Chapter Text
1
The package arrived inconspicuously enough; brown paper, slightly crumpled by its journey, a hastily wrapped string around its centre and “Mr T Barrow” written in cursive on the front. Nothing untoward, nothing to suggest the enormity of what lay inside it. Thomas held it for a minute, feeling the bumps and ridges underneath it, perplexed by the mystery package and even more so by the idea that he had actually received something in the post. He quickly set those thoughts aside though as he peeled back the string and paper to reveal the contents and spread them neatly out on his bed. In it there was a small note, three worn out, dog-eared books, the titles of which could barely be read anymore, and a bundle of letters tied together in a neat pile. He unfolded the note:
“Dear Mr Barrow,
Please find enclosed your mother’s possessions, which were at last recovered upon our closure of the asylum.
Yours sincerely,
Dr Frederick Walker”
Thomas stared at the note for some time, reading it over a few times to make sure he had understood its short meaning. He was slightly taken aback, his mother had died when he was still relatively young, perhaps around 10 years old, he couldn’t be exactly sure- she had spent so much time in institutions in the years leading up to her death that the years had blended together and become a hazy fog. After her death he had received her only smock and a small slightly tarnished locket; he had given the dress away but had stowed the locket in his dresser drawer, he had never thought about her having more possessions than that. His heart leapt suddenly, perhaps he was about to uncover more about his mother than the little information he already had! He hoped so, he barely remembered her now, though if he closed his eyes and thought hard enough he could see her, her black hair in a low bun, her warm chestnut eyes and a smile that radiated from her very soul and made him feel warm and safe. He could hear her voice singing him lullabies as he fell asleep and calling him “my little Tommy”. To Thomas she was an angel.
He didn’t waste any more time, he hastily pulled the letters out from the string and scanned through them, his eyes darting wildly and his fingers trembling slightly.
“To my darling sister Hettie,
I trust this letter finds you well. I do miss you awfully, the house is painfully quiet without you and mama is becoming harder to care for. She asks daily where father is, it seems she has forgotten his death almost entirely now and I have given up in my efforts to explain the situation to her and have succumbed to telling her that he is merely in the garden and will be home soon.
I hope your new life of servitude is suiting you well and that the family is kind. I did not quite realise their notoriety until I mentioned them to Charlotte who was asking after you in the village and she remarked on their rather lavish estate! I can only imagine the luxuries you have seen!
Please do write to me soon, Hettie, I have very few pleasures in life now and hearing from you is but one of them.
Affectionately,
Clara”
“Clara” Thomas whispered under his breath, the name rang a bell and now he could see why. He ran his finger over her name, this was his aunt, and here she was in black and white, laid out in ink in front of him. He wondered whether she was still alive, whether she knew of his existence, whether she thought of him. He noticed the date written in the right hand corner of the paper, the 12th of July 1888, almost a year before he was born.
He hurriedly flicked through the next dozen letters, silently hoping that there would be some mention of him- that they had still been in contact after his birth. He scanned the top right hand corner of the letters as he brushed past each one until he reached the final one- the 25th of July 1889- a month before he was born. Thomas paused, searching around the bed, hoping that there would be at least one more letter, but he had set the package’s contents out so neatly that there was clearly no mistake; this was the last letter.
“Dear Hettie,
It is with a heavy heart that with which I write this letter, however your intentions with your predicament have left me little choice.
You assert that the child’s father will help with his upbringing but I fail to see how you can know this and how that shall even be possible as it is to be born out of wedlock. I fear this man has manipulated you terribly, he has a family of his own already, it is pure greed and lust on his part that has led you astray and left you in this deplorable situation. I urge you reconsider my offer of giving the child to Lizzie and Daniel Cooper, they would be able to provide for the child and no one need ever know that your decency has been compromised.
If you choose to keep the child then I have no choice but to denounce you as my sister, though it pains me to say. Mama and I will not suffer the shame and humiliation for the sin you have chosen to commit, I trust you will understand this, as you know the shock alone could well kill mama in her current state.
I pray you reconsider.
Yours, Clara”
Thomas let out a sharp sigh, it hurt to read those words and to imagine his mother’s turmoil but she had chosen him over her family, she had sacrificed everything for him. He wished he could thank his mother for that now, for loving him enough to make that sacrifice. Thomas felt sure that he could firmly say now that someone had, at least once, loved him and it made him feel odd and happy and lost all at once.
He took a deep breath and leaned backwards, resting his head against the wall behind him. It was a lot to take in. His mother felt more real and more tangible than ever, there was proof in his hands that she existed, he hadn’t dreamt her up, and what’s more was that she had fought to stay with him and had not wanted to give him up. He had an aunt too! Aunt Clara… though he was almost certain she would not like to be referred to as such, like most people it seemed, Clara did not care for Thomas Barrow, even before he had been born.
