after the prey here, missing and crying out in frustration. Circling in search of another. Catching something small and squeaky, and perching in a tree to eat it.
He was abruptly pulled back into himself by the touch of a cool hand on his, and the words, “My lord.”
He blinked down at Thomas, who was crouched in front of Gerald’s chair. “Ah,” he said. “Hullo, Thomas.”
A fresh scent of worry overlaid the previous tangle of confused emotions; now relief swept over, making both, as Thomas said, “My lord.”
Gerald breathed in deeply. Compared to the other things, relief smelled good. It meant Thomas cared. “I’m all right now,” he said to Thomas. Noticing that his family were standing around, all looking worried-even Simon-he looked up at them and added, “Really, it’s fine.”
“Perhaps you should go up, dear,” Mama said.
Gerald nodded. “In a few minutes, I think.” The family did not disperse. “Really, I’m all right now. You can…go back to what you were doing.”
Most of the others wandered off, or at least turned away, but Mama continued to hover. Felicity brought him a fresh whiskey and soda, and Douglas came in to mop up the mess from his old one, which had slipped from his unheeding fingers at some point during the enthrallment.
The glass had only cracked, though, and not shattered, so neither Thomas nor Douglas was in danger of injury. One less thing to worry about.
One by one, he focused each of his senses on Thomas-the feeling of his hand, which was still entangled in Gerald’s. The sound of his heartbeat, which was slowing and steadying now. The smell of cigarettes and worry and relief. The contrast between his dark hair and pale skin, his blue, glittering eyes.
For taste, he had to use the whiskey instead. If it had been Euan, he’d have brought his hand to his lips and tasted him there, but Thomas, he somehow knew, would not welcome that. So, the whiskey. He sipped, letting the notes of oak and smoke roll over his tongue.
The exercise was one he’d been taught in his military Sentinel training, for recovering from an enthrallment, settling sensory fluctuations, or preparing to do sensory work. He’d done it hundreds of times, though only a handful of them with Thomas. Nevertheless, it settled him back into himself. He was here, his Guide was there, and all the other sensory information that bombarded him could be fitted into place around those two facts, or dismissed entirely.
#
After a few moments of breathing heavily and looking distant, his lordship said, “I’m ready to go up if you are.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said, rising gratefully from his crouch-his thighs and calves had started to ache. He helped his lordship to his feet, and they started upstairs, slowly.
Thomas kept his mind carefully blank. His lordship was sniffing him now, and he didn’t know what that might give away. Or what effect it might have. His lordship was all right; Thomas had helped him. Focus on that. Nothing else.
Sitting his lordship on the edge of his bed, Thomas went into the dressing room for his pyjamas and dressing gown. He’d undress him in the bedroom; less chance for anything to go wrong that way.
“Thank you, Thomas,” his lordship said as he returned. He pulled off his white tie, which someone had loosened before Thomas arrived in the drawing room. One of the other valets, maybe. Don’t think about that. “I’m sure I’m all right,” he went on as Thomas got him out of his jacket and waistcoat. “Enthrallments happen; it wasn’t a long one. I was listening to an owl outside. I shouldn’t have done, not without a Guide in the room. Silly of me, really. I’ve always liked owls. They’re so…quiet. Not like bats. Hate bats.”
His lordship was babbling. Thomas wondered if that was a good sign, or a bad one. Don’t think about that, either. “I can’t say I care for them either, my lord,” he said. He didn’t have much of an opinion either way, really. Except for the time, when he was a footman, that he’d been woken from a sound sleep to get one out of Lady Edith’s bedroom. On that particular occasion, he’d hated them.
“We’d be swarming with bugs without them, though. Valuable creatures. Just noisy. But it wasn’t a bat I was listening to, it was an owl.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said, laying the waistcoat aside and getting to work on the shirt studs. What difference did it make? He supposed he ought to be glad that his lordship had been listening to birds and not him, walking around and muttering to himself. If he’d heard-no, don’t think about that. Not now. “Perhaps in future you might save the bird-watching for when I’m with you.”
“Yes, I think I will. Not precisely bird watching, though. Bird-listening. Less chance of enthrallment if I could see them, really. We could go for a walk, sometime, and look for owls.”
“Yes, my lord. If you could just stand up for a moment.”
He stood, steadying himself with a hand on Thomas’s shoulder, while Thomas unfastened his trousers.
“All right, my lord.” Now there was just the leg to deal with, and putting the pyjamas on. Those tasks were accomplished quickly, and he turned down the covers.
His lordship said, “I’m not-oh, never mind,” and got into bed. “I’ll just read for a while.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said, gathering up his clothes. The book his lordship had been reading had been left on the sofa; he brought it over. “Will there be anything else?”
“Ah, I think I’m all right.”
“Very good, my lord. I’ll be nearby if you do need anything.”
He went into the dressing room and shut the door behind him.
Now, Thomas thought, he could have a private thought or two, if he was quiet about it.
He’d seen his lordship enthralled before, but with Clement’s description of his “spells” fresh in his mind, Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if this was the start of another one. And if he’d brought it on somehow, by leaving his lordship alone for too long, or by being angry with him, or-or what, he didn’t know. It was more important than ever to keep his temper, at least until he was sure that the enthrallment had been an isolated incident.
That meant he couldn’t think about what his lordship had done, or about what the others downstairs must think of him. Nor could he think about how the incident proved-if he needed more proof-that he couldn’t leave. He had to block those things completely from his mind. Just focus on the next thing. He put away his lordship’s clothes. He smoked a cigarette. Washed. Changed into his pyjamas. Got into bed, and laid there, carefully not-thinking about anything at all, until he fell asleep.
#
The next morning, Thomas seemed more subdued than he had been for a while, but his scent was better-still anxious and a bit angry, but not overwhelmingly so. Gerald kept the conversation light through breakfast, then tentatively broached the subject. “About yesterday….”
“Yes, my lord?”
“We never did get to talk about what was bothering you.”
“Nothing important, really, my lord,” Thomas said, and this time his scent didn’t blatantly contradict what he was saying. “I was a bit upset with myself for forgetting about your evening things, when we have guests. You know how I am about things like that.”
“Yes, I do,” Gerald said. He was relieved-perhaps. “Are you sure that’s all it was?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Gerald nodded. “I do appreciate how well you take care of my clothes, but it’s not worth upsetting yourself over. I won’t be angry with you, and the world won’t end if I’m late to dinner or my coat has a wrinkle. Try to remember that, all right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good.” Enough of that-for now, at least. “Do you feel up for the picnic this afternoon? I have a feeling Mama’s going to fuss, but Imogene is looking forward to it….”
#
They went out for the highly-anticipated picnic in a governess cart driven by Clint. Thomas knew that his lordship suspected there was something more than he’d admitted to about yesterday’s upset, because he explained every detail of the picnic itinerary in advance: where they were going, how they’d get there, what they would be eating, that he and Susan would be eating…everything he could think of, apparently.
But he was still taken by surprise by some things. Susan and Miss Imogene walked from the house to the cart arm-in-arm, and spent the ride whispering to each other behind their hands. When they reached the picnic site-a spot near a stream, where a small pavilion had been set up, complete with table and chairs-they separated only reluctantly so that Susan could help Thomas and Clint carry the picnic things over. They kept glancing at each other and looking away quickly, in a way that could only be described as gooey.
At first, Thomas thought they were acting like friends, or sisters, but when they gooey looks started, it began to seem more like they were flirting. It wasn’t quite a alarming as it would have been if two men had been carrying on like that-girls of that age, in Thomas’s experience, were always a bit gooey, even with other girls-but it was still a bit strange. Strangest of all was that his lordship didn’t bat an eye. Not even when, after luncheon, Imogene decided to lie down in the grass under a tree with her head in Susan’s lap. And when they wandered off to pick wildflowers, all his lordship said about it was, “They seem to be getting on well.”
“Yes, my lord.” Had his lordship and Euan been like that? Was his lordship expecting him to be like that?
Don’t think about that.
Besides, if he was, he was going to be disappointed. He hadn’t even been like that with the Duke, back when he’d been about Susan’s age. He might have wanted to, but-don’t think about that. “I suppose this must be a usual spot for picnics, my lord?” he asked, in order to introduce a neutral subject.
“Yes, rather,” his lordship said. “There’s another place we go that’s further up in the hills, but it’s difficult to get to if you don’t ride. This one’s just as good for a small group, really. And it’s cooler on a hot day, with the water.” He went on to talk about picnics he’d had there as a child-sailing toy boats and trying to catch minnows in the stream, and-in what must have been a rare moment of cooperation-he and Lord Simon attempting to build a dam and create a swimming pool.
Thomas had just about managed to distract himself from Susan and Miss Imogene’s odd behavior, and all that it implied, when they came back with armloads of flowers, which they braided into crowns for each other’s hair.
Yes, really. They did. Thomas did not know where to look.
His lordship plucked a bachelor’s button from the pile of discards, and presented it to Thomas. Thomas took it, wondering what on Earth he was supposed to do with it. Finally, for lack of any better option, he put it in his buttonhole.
#
It was nearing teatime by the time they headed back. Gerald decided on tea in their rooms-there was another formal dinner slated for that evening, and he saw no reason to overdo it. He was a bit anxious about sending Thomas down for the tea-tray, but he came back seeming only a bit pensive and mildly subdued.
Gerald ate two sandwiches and drank a cup of tea quickly, without talking much-he’d managed to work up a bit of an appetite, with all that fresh air. But once he’d finished those, he poured a second cup and sat back in his chair. “You seemed a bit…startled by something about the picnic,” he noted. “I thought I’d prepared you for everything. What did I miss?”
Thomas froze for a second, wide-eyed, a spike of anxiety in his scent. “Ah,” he said. “Well. I was just…I found Miss Imogene’s manner with Susan, and Susan’s with her, a bit…unexpected, my lord.”
“Did you?” Gerald frowned; he hadn’t noticed anything unusual. Except for how quickly they had hit it off, perhaps. “Unexpected how?”
