Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

York Cottage, Northern Estate of the Sentinel & Guide Order, 1920

There were very few joys in life that equalled the sense of waking up wrapped around his Guide.

Richard Ellis stretched enjoying the feel of Thomas’ body snugged into his own, his belly pressed into Thomas’ back, skin to skin from neck to toes.  He buried his nose in the short black hairs by Thomas’ neck, laying a gentle kiss as he tucked him impossibly closer, his fingers caressing the scarred flesh of Thomas’ hand.

Thomas snuffled into his pillow.

Richard thought it adorable, but then he thought everything about his Guide was adorable.  All six foot of prickly Thomas Barrow was utterly adorable in Richard’s eyes.

“You know I can feel you,” Thomas said quietly.  He was a powerfully empathic Guide.

“Good,” Richard murmured, “you should know how much I adore you.”

Thomas shuffled, turning in Richard’s arms to face him.  “Sometimes I can’t fathom how much I love you.”

They kissed softly, chastely even.

Richard carded his hand through Thomas’ silken hair, free of product until they were up and dressed.

“You are absolutely the best thing to ever happen to me,” Richard said seriously.

Thomas blushed.  His pale complexion didn’t leave room for hiding when he was flustered. 

They were meant to be.  The lore was thus: ‘for every Sentinel, there is a Guide, and for every Guide there is a Sentinel.’  With their enhanced senses, Sentinels protected the tribe from physical threats, and with their spiritual and empathic gifts, Guides protected the tribe’s minds and souls.  It was a partnership of equals.  He and Thomas were a perfect match and had been from the day Thomas’ gifts awakened six years before.

Despite his being at the Sentinel House in York and Thomas already at the Army recruitment centre in Richmond, Richard had felt Thomas’ spiritual presence as though he was standing right next to him.  Then, Thomas’ spirit animal, a huge temperamental black panther had shown up and Richard had been claimed.  He’d later learned Richard’s own spirit animal, a tawny lion, had stood guard over his distraught and bewildered Guide until Richard himself had arrived to take up that duty.

Richard kissed Thomas again, let himself sink into the feel of Thomas’ lips, the taste of his tongue, the smooth skin under his fingers.

They loved each other, sliding together with the familiarity of a long-bonded couple.  Richard knew when he gripped Thomas’ hip just there, and Thomas clenched his hand on Richard like that…neither of them lasted long…

They bathed in their well-appointed bathroom with its full indoor amenities.  It felt luxurious even to Richard to wallow in the claw-tub bath in hot steaming soapy water. 

Their bonded accommodation was the prime house on the estate in line with their gifted status.  The class system did not exist within the grounds of the Sentinel and Guide estate, but even the Order was not immune from hierarchy.

Richard and Thomas held the titles of the Northern Order First Sentinel and Guide, the second ranked Sentinel and Guide pair only behind the Southern Order Sentinel and Guide pair who had standing across the entirety of the British Isles and Empire.  It hadn’t been easy for Thomas who had been used to a life in service and trade to adjust, although the Great War had taken care of forcing the issue in a way that a peacetime transition would not have done.  Much of the Order’s day-to-day running was still delegated out to a number of their tribe.

They were almost dressed when their man, a mundane called Parsons, interrupted to bring them an urgent summons from the office.  Parsons had served in the Army with them.  A Londoner, he was older than both Richard and Thomas, a small man with a bald head and an impeccable sense of loyalty.  He’d saved Thomas’ life on the Front and that was all that mattered to Richard.    

Richard took a moment to admire his Guide once more as they finished dressing. 

Thomas looked incredibly handsome in his smart tailored three-piece suit.  The dark blue brought out his grey eyes and complemented his dark hair.  Richard had spent his childhood in the back of his father’s tailoring shop and there was no doubt in his mind that if his testing at fifteen hadn’t sent him to the Order, he’d have ended up following his father’s footsteps.  He smoothed a hand over his own grey suit, greener in tone than grey in truth.  It suited his own colouring of blond-brown hair and blue eyes better.

They shrugged on warm coats and hats to walk across the estate to the main office building which looked like just another unassuming house to the uninformed.

They were greeted by Richard’s Second, Robin Huntingdon, the Viscount Locksley, and his Guide, Kit.  The two men accompanied them into the Office where their formidable secretary, Mabel Howard, and Police Superintendent Arthur Berry, awaited them all.

Richard was pleased to see tea and breakfast sandwiches waiting.  They settled at the large conference table and as soon as the tea was served, they began devouring the food.