He closed his eyes and imagined his mother once again, this time with the smooth curve of a pregnancy bump protruding prominently from her torso, he imagined her hands holding the bump lovingly, protecting an unborn Thomas from the outside world and those who wanted to take him from her… wait! Thomas sat bolt upright, his father! His aunt had mentioned his father in the letter! He skim read through the letter again, muttering the words under his breath until he came to the line he sought, “You assert that the child’s father will help with his upbringing but I fail to see how you can know this”. A smile evaded his lips; he knew very little about his father, Mrs Hughes had told him on occasion that Hettie had claimed he was a sailor and so their romance had been fleeting and yet deeply romantic. As a child he had tried desperately to imagine this man, he pictured a slightly older looking version of himself, with a moustache and imposing looking muscles formed from years of hard work aboard a ship, but the ideas of his father proved too abstract and he would often end up frustrated and so he had stopped trying to imagine. Yet here on paper was a glimpse of his father, a sliver of information: his father had wanted to help with his upbringing, perhaps then, his father too had loved him! He read on “…he has a family of his own already…” Thomas frowned and bit the side of his thumb anxiously. He had a family? Thomas had not known that and didn’t make him feel particularly overjoyed to think of his conception as the result of a dirty extramarital-affair. He repeated Mrs Hughes words in his head to soothe him “Your mother was quite smitten, she would spend many an hour cooing over how very much in love she was. She scarcely got any work done when they were courting! Quite the distraction!”
Yes, he reminded himself, feeling calmer, they had been in love, he had probably been very unhappy in his marriage and he had found a soul mate in his mother… and yet… How could she know he had a family if he was a visiting sailor? Did sailors even have families? It seemed unlikely if he was constantly at sea… but then how could he offer to help raise Thomas if he was never going to be around? Come to think of it, how had she met a sailor in the first place? They were miles from the coast and even if they had met on a day trip to Scarborough, it was unlikely that they had fallen in love after one meeting… It didn’t make sense, he couldn’t add it up in his mind and it niggled and gnawed at him.
“Why were there not more letters?!” He lamented to himself, if there were more letters then he might have had answers but he found himself with more questions than he had ever had before.
“Thomas?” There was a knock at his door and he suddenly became very aware of his surroundings, he felt as though he had been living in a dream like state since he had opened the package and the knock at the door shook him back to reality. “Come in” he said, quickly pushing the contents of the parcel behind him.
“What are you doing lounging about as though you’ve got nothing to do? Carson’ll have your guts for garters if you don’t get downstairs soon!” Jimmy stood in the doorway to Thomas’ room, an expression of mock surprise with a cheeky smile glinting through. Thomas feigned a smile; he was never quite sure how to act around Jimmy anymore since their “incident”, they had agreed of course to be friends and Jimmy had clearly slipped quite easily back into their original set up but Thomas found it harder- he wanted so much to be around him but he didn’t want to accidentally over step the mark and push Jimmy away yet at the same time did not want to find himself being convinced that Jimmy was interested in more than just friendship through his naturally flirtatious mannerisms and he found the whole process quite exhausting. What’s more he now had his own internal dialogue about his mother and his father and his family running rings around his brain.
He glanced at his pocket watch, dammit he was right, Carson would definitely have something to say about his tardiness. His delving into his past would have to wait until his duties were over.
“Ah, right, yes” Thomas sighed, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers, he ushered Jimmy out of the door and shut the door behind them both in an effort not to let his new prized possessions be seen by Jimmy; that would only lead to questions and Thomas was hesitant to grow closer to Jimmy than he already had done and exposing his feelings would definitely do that.
“You ok?” Jimmy asked, a quizzical look on his face as he tracked Thomas’ emotions.
“Yes, yes, fine.” He replied snappily, trying to avoid any further questions, “Come on then.” And he brushed past him towards the stairs.
2
It was late by the time Thomas made it back up to his room; he had the usual busy day of comings and goings, running up and down stairs and trying his best to be polite to the Crawleys and keeping up a stony cold persona for the servants so that they would avoid him. He could feel pressure building in his temples and eyelids were heavy but he wanted to properly read through the letters again, he wanted to make sure he hadn’t missed a detail. He wasn’t holding much hope that Clara had revealed much more in her scathing takedowns of her sister’s character though.
He closed the door behind him and exhaled deeply. Pulling his bow tie and jacket off as he made his way over to the bed. He took his time sifting through each letter, trying to read between the lines but there were fewer references to his father or him than he hoped. Most of the letters were filled with drab detail of Clara’s daily chores or village gossip and the occasional remark on something Hettie must have written to her about life at Downton, but nothing that opened any more doors to Thomas’ past.
He picked up the faded books, which sat in a pile next to him. Maybe he would read them and feel some sort of bond with his mother? It was worth a try perhaps. He opened the first one, there was an inscription written on the inside cover in a small scrawled font, “Dearest Henrietta on your 16th birthday, love Papa”. He smiled faintly, he’d discovered another family member it seemed, this was his grandfather beginning to take form out of ink and paper. He knew it was his grandfather’s sudden death in the winter before his mother’s 18th birthday that had triggered her decision to take the position at Downton, in order to provide for her family and ailing mother.