“Well,” he said again. Then, “My lord.” After a long pause, he went on, “Just a bit…familiar, I suppose.”
“That’s normal,” Gerald said. “It would be more alarming if they weren’t like that, really. It’s important for a Sentinel and Guide to get along well, to feel comfortable with each other.”
“All right, but they were carrying on like a courting couple! My lord.”
“I suppose it is a bit like that.” Gerald would never have thought of it that way himself, since Sentinel courtships tended not to be like that at all. “They’ll be spending a great deal of time together, for the rest of their lives if everything works out.”
The anxiety-scent increased even more. “Yes, my lord,” Thomas said stiffly.
“I know it was a bit different with us, of course,” Gerald said, feeling his way across what he imagined as a mine-strewn path. “We’ve had to get to know each other as we go along. But we have grown more comfortable with each other-haven’t we?”
“Yes, my lord.” Thomas looked down. “But--” He sighed.
“What?”
“Why….” He fell silent again, then rallied. “Do most Sentinels expect to have the same Guide for the rest of their lives, my lord?”
“That’s the ideal,” Gerald said. Now he thought he had a handle on the issue; it was the one about not being good enough to replace Euan. “But of course things happen. People realize they’ve changed, or what they want has changed. Or-well, people die. Not just in the war, but there are all the usual illnesses and accidents. One has to move on.”
“But…I suppose I don’t see why it’s so important. I mean, I understand that you, that Sentinels like to be close with your Guides, but…” He shook his head. “I mean, Miss O’Brien was close with Lady Grantham, and Bates was close with his lordship. But not…like that.”
Gerald clearly hadn’t reassured Thomas enough; he still smelled anxious. His first impulse was to focus on that, rather than on the question-in this case in particular, because he wasn’t sure what the answer to the question was. But Thomas found it reassuring to have his questions answered. If he really wanted to help, he should try to work out the answer.
He found it by thinking about what Thomas had said about courtship. “I suppose it might be because we-that is, Sentinels-still go in for arranged marriages rather more than other people do. To have a Sentinel heir, it’s best to marry another Sentinel, but we don’t…don’t often care for a great deal of one another’s company. Marriages tend to be a bit…businesslike. But one has to be close to someone. And for most of us, that’s our Guides. They’re the ones we talk with, the ones we spend time with. Touch. All that sort of thing.”
Gerald could tell at once that Thomas did not find this particular answer at all reassuring. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as though unable to find the words to speak. His breathing was ragged and his heart raced. And as for his scent-it roiled with confused emotions. Angerfearsadnesspanic. Finally he said, “And that’s-that’s what a Guide is supposed to be. To you. Like a-” He shook his head and opened and closed his mouth several more times before spitting out, “wife? ”
“If you’re worried about, ah, the physical…aspect, that’s-I mean, sometimes we do, but it isn’t required. And I certainly wouldn’t ask you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. It’s more--”
“I don’t care about that,” Thomas said, rising to his feet, his hands planted on the edge of the table. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask about that. But-” He did more head-shaking and mouth opening-and-closing. “I don’t even-you’re insane,” he declared. “You are absolutely and completely barking.”
“I beg your pardon?” Gerald said, startled by Thomas’s sudden vehemence.
“You take me out of prison, and you say you’re offering me a job, but you actually want me to be your bloody wife. And you not only never ask if that’s what I want, but you never even tell me what I’m getting into. How is that not insane?”
He was nearly shouting now, and leaning over the table. Gerald pushed his own chair back a little. “Thomas, please. Try to calm down. Maybe the comparison to, ah, to marriage was…misleading.”
“No,” Thomas said, shaking his head and backing away from the table. “No, I don’t think it was. You think you get to…to take over my life. You get to…tell me how I’m supposed to feel, and you think you have a right to know every thought that goes through my head, and you can pry into my private life and spread it all over the house, and it’s all all right because it’s for my own good and you care and you want me to be happy. Well, I never asked you to, did I?”
“Thomas--” Gerald began, not sure what he was going to say next, how he could apply brakes to this runaway train speeding toward a wreck.
“Did I?” Thomas demanded, almost shouting.
“No,” Gerald admitted. “No. I didn’t. But--”
“But nothing. Good God, you throw a temper tantrum because somebody changed your bedroom without asking, and you can’t see why rearranging my entire life without asking might upset me?”
He had a bit of a point. He’d only wanted to do what was best for Thomas-but so had Mama. “I…I was trying to help. I’ve been asking how I can help.”
“Yeah,” Thomas said. “Yeah. You’ve been asking. But you haven’t been taking ‘no’ for an answer, have you? Maybe you can’t help. Maybe I don’t want you to help. Maybe I want you to just bloody well back off.”
“I….” Gerald couldn’t understand what Thomas was saying. Guides thrived on Sentinels’ attention. Thomas couldn’t really be asking for what it sounded like. Or if he was, he wasn’t thinking clearly about what he was saying. “I understand that you’re angry,” he said. “I was wrong not to…not to ask if you wanted to be my Guide.”
Thomas nodded sharply at that, and his anger started to taper off, just a little.
Encouraged, Gerald went on, “But you are. It’s…you can’t ask me not to care about you.”
Thomas nodded at that, too, making a visible effort to steady his breathing.
“There has to be some way we can fix…this. What is it you really want?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas said quietly. His shoulders slumped, and grief overcame anger in his scent.
Gerald wanted to go over and take him into his arms, but he didn’t think Thomas would welcome that right now. “Think about it,” he said gently.
Anger surged again. “I. Don’t. Want. To. ” He spat the words out one at a time. “I don’t want to tell you how to fix me. Can’t you understand that?”
The true answer was no, not really. But before Gerald could say anything, Thomas spun and started for the door, saying, “I have to get out of here.”
“Thomas--”
He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll come back. I just-I can’t be here right now.”
Then he left.
#
Thomas ran down the service stairs and out the kitchen door. Someone-maybe Eileen-called out to him as he passed, but he ignored them, bent on getting as far from this madhouse as he could before his anger burnt out. He hurried down the lane and to the village. He hesitated at the train station-but he’d said he was coming back, and he didn’t have enough money with him for a return ticket to anywhere. He kept walking.
He shouldn’t have said any of those things he’d said. They were true, but he shouldn’t have said them. He’d deserve to be sacked for any one of them-if he were able to be sacked. But he wouldn’t be, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? No matter what he did, his lordship would just keep trying to make Thomas into what he wanted him to be. He wouldn’t give up; he’d just go on being patient and kind and not giving Thomas a minute’s privacy inside his own head. For as long as it took.
Thomas didn’t know if he’d ever be able to be what his lordship wanted. If he could ever come to trust him, to be happy about having him prying into his life. To have his lordship help him, and actually be pleased and grateful instead of reminding himself that he ought to be. To have conversations about his feelings without wanting to scream and run away.
And, to be honest, the idea that he might, one day, be, was even more frightening than the idea that he wouldn’t.
He took out the idea of leaving again, turned it over in his hands. He could. His lordship wouldn’t stop him-couldn’t stop him, once the last bit of his sentence was up.
But if he did leave, his lordship would probably die. And if he didn’t, he’d suffer. Thomas didn’t want that, no matter how angry he was with him. Thomas still liked him, underneath it all. And even if he hadn’t, he didn’t want to kill a man for trying to help him.
So he had to stay. But they couldn’t go on like they had been. Just the thought of going back to the house and having his lordship press him to explain each and every little detail of what he’d said, to pry out the underlying thoughts and fears that caused him to react the way he did, and then-like as not-to tell everyone in the house about it, made him want to throw himself off a cliff. Something had to change.
By the time he reached the next village, Thomas realized that the only solution was precisely the one his lordship had proposed: he had to think about what he really wanted, and then go back and tell him.
Going into the village pub, he ordered a pint-he had enough money for that-and sat down to think about what he wanted.
#
Gerald begged off of dinner-Mama would understand, even with guests in the house. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to stop the tide of visitors to his room: Mama, Georgiana, Felicity, Baxter, Clement-all wanting to know what had happened and how they could help. He didn’t want to think about it, wanted even less to talk about it, and wished fervently that they would all just go away.
The brutal irony of that desire did not occur to him until he’d banished his fourth unwanted visitor.
By the time Clement came in and asked one of the usual questions-“Lord Gerald? What happened?” in this case-Gerald was curled up on his bed, hugging the pillow and feeling sorry for himself.
“I’ve ruined everything, I think,” he said into the pillow.
The mattress shifted as Clement sat on the edge of the bed. He put one hand on Gerald’s shoulder. “You and Thomas had an argument.”
“You could say that,” Gerald agreed, with a hollow laugh.
“These things do happen,” Clement pointed out gently. “What did you argue about?”
“Everything.”
Clement pressed for a more detailed answer than that one. Gerald forced himself to give it to him, feeling that it was the least he deserved, after the way he’d been treating Thomas. He relayed a few of the things Thomas had said, and concluded, “It sounds like…like he doesn’t want to be my Guide. Doesn’t want to be a Guide at all, really. There’s nothing I can do about that. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want me to…to do anything, really. He was pretty clear about that.”
“He might feel differently once his temper has cooled,” Clement suggested.
“Perhaps. But…I think this has been the problem all along. He’s just been…telling me other things, putting me off. He might-at best, he might start doing that again. And I can’t…I can’t make him talk about the real problem, and I can’t solve it without him. That’s the problem.”
“Yes, I see that, your lordship,” Clement said, rubbing circles on his back. “Perhaps you’ve simply been a bit…over-enthusiastic, in your efforts to help Thomas. Giving him a bit more time to think things through on his own before pressing your assistance upon him, might have been a better approach.” He hesitated. “How often have you been asking him about how he’s feeling?”
“I don’t know. Whenever he seems upset.”