“The Chief Constable has requested the assistance of the Order in the matter of an unnatural death,” Mabel stated bluntly.  Her tightly curled grey hair was styled in the fashion of the previous year.   “Superintendent Berry has been sent to brief us.”

Berry inclined his head, revealing the bald spot creeping into the already tidy grey trimmed hairstyle. His brown eyes were sombre as he turned to them.  “There’s been a murder at Downton Abbey, the home of…”

Thomas almost choked on his tea.  “What?!”

Richard reached out with his hand, and it was a sign of his upset that Thomas took it immediately.  Richard felt the rush of horror that had coursed through Thomas at the name of his old employment ease away.

“My apologies, Superintendent,” Thomas said, recovering, “just…I know the place well.”

On the other side of the table, Kit and Robin regarded Thomas with concern.

“Ah, well,” Berry sighed, “then you’ll know why the Chief Constable’s taken an interest.”

“Did the Earl of Grantham request a favour?” Thomas asked, a caustic edge to the words.

Berry grimaced.  “He telephoned the Chief Constable first thing.”

“Lovely,” Thomas snapped out.  His hand was still clinging tightly to Richard’s.  “I’ve a mind to refuse it just for that.”

“Nobody could complain if you did,” Berry agreed before Richard could say the same.

Richard waited, rubbing a thumb over Thomas’ knuckles as his Guide took a moment and breathed, re-centring himself after the shock.

“Tell us everything you know and we’ll decide,” Thomas sighed.  He ignored his half-eaten breakfast sandwich and reached instead for his tea.

Mabel pushed it closer for him.

Berry nodded.  “Sir Richard Carlisle was found dead in his bed at five this morning by his valet, Mister Oscar Pike.  He had a gunshot wound to his head.”

Kit leaned forward.  “Carlisle, the media magnate?”

Berry nodded again.  “Another reason why the Chief Constable thought it prudent to take up the unorthodox request.”  He paused.  “In truth, Mister Pike raised the alarm, shooed everyone out of the room and stood guard at the door demanding that the Chief Constable be called.  The Chief noted that while the Earl made light of the valet making such a request that perhaps it was best for someone from the Yard to take over the investigation in the circumstances.”

Richard snorted at that.

“The Chief has also raised concern that there was a suspicious death in the Abbey before the war and he wasn’t for having Sir Richard’s death swept similarly under the carpet,” Berry admitted quietly.

Richard squeezed Thomas’ hand. 

Thomas had told Richard about the death of the Turk Kemal Pamuk when they had been bonding.  Thomas had sensed Pamuk’s lust for the elder Crawley daughter when valeting for the man.  It had stopped him making an ill-judged pass of his own with the attractive Turk, especially as homosexual men were not tolerated outside of the Order.  He’d noted that everyone had seen Lady Mary Crawley and Pamuk flirting at the dinner that evening. 

He’d been horrified to find the Turk dead the next day and had known in the aftermath that things were not quite right with the way Pamuk had died.  But Thomas had only been a servant at the time, not especially liked by the household to boot, and it wasn’t his place to question events.  When rumours had emerged that Pamuk had actually died in Lady Mary’s bedroom in the middle of a seduction, Thomas had realised what had likely happened in truth.

“The Chief immediately called me, and I sent my best men from York up to the Abbey to take control of the situation while I arranged to come here,” Berry said.     

“Do we know why the valet went to knock Carlisle awake so early?” asked Robin, picking up his tea and taking a sip. 

Mabel cleared her throat.  “Sergeant Harris called with an early report ahead of Superintendent Berry’s arrival.”  She taps the folder in front of her.  “I have the details here, but we hadn’t had a chance to go over things before you arrived.”

“Let’s hear it then,” Richard ordered.

Mabel nodded.  She flipped open the folder.  “Mister Pike maintains that Sir Richard Carlisle was found at five in the morning.  He had gone to wake his employer as they were leaving at the earliest opportunity by car for London having had an altercation with the heir to the Granthan estate, Mister Matthew Crawley, after Lady Mary Crawley broke their engagement.”

“Oh my,” Robin murmured, “it all sounds rather too much like those dreadful fiction stories my mother enjoys.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Thomas muttered.

“Harris stepped inside Carlisle’s room to confirm that the man was dead as reported,” Mabel continued.  “He found the gentleman still in bed, semi-attired in pyjama trousers.  He had a single gunshot wound to the head, and a small revolver was in his hand suggesting suicide.  Mister Pike is convinced his employer was furious at events the night before, not suicidal.  He maintains that Sir Richard was murdered.” She looked up from her notes, snagging her wireframe glasses from her face and setting them aside.  “Sergeant Harris has secured the room once more and has a Constable guarding it.  He has secluded the family and is providing a guard for them.  He’s awaiting Superintendent Berry’s instruction.”