Thomas flicked through the opening pages of the gifted book and tried very hard to take the words in and find some interest in their meaning but he soon gave up. Perhaps his taste in reading and his mother’s were quite different. He picked up the second one, this too had an inscription written in another, slightly familiar hand, “Dearest H, on your 18th birthday, may your own life's story be as full of adventure and happiness as the books that you read, love Clara”. Intrigued by the message, Thomas opened this book, he was taken aback by the first page; it was covered in slanted inking, very different to Clara’s looping letters and his grandfather’s scrawl. He read slowly, a lump in his throat- “I fear my sister does rather overestimate the sort of life I lead in giving me this journal. I can’t say I have much to offer in the way of adventure for the pages of this book but it will at least pass the time I hope…” Thomas bit his lip, scared to let himself be happy by this discovery. This was his mother’s journal! Her actual journal, her inner thoughts and feelings written down for him to see! He checked the date written for the entry, “1st of June 1888”. He breathed deeply to try and steady his nerves and quickly flipped the pages of the journal to check they had all been written on. Each one was covered in his mother’s penmanship, which seemed to dance and shine on the pages. He flipped to the last page “24th of December 1889” was written neatly at the top. Tears sprang to his eyes unwillingly; he would be in this journal! That had been his first Christmas! What would his mother had written about him? What details would she have included about his father? His stomach flipped with excitement and anticipation, his mother felt only a fingertip’s distance away now and with each line he would grow closer to her still.
He read each word carefully, as if each were a symbol or a secret code full of meaning, which he might somehow miss. The first few pages of the journal merely outlined his mother’s daily life and though probably rather dull to most people, these descriptions were mesmerising to Thomas. The light from his lamp had significantly dimmed by the time he reached the pages upon which she arrived at Downton Abbey. He smiled to himself as she described her amazement at the “magnificent courtyard” and “opulent fixtures”. He stifled a laugh as she began to comment on her fellow servants, most of whom he had never heard of, but a few were familiar: “Then there is Mr Carson, an unusual man it seems, he is kind enough though the sort of person who seems older than their years and is adoration for the family that we serve is quite startling to say the least!”
“Not much has changed there, mother,” He smiled to himself “though I’m not quite sure about the kind part”
“…She introduced me to Mrs Hughes who is a very kindly Scottish lady. She is very warm and friendly and reminds me very much of mama before she became unwell and forgot herself”
Thomas liked that part, he had often thought of Mrs Hughes as a mother figure and he was glad that she had been kind to his own mother.
“Our master here is Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, he is supposedly very kind to his staff and the small amount I have seen of him seems to confirm that notion. He has a young American wife, Cora, whom I am yet to meet as she ladyship has travelled back to America for the summer months, though I hear she is really rather personable too.”
He loved reading her first impressions of everything and how similar they were to his own opinions, which had been formed throughout his childhood and beyond.
He read on through several people’s names, who he didn’t recognise and various long and elaborate descriptions of different rooms, he found himself yawning and glanced at the time- ok, it really was quite late now, he would read one more entry and then he would go to sleep.
“I have enjoyed such a pleasant evening! Quite unexpectantly I was called to see Lord Grantham after dinner so that he might introduce himself properly! You can hardly imagine how nervous I was! Fortunately though he was a perfect gentleman. He asked about my family and my upbringing and seemed genuinely moved when he heard about the plight of our family after papa’s death. We ended up discussing literature of all things and he showed me his personal library- you have never seen such a collection! He directed me to one of his favourite books and read me a passage, the name escapes me now but it scarcely matters, he has the most beautiful reading voice, so calm and pleasant, I felt as if I could have quite happily fallen asleep listening to him reading! I did not of course- how improper that would have been! He is such a gentleman that he has insisted that I can borrow books from there as I wish and has asked that I come and discuss my thoughts on them when I have finished! How fortunate I am that he is so kind! I feel tonight as though I am walking on air with happiness!”
Thomas set the journal down on the bed, he felt strange after reading the last passage. Lord Grantham had never mentioned his mother before to him, as far as he could remember and yet it seemed they had known each other more than most servants know their masters. Though all this happened almost 30 years ago now, he supposed, and perhaps he barely remembered her, especially with all the new servants that had come and gone in the years since then. He made a mental note to ask Mrs Hughes in the morning about his mother’s friendship with Lord Grantham. Yet as he slipped into his bedclothes and turned out the light, he felt slightly uneasy and couldn’t make out why. Perhaps it had been his mother’s parting line in the entry, “I feel tonight as though I am walking on air with happiness!” Thomas knew exactly what his mother meant by that description; he had felt that way only once himself- the day he had first met Jimmy.