“And he seems upset…most of the time, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. So-oh.” In an average day, that added up to…well, to quite an impressive number of instances of what Thomas referred to as “prying into his private life.” “I’ve been a bit…overbearing.” He hugged the pillow again. “What good does that do me now, though? He said he wanted me to back off, but…it’s gone too far for that, I think. I have to-make it up to him somehow. But I don’t know how, and he doesn’t want me to ask, and….oh, it’s hopeless.”
“You’ll need to wait and see, your lordship. Follow his lead. When he comes back. Don’t bring up the…argument. If he wants to pretend it never happened, let him. Let him come to you when he’s ready. That’s all I can suggest.”
“What if-he said he was coming back, but what if he doesn’t? Or he comes back just to say he’s leaving for good?”
Clement’s hand stilled. “It’s my understanding that he has some weeks left on his sentence.”
“Yes, but I can’t-I can’t use that to force him to stay. He has to work for the Society; he doesn’t have to be my Guide.”
“In that case, my lord, we’ll have to carry on as best we can.”
#
It was well after dark by the time Thomas got back to Bellerock. He’d worked out a plan that he thought he could live with-and which, more importantly, his lordship could live with, too. Even if he didn’t like it much. There might be some adjustments to be made-he didn’t know precisely what Sentinels really needed, and what they just liked and were used to. But he was fairly confident that the basic idea was sound.
He let himself back in through the kitchen door-still unlocked, fortunately. There were a few maids and footmen in the servants’ hall; they looked up at him as he passed. He ignored them.
His lordship was in his room-fortunately. If he hadn’t been, Thomas might have lost his nerve. He was lying on the bed in his clothes, on top of the covers. He looked decidedly rumpled; he may even have been crying. “Thomas?” he said, sitting up.
“My lord.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve…been doing some thinking. As you asked. About what I want.”
“Yes?” his lordship said, leaning forward as though to touch him.
Thomas stepped back, tucking his hands behind himself. “I don’t want to be a Guide. The…trusting, being close, all of that. I can’t do it. Maybe I’m just an unnatural Guide; maybe I’m damaged, but I just can’t do it.”
His lordship started to say something about patience, about giving him all the time he needed.
“No,” Thomas said, interrupting. He’d expected that. “It’s not about time. It’s…it just isn’t who I am. I don’t want to do it, I don’t want to learn to do it, I don’t want to try to do it or be coaxed or cajoled into doing it. I’m not a Guide.”
“So you’re-you’re leaving.”
“If I do that, you’ll die,” Thomas said. “Won’t you?”
“Yes, probably. But--”
“But I don’t want that, either. You’ve done what you think is right, for me. You’ve…been wounded in service of your country.” He really had, unlike Thomas. “You don’t deserve to die for that. So here’s what I think.” He took a deep breath. “I won’t be your Guide. I’ll be your valet.”
“What…I’m not even sure what that means,” his lordship said.
“I bring you your tea in the morning. I dress you. Run the bath, put out your shaving things, whatever. If you need to change in the afternoon-into riding things, or the like-I come back and do that. I dress you for dinner, and undress you for bed. I look after your clothes. Keep the dressing room in order, and make sure everything’s as it should be in your bedroom. Pack and unpack if you go anywhere. Buy the tickets and things. You also get to make me act as a third footman at important dinners, but I’m allowed to resent it as long as I don’t actually say so.” He’d almost decided not to mention that last part, since he wasn’t keen to do it, and anyway, his lordship probably wouldn’t want to make him, since the other Sentinels would surely have something to say about it. But he wasn’t talking about what he wanted; he was talking about what normal valets did. The distinction seemed important.
“All right,” his lordship said in a small voice. “But--”
“But the more important part is what I don’t do. I don’t eat with you. I don’t go for walks with you. I don’t sleep in your dressing room. You don’t ask me how I am unless I appear to be at death’s door. We don’t have long, meaningful conversations. You can just…find somebody else for all of that. Somebody who likes it.”
“I’m…not supposed to talk to you? At all?”
“We talk about what you’re wearing, and about any plans you have that affect my duties. If you feel the need to hear my voice, I suppose we can talk about the weather. Apart from that, you can talk about whatever you want, as long as you don’t expect me to say anything other than, ‘Yes, my lord.’ Anything I may be feeling, any problems you may think I have, you pretend you don’t notice. Can you live with that?”
His lordship nodded. “Yes, I…if you’re sure that’s what you want, Thomas.”
“It is. The rest of them downstairs probably won’t understand it, and they won’t like it, but that’s my problem to deal with.”
“I-yes, yes, fine.”
“This is the last conversation we will ever have about my personal feelings, happiness, or desires.”
“All right. I understand. If that’s the way you want it.”
This was going a bit more easily than Thomas had anticipated. He’d expected more questions about why he was doing something so drastic, suggestions that everything could be worked out if he would only let his lordship help him. Slightly off-balance, he went on, “I’ll be…nearby. I’ll make sure Mr. Clement or someone knows where I am, during the day, in case you’re enthralled, or something like that.”
“Yes. Yes, I understand, Thomas.”
“And I get called Barrow.”
His lordship almost bucked at that, of all things. Thomas had only thrown it in because he thought it would help them both remember the new rules. But eventually he gulped, nodded, and said, “Yes. All right. Barrow.”
“Very well, then.” He took a deep breath and settled into his new role. His old role. His proper role. “Would you like to undress now, my lord, or shall I come back later?”
#
Thomas slept in his old room that night, but somewhere in the small hours of the morning-around six AM, Gerald thought-he heard him bustling around, moving his things out. He couldn’t get to sleep again afterwards, not that he’d slept well before. The emptiness of the room over there echoed.
When Thomas-that is, when Barrow came in with his morning tea, Gerald tried to look at him and think, He isn’t my Guide. I don’t have a Guide, but he couldn’t not when Thomas was standing right there, and he was so obviously a Guide.
While he drank his tea, Barrow opened the drapes and then disappeared back into the dressing room. Gerald could hear him getting out his clothes for the day. He came back, carrying Gerald’s dressing gown and his prosthetic leg. He put them on, and helped Gerald stand up, just like usual, but…not.
“Will you dress now, my lord?”
“Yes,” Gerald said, his voice coming out a whisper. “Yes, I will. I’ll go down to breakfast; it’s easier.” He didn’t want to stay in his bedroom one minute longer than he had to, if Thomas wasn’t there.
They went into the dressing room. Barrow asked if the suit he’d selected was all right, and which tie he wanted. It was no different than what Thomas would have done, the day before. Except that it was. “It, ah, looks like a fine day,” he said, remembering that the weather was an acceptable subject of conversation.
Barrow gave him a brief look of suspicion, then said, “I suppose it is, my lord.”
“Might rain a bit later.”
“Will it, my lord?”
Once dressed, Gerald went down to the breakfast room. He had no idea where Barrow went. He could have listened, but that would not have been precisely in the spirit of their agreement.
None of the others were down-having breakfast in their rooms with their Guides, Gerald supposed. He wondered why they even had a breakfast room. But they did, and there were eggs and bacon in chafing dishes on the sideboard. He wasn’t hungry, but he helped himself anyway.
As he sat down, Clement came in with fresh toast. “Mr. Barrow tells me there have been some changes.”
“Yes,” Gerald said. “Ah. Yes. He…it’s quite a suitable compromise, really. I’m glad he thought of it.” It was, and he was. “The others, downstairs…I’m not sure they’ll understand it.”
“Mr. Barrow has already explained it to those who came down for breakfast, your lordship. He’ll be speaking to the other Guides-that is, to the personal Guides as he sees them.”
His problem to handle, Thomas had said. Or had he already been Barrow then? Gerald wasn’t sure. “I want it made clear…to the others…that I’m not angry or unhappy about this arrangement. They’re not to….” Was there any way to finish that statement without overstepping the bounds that had been set down? Likely not. He wasn’t precisely sure where the line was, but he’d best err on the side of caution. “He’s to be treated with the courtesy due his station,” he said instead. “I’m not sure precisely what that is-have we ever had a valet in the house before? But there must be a way to find out.”
“Mr. Barrow has indicated that he’ll enlighten us on the subject, as it becomes necessary.”
“All right. Good.” He took a bite of toast, which turned to pasteboard in his mouth. Washing it down with a sip of tea, he added, “Mr. Barrow? He told me just Barrow.”
“It’s my understanding that he’s called Barrow abovestairs, and Mr. Barrow below.”
“Ah.” That didn’t make much sense to Gerald, but then, he supposed it didn’t have to.
Gerald spent most of the rest of the day explaining the situation to his family. Or at least trying to. “What do you mean, he doesn’t want to be a Guide?” Mama asked.
“Just that,” Gerald said. “He doesn’t want to be a Guide.”
“But why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you asked him? Because I think this must be some sort of misunderstanding, dear.”
“I’ve asked.” Too often, apparently. “He doesn’t wish to discuss the subject any further. And don’t you go asking him, either. If we push him into a corner, he could leave.”
“Well, I call it ungrateful,” Mama said.
“I don’t,” Gerald answered. “He’s not too keen on being my valet, either, but he’s agreed to that because we both know that if he doesn’t, I’ll likely die. He’s being much more generous than he has to be, in the circumstances. We should be grateful.”
He kept those words in mind over the next few days and weeks. At first, every interaction with Barrow was painfully awkward. Gerald didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to act. All of his instincts, his habits, were wrong. Or many of them were, at least. He didn’t know which ones were which, and there was no one to ask.
It must, he realized, have been how Thomas felt when he’d arrived at the Society. Now that they weren’t speaking-or now that Thomas was gone, and replaced by Barrow, or however he was supposed to think of it-he understood him better than he ever had before.
He’d feared that Thomas would be more miserable than ever before, and that he’d be forced to stand by and do nothing. He wasn’t sure that he could, even if it meant driving Barrow away. But his fears did not come to pass. Barrow was…he certainly wasn’t happy. There was a constant undercurrent of sadness to his scent, which Gerald couldn’t help noticing even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to. But he wasn’t nearly as mercurial as he’d been. As Thomas had been. Barrow came into the dressing room smelling calm, if a little depressed, and left the same way. He wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t miserable. He was just…just a little bit unhappy.
Perhaps he preferred it that way. Gerald couldn’t blame him. Not when it was clear that so many of the things he’d done to try to help him had really only made things worse.
He continued to worry about how Barrow was fitting in with the other staff. The others quickly learned not to say anything against him in Gerald’s presence, but that didn’t mean they weren’t saying it elsewhere. More than once, he gave in to temptation and asked Clement about it, but all Clement would say were things like, “It’s an adjustment for everyone,” and “He keeps to himself.”
Once Mama accepted the situation, she began looking around the estate and the other branches of the family for what she called a “companion Guide” for him. Gerald met with a few candidates. They all seemed slightly, politely baffled about what precisely the position entailed. He was a little confused by it himself, and each time he tried to explain, it became clearer and clearer that after taking out everything Barrow was doing, and would continue to do, what was left was not a job. It was a friend.
That there were plenty of Guides interested in the position, even once they understood it, didn’t make it seem any less strange. They didn’t know him, other than as the young master of Bellerock-most of them were too young to have played with him and Euan as children. But they were willing to devote their lives to, as Thomas put it, eating with him and having long meaningful conversations with him.
It was no different from what anyone did when they looked for a personal Guide, but it was deeply strange. Insane, Thomas had put it. He had a point.
He tried, instead, spending more time with the Guides on the estate he did know from childhood, and who were still around. Aubrey, one of Euan’s cousins, had taken a job as dairyman on the home farm, married a Guide bride, and had a baby on the way. He was quite happy to show Gerald around the home farm, and even asked him back to his cottage to have tea and meet his wife. It was quite pleasant, and he thought they enjoyed it too, but it was plain that there was nothing more to it than that. There was no Sentinel at the center of Aubrey’s life, and he was quite content that way.
It was the same way with Ben, in the gardens, and Miles, who was apprenticed to the village tailor. They were glad to see him, glad he was well, happy to reminisce about the old days over a pint or a cuppa, but in the end…they had their own lives.
He wanted to tell Thomas that it turned out, he wasn’t an unnatural Guide at all. Nor even damaged, necessarily. There were plenty of Guides who liked it just fine when Sentinels minded their own business.
One Guide he did spent a fair amount of time with was Clint. He was always pleased to see Gerald down at the stables, and eager to get him riding again. But it quickly became clear that Clint was much more interested in the horses than he was in Gerald himself-he often suspected that, in Clint’s mind, the main reason the family existed was to give the horses something to do.
Still, he began taking a regular afternoon ride-first around the paddock, and later on the less challenging bridle paths. Clint accompanied him without complaint, though he was sometimes visibly itching to break into a gallop or take his mount over a fence or two. It filled the time, and made him feel less lonely.
It also meant that Barrow had to dress him two more times in the day-into his riding clothes and then back into his regular ones. Neither of them commented on that.
Meanwhile, Mama kept bringing young Guides to the house to meet him. It seemed easier to just go along with it than to try to explain why he wished she’d stop. Until one day when he was having tea with the latest hopeful-Donny, his name was-and Barrow happened to pass through the room on some valetly errand. Donny visibly bristled.
“What’s wrong?” Gerald asked. Because he could ask that, to anyone but Barrow.
“Begging your lordship’s pardon, but it just ain’t natural, the way he is. So cold and arrogant. He ought to be more grateful the way you picked him up out of the gutter.”
Gerald’s first thought, even before noting any of the many factual inaccuracies, was How dare you speak that way about my Guide?
It wasn’t the slightest bit fair of him to be interviewing Guides when he already had one-and whether Barrow wanted to be or not, it didn’t change the fact that he was. The new fellow, if he ever chose one, would be precisely what he’d tried to reassure Thomas he wasn’t: a replacement, a substitute. Not good enough.
He went on chatting with Donny cordially enough, but after he’d gone, he told Mama, No more.
#
Thomas was completely happy with the new arrangement. He slept in his own room up under the eaves, where no one was listening in on him. Had his meals in the servants’ hall, where no one spoke to him much, and he liked that just fine. In between dressing his lordship, he worked on his wardrobe-pressing, brushing, altering, rotating things for the seasons. Kept abreast of the latest fashions, in the illustrated magazines and advertising circulars. Made sure the housemaids were keeping his lordship’s room tidy.
Of course, that left him with the odd free hour, and that was fine too. He went down to the village for cigarettes and hair oil, read newspapers. Went for a walk, now and then. By himself.
The others tended to look at him like he was something that had been scraped off the bottom of a shoe, but that didn’t bother him. No one did anything nastier than that. He rather suspected his lordship’s hand in that, but as long as he didn’t have to notice, he didn’t have to care.
He’d expected some pressure from his lordship-that he’d try asking questions he shouldn’t ask, or telling Thomas about things he had no need to know about. He’d rehearsed, in his head, how no matter what his lordship said, he’d just go on saying, “Yes, my lord,” exactly as he’d said he would, during The Last Conversation. But it hadn’t happened. If anything, his lordship spoke to him even less than Lord Grantham had. Which was, of course, completely, perfectly fine. Thomas had exactly what he wanted.
He managed to keep himself convinced of that for at least a week and a half.
When his lordship started interviewing other-that is, when he started interviewing Guides, Thomas told himself it didn’t matter. No concern of his whatsoever, and for the best, really. His lordship would get attached to one of them, and would forget all about Thomas. He’d be part of the furniture, just like at Downton. Just like he wanted.
But when he found himself thinking up ways to put the new fellows off-dousing them in something smelly, or telling them his lordship had unnatural relations with animals, or hell, even just punching them right in their smug, innocent faces-he had to admit that there were cracks in his resolve.
He just had to keep his guard up. Every night before bed, and sometimes in the mornings too, he reminded himself of everything he’d disliked about being a Guide, and all the ways that being a valet was better. He had his privacy, so he could get as angry as he liked at those times, when his lordship wouldn’t be seeing-or smelling-him for hours on. It worked, most of the time. It was for the best, this decision he’d made. Really.
But occasionally, late at night, he couldn’t stop himself thinking about what it could have been like, if he’d met his lordship differently. Before Jimmy, before Edward Courtenay, before the Duke of Crow-bloody-borough. Before whatever had happened to make him the way he was-and he didn’t have to know what it was because he wasn’t a Guide and he just didn’t. If he’d been able to-if he’d wanted to-be his lordship’s Guide. To be close to him. Trust him.
It might have been…nice. That other Thomas, the younger Thomas, would have liked it. All of it. The Duke hadn’t been nearly affectionate enough for him. Had tended to roll his eyes and say biting things when Thomas talked about his hopes and dreams. His lordship would have liked hearing about them.
He remembered a time, during that wonderful, terrible London season, when he’d sat on the hearth-rug, leaning against the armchair where the Duke sat. The Duke had put his hand on his head, stroking his hair. He’d bent his head forward, feeling bonelessly relaxed, he’d have purred if he could. Until the Duke tapped him sharply on the back of his head and said, “Why don’t you suck my cock while you’re down there?”
He’d told himself at the time that it was playful and exciting. It really hadn’t been.
His lordship would have petted him for as long as Thomas liked. Probably. If Thomas was still a boy who wanted to be loved, and not a man who wanted…wanted to be left alone.
It didn’t really matter what that other Thomas would have wanted, anyway. He was as gone as if he’d been blown to bits in France.
Whatever he was feeling, when dressing-time neared, he smoked a couple of cigarettes and locked it all away-he didn’t trust his lordship not to get nosy, otherwise. And he didn’t have to trust him, since he wasn’t a Guide. Not showing what he felt had always been part of the job; now he just had to make sure he didn’t feel it, either. He couldn’t have managed it before, when he was spending nearly all his time within smelling distance of his lordship, but for a quarter hour or a half-hour at a time, a few times a day? Easy.
And it was better this way.
…wasn’t it?
Link to Chapter Ten
Thomas didn’t return until the dressing gong sounded, and Gerald could see as soon as he entered the room that he hadn’t calmed down at all. He was holding himself very stiffly, and his movements were sharp and controlled. His face was completely blank, but his heart was pounding, and his scent was a roil of confused emotions.
“Thomas?” Gerald said tentatively.
“My lord,” Thomas said. That wasn’t even the “fathead” voice; it was something worse-absolutely flat and hollow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, my lord.” Briskly, he began taking off Gerald’s jacket.
“But--”
“No, my lord.”
Gerald was startled into subsiding, shedding the rest of his day clothes in silence. Thomas had never spoken to him like that, had never shut him out this completely. His impulse was to pursue the problem like a terrier after rat, to chase it down and fix it, but it was clear Thomas did not want to talk about it. Not right now, at least. “All right,” he said. He’d talk to Clement, see if he knew about anything that had happened. It might be easier for Thomas to open up if Gerald already knew something about it. “Perhaps we can talk later.”
Thomas didn’t answer that at all, just shoved Gerald’s evening trousers at him. He didn’t even brush the back of Gerald’s coat, once he’d put it on him.
When Gerald entered the drawing room, Clement was handing round the pre-dinner drinks, and Simon hadn’t arrived yet. Good. He pulled Clement aside, and asked, “Has something happened with Thomas?”
“Not that I know of, your lordship,” Clement said.
“Look into it, please. We’ll talk later.”
During dinner, he tried to put the matter out of his mind and concentrate on playing host to Cousin Imogene. That she mostly wanted to talk about Susan didn’t help, but fortunately, she didn’t require, or even expect, that Gerald would say much. All he had to do was nod and smile as she talked about what a dear Susan was and how much they had in common.
“She was telling me earlier that her favorite doll growing up was called Gladys, and so was mine! I really think that’s a sign, don’t you?”
“Mm, yes, certainly.”
After the ladies withdrew for the drawing room, Gerald, Simon, and their father stayed in the dining room only long enough for a perfunctory glass of port, just enough to give the ladies time to sit down. With no male guests, there was no need to linger.
“Shall we go through?” Papa said once they’d finished.
They all stood up. “I’m just going to speak to Clement for a moment,” Gerald said. “I’ll be along shortly.”
The others left; Gerald listened to make sure Simon was really gone. He’d been on his best behavior lately, but Gerald didn’t want to hand him any ammunition he could use against Thomas. Once he was sure, he nodded and looked expectantly at Clement.
“Something has happened, but I haven’t been able to find out what, your lordship. Thomas has indicated that he does not wish to speak about it, and none of the others have come to me with anything. Shall I make inquiries?”
Gerald considered, and nodded. “Yes, I think you had better.” If there was some misunderstanding they could clear up, or a problem that could be nipped in the bud, it was better to do it now than to wait for Thomas to say something. “Where is he now?”
“Having a walk,” Clement answered. “He expressed a desire for fresh air, and I encouraged him to take as long as he needed to think things over.”
“Good.” Gerald nodded again. “That’s good. Thank you. Let me know what you find out, and when he comes in.”
Going through to the drawing room, Gerald chatted a bit with Mama and Aunt Elizabeth, who managed to be at each other’s throats in a much more polite and restrained way than he and Simon ever did. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Thomas, and periodically caught himself casting out his hearing in search of him. It was a bad idea, with Thomas so far away and Gerald in a room full of other people who were all talking, breathing, and moving around. When he caught himself doing it, he forcibly drew his attention back inside the room, but it kept happening every time his attention wandered.
In the circumstances, enthrallment was nearly inevitable. Gerald wasn’t the least bit surprised when his hearing caught, not on Thomas, but on a barn owl pursuing some fleeing bit of prey. He first keyed in on the eerie, screeching call, but once he’d found the animal, he could hear the whisper of the great wings and the rapid beat of the heart.
It was fascinating. He could almost picture what the owl was doing, based on what he heard-stooping after the prey here, missing and crying out in frustration. Circling in search of another. Catching something small and squeaky, and perching in a tree to eat it.
He was abruptly pulled back into himself by the touch of a cool hand on his, and the words, “My lord.”
He blinked down at Thomas, who was crouched in front of Gerald’s chair. “Ah,” he said. “Hullo, Thomas.”
A fresh scent of worry overlaid the previous tangle of confused emotions; now relief swept over, making both, as Thomas said, “My lord.”
Gerald breathed in deeply. Compared to the other things, relief smelled good. It meant Thomas cared. “I’m all right now,” he said to Thomas. Noticing that his family were standing around, all looking worried-even Simon-he looked up at them and added, “Really, it’s fine.”
“Perhaps you should go up, dear,” Mama said.
Gerald nodded. “In a few minutes, I think.” The family did not disperse. “Really, I’m all right now. You can…go back to what you were doing.”
Most of the others wandered off, or at least turned away, but Mama continued to hover. Felicity brought him a fresh whiskey and soda, and Douglas came in to mop up the mess from his old one, which had slipped from his unheeding fingers at some point during the enthrallment.
The glass had only cracked, though, and not shattered, so neither Thomas nor Douglas was in danger of injury. One less thing to worry about.
One by one, he focused each of his senses on Thomas-the feeling of his hand, which was still entangled in Gerald’s. The sound of his heartbeat, which was slowing and steadying now. The smell of cigarettes and worry and relief. The contrast between his dark hair and pale skin, his blue, glittering eyes.
For taste, he had to use the whiskey instead. If it had been Euan, he’d have brought his hand to his lips and tasted him there, but Thomas, he somehow knew, would not welcome that. So, the whiskey. He sipped, letting the notes of oak and smoke roll over his tongue.
The exercise was one he’d been taught in his military Sentinel training, for recovering from an enthrallment, settling sensory fluctuations, or preparing to do sensory work. He’d done it hundreds of times, though only a handful of them with Thomas. Nevertheless, it settled him back into himself. He was here, his Guide was there, and all the other sensory information that bombarded him could be fitted into place around those two facts, or dismissed entirely.
#
After a few moments of breathing heavily and looking distant, his lordship said, “I’m ready to go up if you are.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said, rising gratefully from his crouch-his thighs and calves had started to ache. He helped his lordship to his feet, and they started upstairs, slowly.
Thomas kept his mind carefully blank. His lordship was sniffing him now, and he didn’t know what that might give away. Or what effect it might have. His lordship was all right; Thomas had helped him. Focus on that. Nothing else.
Sitting his lordship on the edge of his bed, Thomas went into the dressing room for his pyjamas and dressing gown. He’d undress him in the bedroom; less chance for anything to go wrong that way.
“Thank you, Thomas,” his lordship said as he returned. He pulled off his white tie, which someone had loosened before Thomas arrived in the drawing room. One of the other valets, maybe. Don’t think about that. “I’m sure I’m all right,” he went on as Thomas got him out of his jacket and waistcoat. “Enthrallments happen; it wasn’t a long one. I was listening to an owl outside. I shouldn’t have done, not without a Guide in the room. Silly of me, really. I’ve always liked owls. They’re so…quiet. Not like bats. Hate bats.”
His lordship was babbling. Thomas wondered if that was a good sign, or a bad one. Don’t think about that, either. “I can’t say I care for them either, my lord,” he said. He didn’t have much of an opinion either way, really. Except for the time, when he was a footman, that he’d been woken from a sound sleep to get one out of Lady Edith’s bedroom. On that particular occasion, he’d hated them.
“We’d be swarming with bugs without them, though. Valuable creatures. Just noisy. But it wasn’t a bat I was listening to, it was an owl.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said, laying the waistcoat aside and getting to work on the shirt studs. What difference did it make? He supposed he ought to be glad that his lordship had been listening to birds and not him, walking around and muttering to himself. If he’d heard-no, don’t think about that. Not now. “Perhaps in future you might save the bird-watching for when I’m with you.”
“Yes, I think I will. Not precisely bird watching, though. Bird-listening. Less chance of enthrallment if I could see them, really. We could go for a walk, sometime, and look for owls.”
“Yes, my lord. If you could just stand up for a moment.”
He stood, steadying himself with a hand on Thomas’s shoulder, while Thomas unfastened his trousers.
“All right, my lord.” Now there was just the leg to deal with, and putting the pyjamas on. Those tasks were accomplished quickly, and he turned down the covers.
His lordship said, “I’m not-oh, never mind,” and got into bed. “I’ll just read for a while.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said, gathering up his clothes. The book his lordship had been reading had been left on the sofa; he brought it over. “Will there be anything else?”
“Ah, I think I’m all right.”
“Very good, my lord. I’ll be nearby if you do need anything.”
He went into the dressing room and shut the door behind him.
Now, Thomas thought, he could have a private thought or two, if he was quiet about it.
He’d seen his lordship enthralled before, but with Clement’s description of his “spells” fresh in his mind, Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if this was the start of another one. And if he’d brought it on somehow, by leaving his lordship alone for too long, or by being angry with him, or-or what, he didn’t know. It was more important than ever to keep his temper, at least until he was sure that the enthrallment had been an isolated incident.
That meant he couldn’t think about what his lordship had done, or about what the others downstairs must think of him. Nor could he think about how the incident proved-if he needed more proof-that he couldn’t leave. He had to block those things completely from his mind. Just focus on the next thing. He put away his lordship’s clothes. He smoked a cigarette. Washed. Changed into his pyjamas. Got into bed, and laid there, carefully not-thinking about anything at all, until he fell asleep.
#
The next morning, Thomas seemed more subdued than he had been for a while, but his scent was better-still anxious and a bit angry, but not overwhelmingly so. Gerald kept the conversation light through breakfast, then tentatively broached the subject. “About yesterday….”
“Yes, my lord?”
“We never did get to talk about what was bothering you.”
“Nothing important, really, my lord,” Thomas said, and this time his scent didn’t blatantly contradict what he was saying. “I was a bit upset with myself for forgetting about your evening things, when we have guests. You know how I am about things like that.”
“Yes, I do,” Gerald said. He was relieved-perhaps. “Are you sure that’s all it was?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Gerald nodded. “I do appreciate how well you take care of my clothes, but it’s not worth upsetting yourself over. I won’t be angry with you, and the world won’t end if I’m late to dinner or my coat has a wrinkle. Try to remember that, all right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good.” Enough of that-for now, at least. “Do you feel up for the picnic this afternoon? I have a feeling Mama’s going to fuss, but Imogene is looking forward to it….”
#
They went out for the highly-anticipated picnic in a governess cart driven by Clint. Thomas knew that his lordship suspected there was something more than he’d admitted to about yesterday’s upset, because he explained every detail of the picnic itinerary in advance: where they were going, how they’d get there, what they would be eating, that he and Susan would be eating…everything he could think of, apparently.
But he was still taken by surprise by some things. Susan and Miss Imogene walked from the house to the cart arm-in-arm, and spent the ride whispering to each other behind their hands. When they reached the picnic site-a spot near a stream, where a small pavilion had been set up, complete with table and chairs-they separated only reluctantly so that Susan could help Thomas and Clint carry the picnic things over. They kept glancing at each other and looking away quickly, in a way that could only be described as gooey.
At first, Thomas thought they were acting like friends, or sisters, but when they gooey looks started, it began to seem more like they were flirting. It wasn’t quite a alarming as it would have been if two men had been carrying on like that-girls of that age, in Thomas’s experience, were always a bit gooey, even with other girls-but it was still a bit strange. Strangest of all was that his lordship didn’t bat an eye. Not even when, after luncheon, Imogene decided to lie down in the grass under a tree with her head in Susan’s lap. And when they wandered off to pick wildflowers, all his lordship said about it was, “They seem to be getting on well.”
“Yes, my lord.” Had his lordship and Euan been like that? Was his lordship expecting him to be like that?
Don’t think about that.
Besides, if he was, he was going to be disappointed. He hadn’t even been like that with the Duke, back when he’d been about Susan’s age. He might have wanted to, but-don’t think about that. “I suppose this must be a usual spot for picnics, my lord?” he asked, in order to introduce a neutral subject.
“Yes, rather,” his lordship said. “There’s another place we go that’s further up in the hills, but it’s difficult to get to if you don’t ride. This one’s just as good for a small group, really. And it’s cooler on a hot day, with the water.” He went on to talk about picnics he’d had there as a child-sailing toy boats and trying to catch minnows in the stream, and-in what must have been a rare moment of cooperation-he and Lord Simon attempting to build a dam and create a swimming pool.
Thomas had just about managed to distract himself from Susan and Miss Imogene’s odd behavior, and all that it implied, when they came back with armloads of flowers, which they braided into crowns for each other’s hair.
Yes, really. They did. Thomas did not know where to look.
His lordship plucked a bachelor’s button from the pile of discards, and presented it to Thomas. Thomas took it, wondering what on Earth he was supposed to do with it. Finally, for lack of any better option, he put it in his buttonhole.
#
It was nearing teatime by the time they headed back. Gerald decided on tea in their rooms-there was another formal dinner slated for that evening, and he saw no reason to overdo it. He was a bit anxious about sending Thomas down for the tea-tray, but he came back seeming only a bit pensive and mildly subdued.
Gerald ate two sandwiches and drank a cup of tea quickly, without talking much-he’d managed to work up a bit of an appetite, with all that fresh air. But once he’d finished those, he poured a second cup and sat back in his chair. “You seemed a bit…startled by something about the picnic,” he noted. “I thought I’d prepared you for everything. What did I miss?”
Thomas froze for a second, wide-eyed, a spike of anxiety in his scent. “Ah,” he said. “Well. I was just…I found Miss Imogene’s manner with Susan, and Susan’s with her, a bit…unexpected, my lord.”
“Did you?” Gerald frowned; he hadn’t noticed anything unusual. Except for how quickly they had hit it off, perhaps. “Unexpected how?”
“Well,” he said again. Then, “My lord.” After a long pause, he went on, “Just a bit…familiar, I suppose.”
“That’s normal,” Gerald said. “It would be more alarming if they weren’t like that, really. It’s important for a Sentinel and Guide to get along well, to feel comfortable with each other.”
“All right, but they were carrying on like a courting couple! My lord.”
“I suppose it is a bit like that.” Gerald would never have thought of it that way himself, since Sentinel courtships tended not to be like that at all. “They’ll be spending a great deal of time together, for the rest of their lives if everything works out.”
The anxiety-scent increased even more. “Yes, my lord,” Thomas said stiffly.
“I know it was a bit different with us, of course,” Gerald said, feeling his way across what he imagined as a mine-strewn path. “We’ve had to get to know each other as we go along. But we have grown more comfortable with each other-haven’t we?”
“Yes, my lord.” Thomas looked down. “But--” He sighed.
“What?”
“Why….” He fell silent again, then rallied. “Do most Sentinels expect to have the same Guide for the rest of their lives, my lord?”
“That’s the ideal,” Gerald said. Now he thought he had a handle on the issue; it was the one about not being good enough to replace Euan. “But of course things happen. People realize they’ve changed, or what they want has changed. Or-well, people die. Not just in the war, but there are all the usual illnesses and accidents. One has to move on.”
“But…I suppose I don’t see why it’s so important. I mean, I understand that you, that Sentinels like to be close with your Guides, but…” He shook his head. “I mean, Miss O’Brien was close with Lady Grantham, and Bates was close with his lordship. But not…like that.”
Gerald clearly hadn’t reassured Thomas enough; he still smelled anxious. His first impulse was to focus on that, rather than on the question-in this case in particular, because he wasn’t sure what the answer to the question was. But Thomas found it reassuring to have his questions answered. If he really wanted to help, he should try to work out the answer.
He found it by thinking about what Thomas had said about courtship. “I suppose it might be because we-that is, Sentinels-still go in for arranged marriages rather more than other people do. To have a Sentinel heir, it’s best to marry another Sentinel, but we don’t…don’t often care for a great deal of one another’s company. Marriages tend to be a bit…businesslike. But one has to be close to someone. And for most of us, that’s our Guides. They’re the ones we talk with, the ones we spend time with. Touch. All that sort of thing.”
Gerald could tell at once that Thomas did not find this particular answer at all reassuring. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as though unable to find the words to speak. His breathing was ragged and his heart raced. And as for his scent-it roiled with confused emotions. Angerfearsadnesspanic. Finally he said, “And that’s-that’s what a Guide is supposed to be. To you. Like a-” He shook his head and opened and closed his mouth several more times before spitting out, “wife? ”
“If you’re worried about, ah, the physical…aspect, that’s-I mean, sometimes we do, but it isn’t required. And I certainly wouldn’t ask you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. It’s more--”
“I don’t care about that,” Thomas said, rising to his feet, his hands planted on the edge of the table. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask about that. But-” He did more head-shaking and mouth opening-and-closing. “I don’t even-you’re insane,” he declared. “You are absolutely and completely barking.”
“I beg your pardon?” Gerald said, startled by Thomas’s sudden vehemence.
“You take me out of prison, and you say you’re offering me a job, but you actually want me to be your bloody wife. And you not only never ask if that’s what I want, but you never even tell me what I’m getting into. How is that not insane?”
He was nearly shouting now, and leaning over the table. Gerald pushed his own chair back a little. “Thomas, please. Try to calm down. Maybe the comparison to, ah, to marriage was…misleading.”
“No,” Thomas said, shaking his head and backing away from the table. “No, I don’t think it was. You think you get to…to take over my life. You get to…tell me how I’m supposed to feel, and you think you have a right to know every thought that goes through my head, and you can pry into my private life and spread it all over the house, and it’s all all right because it’s for my own good and you care and you want me to be happy. Well, I never asked you to, did I?”
“Thomas--” Gerald began, not sure what he was going to say next, how he could apply brakes to this runaway train speeding toward a wreck.
“Did I?” Thomas demanded, almost shouting.
“No,” Gerald admitted. “No. I didn’t. But--”
“But nothing. Good God, you throw a temper tantrum because somebody changed your bedroom without asking, and you can’t see why rearranging my entire life without asking might upset me?”
He had a bit of a point. He’d only wanted to do what was best for Thomas-but so had Mama. “I…I was trying to help. I’ve been asking how I can help.”
“Yeah,” Thomas said. “Yeah. You’ve been asking. But you haven’t been taking ‘no’ for an answer, have you? Maybe you can’t help. Maybe I don’t want you to help. Maybe I want you to just bloody well back off.”
“I….” Gerald couldn’t understand what Thomas was saying. Guides thrived on Sentinels’ attention. Thomas couldn’t really be asking for what it sounded like. Or if he was, he wasn’t thinking clearly about what he was saying. “I understand that you’re angry,” he said. “I was wrong not to…not to ask if you wanted to be my Guide.”
Thomas nodded sharply at that, and his anger started to taper off, just a little.
Encouraged, Gerald went on, “But you are. It’s…you can’t ask me not to care about you.”
Thomas nodded at that, too, making a visible effort to steady his breathing.
“There has to be some way we can fix…this. What is it you really want?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas said quietly. His shoulders slumped, and grief overcame anger in his scent.
Gerald wanted to go over and take him into his arms, but he didn’t think Thomas would welcome that right now. “Think about it,” he said gently.
Anger surged again. “I. Don’t. Want. To. ” He spat the words out one at a time. “I don’t want to tell you how to fix me. Can’t you understand that?”
The true answer was no, not really. But before Gerald could say anything, Thomas spun and started for the door, saying, “I have to get out of here.”
“Thomas--”
He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll come back. I just-I can’t be here right now.”
Then he left.
#
Thomas ran down the service stairs and out the kitchen door. Someone-maybe Eileen-called out to him as he passed, but he ignored them, bent on getting as far from this madhouse as he could before his anger burnt out. He hurried down the lane and to the village. He hesitated at the train station-but he’d said he was coming back, and he didn’t have enough money with him for a return ticket to anywhere. He kept walking.
He shouldn’t have said any of those things he’d said. They were true, but he shouldn’t have said them. He’d deserve to be sacked for any one of them-if he were able to be sacked. But he wouldn’t be, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? No matter what he did, his lordship would just keep trying to make Thomas into what he wanted him to be. He wouldn’t give up; he’d just go on being patient and kind and not giving Thomas a minute’s privacy inside his own head. For as long as it took.
Thomas didn’t know if he’d ever be able to be what his lordship wanted. If he could ever come to trust him, to be happy about having him prying into his life. To have his lordship help him, and actually be pleased and grateful instead of reminding himself that he ought to be. To have conversations about his feelings without wanting to scream and run away.
And, to be honest, the idea that he might, one day, be, was even more frightening than the idea that he wouldn’t.
He took out the idea of leaving again, turned it over in his hands. He could. His lordship wouldn’t stop him-couldn’t stop him, once the last bit of his sentence was up.
But if he did leave, his lordship would probably die. And if he didn’t, he’d suffer. Thomas didn’t want that, no matter how angry he was with him. Thomas still liked him, underneath it all. And even if he hadn’t, he didn’t want to kill a man for trying to help him.
So he had to stay. But they couldn’t go on like they had been. Just the thought of going back to the house and having his lordship press him to explain each and every little detail of what he’d said, to pry out the underlying thoughts and fears that caused him to react the way he did, and then-like as not-to tell everyone in the house about it, made him want to throw himself off a cliff. Something had to change.
By the time he reached the next village, Thomas realized that the only solution was precisely the one his lordship had proposed: he had to think about what he really wanted, and then go back and tell him.
Going into the village pub, he ordered a pint-he had enough money for that-and sat down to think about what he wanted.
#
Gerald begged off of dinner-Mama would understand, even with guests in the house. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to stop the tide of visitors to his room: Mama, Georgiana, Felicity, Baxter, Clement-all wanting to know what had happened and how they could help. He didn’t want to think about it, wanted even less to talk about it, and wished fervently that they would all just go away.
The brutal irony of that desire did not occur to him until he’d banished his fourth unwanted visitor.
By the time Clement came in and asked one of the usual questions-“Lord Gerald? What happened?” in this case-Gerald was curled up on his bed, hugging the pillow and feeling sorry for himself.
“I’ve ruined everything, I think,” he said into the pillow.
The mattress shifted as Clement sat on the edge of the bed. He put one hand on Gerald’s shoulder. “You and Thomas had an argument.”
“You could say that,” Gerald agreed, with a hollow laugh.
“These things do happen,” Clement pointed out gently. “What did you argue about?”
“Everything.”
Clement pressed for a more detailed answer than that one. Gerald forced himself to give it to him, feeling that it was the least he deserved, after the way he’d been treating Thomas. He relayed a few of the things Thomas had said, and concluded, “It sounds like…like he doesn’t want to be my Guide. Doesn’t want to be a Guide at all, really. There’s nothing I can do about that. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want me to…to do anything, really. He was pretty clear about that.”
“He might feel differently once his temper has cooled,” Clement suggested.
“Perhaps. But…I think this has been the problem all along. He’s just been…telling me other things, putting me off. He might-at best, he might start doing that again. And I can’t…I can’t make him talk about the real problem, and I can’t solve it without him. That’s the problem.”
“Yes, I see that, your lordship,” Clement said, rubbing circles on his back. “Perhaps you’ve simply been a bit…over-enthusiastic, in your efforts to help Thomas. Giving him a bit more time to think things through on his own before pressing your assistance upon him, might have been a better approach.” He hesitated. “How often have you been asking him about how he’s feeling?”
“I don’t know. Whenever he seems upset.”
“And he seems upset…most of the time, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. So-oh.” In an average day, that added up to…well, to quite an impressive number of instances of what Thomas referred to as “prying into his private life.” “I’ve been a bit…overbearing.” He hugged the pillow again. “What good does that do me now, though? He said he wanted me to back off, but…it’s gone too far for that, I think. I have to-make it up to him somehow. But I don’t know how, and he doesn’t want me to ask, and….oh, it’s hopeless.”
“You’ll need to wait and see, your lordship. Follow his lead. When he comes back. Don’t bring up the…argument. If he wants to pretend it never happened, let him. Let him come to you when he’s ready. That’s all I can suggest.”
“What if-he said he was coming back, but what if he doesn’t? Or he comes back just to say he’s leaving for good?”
Clement’s hand stilled. “It’s my understanding that he has some weeks left on his sentence.”
“Yes, but I can’t-I can’t use that to force him to stay. He has to work for the Society; he doesn’t have to be my Guide.”
“In that case, my lord, we’ll have to carry on as best we can.”
#
It was well after dark by the time Thomas got back to Bellerock. He’d worked out a plan that he thought he could live with-and which, more importantly, his lordship could live with, too. Even if he didn’t like it much. There might be some adjustments to be made-he didn’t know precisely what Sentinels really needed, and what they just liked and were used to. But he was fairly confident that the basic idea was sound.
He let himself back in through the kitchen door-still unlocked, fortunately. There were a few maids and footmen in the servants’ hall; they looked up at him as he passed. He ignored them.
His lordship was in his room-fortunately. If he hadn’t been, Thomas might have lost his nerve. He was lying on the bed in his clothes, on top of the covers. He looked decidedly rumpled; he may even have been crying. “Thomas?” he said, sitting up.
“My lord.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve…been doing some thinking. As you asked. About what I want.”
“Yes?” his lordship said, leaning forward as though to touch him.
Thomas stepped back, tucking his hands behind himself. “I don’t want to be a Guide. The…trusting, being close, all of that. I can’t do it. Maybe I’m just an unnatural Guide; maybe I’m damaged, but I just can’t do it.”
His lordship started to say something about patience, about giving him all the time he needed.
“No,” Thomas said, interrupting. He’d expected that. “It’s not about time. It’s…it just isn’t who I am. I don’t want to do it, I don’t want to learn to do it, I don’t want to try to do it or be coaxed or cajoled into doing it. I’m not a Guide.”
“So you’re-you’re leaving.”
“If I do that, you’ll die,” Thomas said. “Won’t you?”
“Yes, probably. But--”
“But I don’t want that, either. You’ve done what you think is right, for me. You’ve…been wounded in service of your country.” He really had, unlike Thomas. “You don’t deserve to die for that. So here’s what I think.” He took a deep breath. “I won’t be your Guide. I’ll be your valet.”
“What…I’m not even sure what that means,” his lordship said.
“I bring you your tea in the morning. I dress you. Run the bath, put out your shaving things, whatever. If you need to change in the afternoon-into riding things, or the like-I come back and do that. I dress you for dinner, and undress you for bed. I look after your clothes. Keep the dressing room in order, and make sure everything’s as it should be in your bedroom. Pack and unpack if you go anywhere. Buy the tickets and things. You also get to make me act as a third footman at important dinners, but I’m allowed to resent it as long as I don’t actually say so.” He’d almost decided not to mention that last part, since he wasn’t keen to do it, and anyway, his lordship probably wouldn’t want to make him, since the other Sentinels would surely have something to say about it. But he wasn’t talking about what he wanted; he was talking about what normal valets did. The distinction seemed important.
“All right,” his lordship said in a small voice. “But--”
“But the more important part is what I don’t do. I don’t eat with you. I don’t go for walks with you. I don’t sleep in your dressing room. You don’t ask me how I am unless I appear to be at death’s door. We don’t have long, meaningful conversations. You can just…find somebody else for all of that. Somebody who likes it.”
“I’m…not supposed to talk to you? At all?”
“We talk about what you’re wearing, and about any plans you have that affect my duties. If you feel the need to hear my voice, I suppose we can talk about the weather. Apart from that, you can talk about whatever you want, as long as you don’t expect me to say anything other than, ‘Yes, my lord.’ Anything I may be feeling, any problems you may think I have, you pretend you don’t notice. Can you live with that?”
His lordship nodded. “Yes, I…if you’re sure that’s what you want, Thomas.”
“It is. The rest of them downstairs probably won’t understand it, and they won’t like it, but that’s my problem to deal with.”
“I-yes, yes, fine.”
“This is the last conversation we will ever have about my personal feelings, happiness, or desires.”
“All right. I understand. If that’s the way you want it.”
This was going a bit more easily than Thomas had anticipated. He’d expected more questions about why he was doing something so drastic, suggestions that everything could be worked out if he would only let his lordship help him. Slightly off-balance, he went on, “I’ll be…nearby. I’ll make sure Mr. Clement or someone knows where I am, during the day, in case you’re enthralled, or something like that.”
“Yes. Yes, I understand, Thomas.”
“And I get called Barrow.”
His lordship almost bucked at that, of all things. Thomas had only thrown it in because he thought it would help them both remember the new rules. But eventually he gulped, nodded, and said, “Yes. All right. Barrow.”
“Very well, then.” He took a deep breath and settled into his new role. His old role. His proper role. “Would you like to undress now, my lord, or shall I come back later?”
#
Thomas slept in his old room that night, but somewhere in the small hours of the morning-around six AM, Gerald thought-he heard him bustling around, moving his things out. He couldn’t get to sleep again afterwards, not that he’d slept well before. The emptiness of the room over there echoed.
When Thomas-that is, when Barrow came in with his morning tea, Gerald tried to look at him and think, He isn’t my Guide. I don’t have a Guide, but he couldn’t not when Thomas was standing right there, and he was so obviously a Guide.
While he drank his tea, Barrow opened the drapes and then disappeared back into the dressing room. Gerald could hear him getting out his clothes for the day. He came back, carrying Gerald’s dressing gown and his prosthetic leg. He put them on, and helped Gerald stand up, just like usual, but…not.
“Will you dress now, my lord?”
“Yes,” Gerald said, his voice coming out a whisper. “Yes, I will. I’ll go down to breakfast; it’s easier.” He didn’t want to stay in his bedroom one minute longer than he had to, if Thomas wasn’t there.
They went into the dressing room. Barrow asked if the suit he’d selected was all right, and which tie he wanted. It was no different than what Thomas would have done, the day before. Except that it was. “It, ah, looks like a fine day,” he said, remembering that the weather was an acceptable subject of conversation.
Barrow gave him a brief look of suspicion, then said, “I suppose it is, my lord.”
“Might rain a bit later.”
“Will it, my lord?”
Once dressed, Gerald went down to the breakfast room. He had no idea where Barrow went. He could have listened, but that would not have been precisely in the spirit of their agreement.
None of the others were down-having breakfast in their rooms with their Guides, Gerald supposed. He wondered why they even had a breakfast room. But they did, and there were eggs and bacon in chafing dishes on the sideboard. He wasn’t hungry, but he helped himself anyway.
As he sat down, Clement came in with fresh toast. “Mr. Barrow tells me there have been some changes.”
“Yes,” Gerald said. “Ah. Yes. He…it’s quite a suitable compromise, really. I’m glad he thought of it.” It was, and he was. “The others, downstairs…I’m not sure they’ll understand it.”
“Mr. Barrow has already explained it to those who came down for breakfast, your lordship. He’ll be speaking to the other Guides-that is, to the personal Guides as he sees them.”
His problem to handle, Thomas had said. Or had he already been Barrow then? Gerald wasn’t sure. “I want it made clear…to the others…that I’m not angry or unhappy about this arrangement. They’re not to….” Was there any way to finish that statement without overstepping the bounds that had been set down? Likely not. He wasn’t precisely sure where the line was, but he’d best err on the side of caution. “He’s to be treated with the courtesy due his station,” he said instead. “I’m not sure precisely what that is-have we ever had a valet in the house before? But there must be a way to find out.”
“Mr. Barrow has indicated that he’ll enlighten us on the subject, as it becomes necessary.”
“All right. Good.” He took a bite of toast, which turned to pasteboard in his mouth. Washing it down with a sip of tea, he added, “Mr. Barrow? He told me just Barrow.”
“It’s my understanding that he’s called Barrow abovestairs, and Mr. Barrow below.”
“Ah.” That didn’t make much sense to Gerald, but then, he supposed it didn’t have to.
Gerald spent most of the rest of the day explaining the situation to his family. Or at least trying to. “What do you mean, he doesn’t want to be a Guide?” Mama asked.
“Just that,” Gerald said. “He doesn’t want to be a Guide.”
“But why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you asked him? Because I think this must be some sort of misunderstanding, dear.”
“I’ve asked.” Too often, apparently. “He doesn’t wish to discuss the subject any further. And don’t you go asking him, either. If we push him into a corner, he could leave.”
“Well, I call it ungrateful,” Mama said.
“I don’t,” Gerald answered. “He’s not too keen on being my valet, either, but he’s agreed to that because we both know that if he doesn’t, I’ll likely die. He’s being much more generous than he has to be, in the circumstances. We should be grateful.”
He kept those words in mind over the next few days and weeks. At first, every interaction with Barrow was painfully awkward. Gerald didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to act. All of his instincts, his habits, were wrong. Or many of them were, at least. He didn’t know which ones were which, and there was no one to ask.
It must, he realized, have been how Thomas felt when he’d arrived at the Society. Now that they weren’t speaking-or now that Thomas was gone, and replaced by Barrow, or however he was supposed to think of it-he understood him better than he ever had before.
He’d feared that Thomas would be more miserable than ever before, and that he’d be forced to stand by and do nothing. He wasn’t sure that he could, even if it meant driving Barrow away. But his fears did not come to pass. Barrow was…he certainly wasn’t happy. There was a constant undercurrent of sadness to his scent, which Gerald couldn’t help noticing even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to. But he wasn’t nearly as mercurial as he’d been. As Thomas had been. Barrow came into the dressing room smelling calm, if a little depressed, and left the same way. He wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t miserable. He was just…just a little bit unhappy.
Perhaps he preferred it that way. Gerald couldn’t blame him. Not when it was clear that so many of the things he’d done to try to help him had really only made things worse.
He continued to worry about how Barrow was fitting in with the other staff. The others quickly learned not to say anything against him in Gerald’s presence, but that didn’t mean they weren’t saying it elsewhere. More than once, he gave in to temptation and asked Clement about it, but all Clement would say were things like, “It’s an adjustment for everyone,” and “He keeps to himself.”
Once Mama accepted the situation, she began looking around the estate and the other branches of the family for what she called a “companion Guide” for him. Gerald met with a few candidates. They all seemed slightly, politely baffled about what precisely the position entailed. He was a little confused by it himself, and each time he tried to explain, it became clearer and clearer that after taking out everything Barrow was doing, and would continue to do, what was left was not a job. It was a friend.
That there were plenty of Guides interested in the position, even once they understood it, didn’t make it seem any less strange. They didn’t know him, other than as the young master of Bellerock-most of them were too young to have played with him and Euan as children. But they were willing to devote their lives to, as Thomas put it, eating with him and having long meaningful conversations with him.
It was no different from what anyone did when they looked for a personal Guide, but it was deeply strange. Insane, Thomas had put it. He had a point.
He tried, instead, spending more time with the Guides on the estate he did know from childhood, and who were still around. Aubrey, one of Euan’s cousins, had taken a job as dairyman on the home farm, married a Guide bride, and had a baby on the way. He was quite happy to show Gerald around the home farm, and even asked him back to his cottage to have tea and meet his wife. It was quite pleasant, and he thought they enjoyed it too, but it was plain that there was nothing more to it than that. There was no Sentinel at the center of Aubrey’s life, and he was quite content that way.
It was the same way with Ben, in the gardens, and Miles, who was apprenticed to the village tailor. They were glad to see him, glad he was well, happy to reminisce about the old days over a pint or a cuppa, but in the end…they had their own lives.
He wanted to tell Thomas that it turned out, he wasn’t an unnatural Guide at all. Nor even damaged, necessarily. There were plenty of Guides who liked it just fine when Sentinels minded their own business.
One Guide he did spent a fair amount of time with was Clint. He was always pleased to see Gerald down at the stables, and eager to get him riding again. But it quickly became clear that Clint was much more interested in the horses than he was in Gerald himself-he often suspected that, in Clint’s mind, the main reason the family existed was to give the horses something to do.
Still, he began taking a regular afternoon ride-first around the paddock, and later on the less challenging bridle paths. Clint accompanied him without complaint, though he was sometimes visibly itching to break into a gallop or take his mount over a fence or two. It filled the time, and made him feel less lonely.
It also meant that Barrow had to dress him two more times in the day-into his riding clothes and then back into his regular ones. Neither of them commented on that.
Meanwhile, Mama kept bringing young Guides to the house to meet him. It seemed easier to just go along with it than to try to explain why he wished she’d stop. Until one day when he was having tea with the latest hopeful-Donny, his name was-and Barrow happened to pass through the room on some valetly errand. Donny visibly bristled.
“What’s wrong?” Gerald asked. Because he could ask that, to anyone but Barrow.
“Begging your lordship’s pardon, but it just ain’t natural, the way he is. So cold and arrogant. He ought to be more grateful the way you picked him up out of the gutter.”
Gerald’s first thought, even before noting any of the many factual inaccuracies, was How dare you speak that way about my Guide?
It wasn’t the slightest bit fair of him to be interviewing Guides when he already had one-and whether Barrow wanted to be or not, it didn’t change the fact that he was. The new fellow, if he ever chose one, would be precisely what he’d tried to reassure Thomas he wasn’t: a replacement, a substitute. Not good enough.
He went on chatting with Donny cordially enough, but after he’d gone, he told Mama, No more.
#
Thomas was completely happy with the new arrangement. He slept in his own room up under the eaves, where no one was listening in on him. Had his meals in the servants’ hall, where no one spoke to him much, and he liked that just fine. In between dressing his lordship, he worked on his wardrobe-pressing, brushing, altering, rotating things for the seasons. Kept abreast of the latest fashions, in the illustrated magazines and advertising circulars. Made sure the housemaids were keeping his lordship’s room tidy.
Of course, that left him with the odd free hour, and that was fine too. He went down to the village for cigarettes and hair oil, read newspapers. Went for a walk, now and then. By himself.
The others tended to look at him like he was something that had been scraped off the bottom of a shoe, but that didn’t bother him. No one did anything nastier than that. He rather suspected his lordship’s hand in that, but as long as he didn’t have to notice, he didn’t have to care.
He’d expected some pressure from his lordship-that he’d try asking questions he shouldn’t ask, or telling Thomas about things he had no need to know about. He’d rehearsed, in his head, how no matter what his lordship said, he’d just go on saying, “Yes, my lord,” exactly as he’d said he would, during The Last Conversation. But it hadn’t happened. If anything, his lordship spoke to him even less than Lord Grantham had. Which was, of course, completely, perfectly fine. Thomas had exactly what he wanted.
He managed to keep himself convinced of that for at least a week and a half.
When his lordship started interviewing other-that is, when he started interviewing Guides, Thomas told himself it didn’t matter. No concern of his whatsoever, and for the best, really. His lordship would get attached to one of them, and would forget all about Thomas. He’d be part of the furniture, just like at Downton. Just like he wanted.
But when he found himself thinking up ways to put the new fellows off-dousing them in something smelly, or telling them his lordship had unnatural relations with animals, or hell, even just punching them right in their smug, innocent faces-he had to admit that there were cracks in his resolve.
He just had to keep his guard up. Every night before bed, and sometimes in the mornings too, he reminded himself of everything he’d disliked about being a Guide, and all the ways that being a valet was better. He had his privacy, so he could get as angry as he liked at those times, when his lordship wouldn’t be seeing-or smelling-him for hours on. It worked, most of the time. It was for the best, this decision he’d made. Really.
But occasionally, late at night, he couldn’t stop himself thinking about what it could have been like, if he’d met his lordship differently. Before Jimmy, before Edward Courtenay, before the Duke of Crow-bloody-borough. Before whatever had happened to make him the way he was-and he didn’t have to know what it was because he wasn’t a Guide and he just didn’t. If he’d been able to-if he’d wanted to-be his lordship’s Guide. To be close to him. Trust him.
It might have been…nice. That other Thomas, the younger Thomas, would have liked it. All of it. The Duke hadn’t been nearly affectionate enough for him. Had tended to roll his eyes and say biting things when Thomas talked about his hopes and dreams. His lordship would have liked hearing about them.
He remembered a time, during that wonderful, terrible London season, when he’d sat on the hearth-rug, leaning against the armchair where the Duke sat. The Duke had put his hand on his head, stroking his hair. He’d bent his head forward, feeling bonelessly relaxed, he’d have purred if he could. Until the Duke tapped him sharply on the back of his head and said, “Why don’t you suck my cock while you’re down there?”
He’d told himself at the time that it was playful and exciting. It really hadn’t been.
His lordship would have petted him for as long as Thomas liked. Probably. If Thomas was still a boy who wanted to be loved, and not a man who wanted…wanted to be left alone.
It didn’t really matter what that other Thomas would have wanted, anyway. He was as gone as if he’d been blown to bits in France.
Whatever he was feeling, when dressing-time neared, he smoked a couple of cigarettes and locked it all away-he didn’t trust his lordship not to get nosy, otherwise. And he didn’t have to trust him, since he wasn’t a Guide. Not showing what he felt had always been part of the job; now he just had to make sure he didn’t feel it, either. He couldn’t have managed it before, when he was spending nearly all his time within smelling distance of his lordship, but for a quarter hour or a half-hour at a time, a few times a day? Easy.
And it was better this way.
…wasn’t it?
Link to Chapter Ten