“If you feel unable to provide assistance in the matter, I’ll send to Scotland Yard for a Detective Inspector,” Berry said.

Richard looked over at Berry.  “Please could you leave us for a moment to discuss the matter?”

Berry inclined his head once more and stood up.  They stood with him as Mabel stepped in to show him into the anteroom where he could wait with some fresh tea.

They all sat as Mabel closed the door and left the four of them alone.

“It definitely needs investigating,” Kit commented quietly.  “A rich man is dead whether by his own hand or another.”

“But is it truly for us to deal with or do we deem the whole affair a police matter?”  asked Robin.  “The Order is not called out to assist with the murder of every Tom, Dick and Harry.”

“We have abilities which will enable us to determine the truth which they do not,” Kit said.  “This is likely to be a can of worms opened by a needle in the haystack, all presented with a basket of kittens.”

Richard and Thomas both smiled at the analogy.

“Kit’s not wrong,” Thomas said.  “He’s just forgotten the side order of drama above and below stairs that’ll accompany it all.” 

Robin huffed.  “And you are not wrong about that.” He looked at Thomas sharply. “You said you knew Downton Abbey?”

“I was in service there,” Thomas admitted. 

Richard felt his shame trickle across their bond and sent him a wave of love and reassurance in response.

“Just as the war started, the Sentinel and Guide Privy Council made the decision to remove the aristocracy’s remaining responsibilities for ensuring the testing Sentinel and Guide latency for their staff and families,” Robin noted.  “The reasoning why was all kept hush-hush in order not to unsettle the populace since there was a war starting, and the official position was that it was to ensure efficiency while there was a war on.”

“Your point?” asked Richard mildly.

Robin’s gaze flickered to where Richard continued to hold Thomas’ hand.  “My sincere apologies if this is difficult topic for you both, but it is common knowledge in the Order that you, Thomas, were not tested until you enlisted, and that prior to that you were in service.”

There was an uncomfortable beat of silence.

“Most of the Order has deduced that the change in responsibilities was due to the utter failure of the previous procedures in ensuring you were tested properly,” Kit said gently.

Thomas glanced at Richard questioningly.

It would always be Thomas’ decision who to confide in, but if they couldn’t confide in Robin and Kit, who could they?

“I had been in service at Downton Abbey for four years when the war was declared,” Thomas said. “I was training to be a clockmaker under my Da in Manchester most of my childhood.  Looking back, working on the clocks was a form of meditation.”

“I can see that,” Kit said supportively.

“He threw me out when I turned fourteen when he caught me kissing a boy,” Thomas continued. 

Richard squeezed his hand to give him courage.

“My Ma managed to see me that night at a neighbour’s where I was sheltering and sent me to Asheton Hall near Ilkley where she used to work.  I joined as a hall boy for the Braithwaites,” Thomas said.  “They left everything to do with the staff to the butler there, a doddery old fellow called Poppington.  He never sent any of us for testing.”

“The investigation after Thomas’ awakening found that out,” Richard murmured.  “Poppington had passed by then.  The staff was small and, on testing all those we traced who served at Asheton, it was only Thomas who was latent.”

Robin still looked appalled.  “Why then was it missed at Downton?”

“The butler there, Carson, is a very religious man,” Richard jumped in when Thomas struggled to speak.  “He believes like many orthodox Christians that the Order is unholy as it allows people of the same sex to bond and partake in sexual activity, not just a man and woman.  He would send the hall boys and housemaids up to the centre for testing as needed when they turned sixteen, but any new staff of age, he’d simply record them as mundane, didn’t ask them at all.”

“I guess I see his reasoning.  If they’d have had to have been tested prior to coming to him, and if they were in service and not at the Order, they were logically mundane,” Kit surmised.

“I’d just turned seventeen when I arrived there.  He lied in the investigation.  He claimed that he had asked me, and that I must have lied to him that I was mundane,” Thomas grimaced. “But he never asked me about my status, not that I recall.  All I remember is getting a stern lecture about not bringing the house into disrepute and then I was put straight to work.  But it was my word against his.”

“And the Earl went to bat for his butler,” Robin said.

Thomas sighed.  “In fairness, I never told Carson I hadn’t been tested.  And I was a bit of a troublemaker when I was there, cheeky, cocky.  Sometimes I found it difficult to concentrate and would just need to get away from the house and the people, so I’d sneak breaks; got the reputation for being work-shy even though my work was always done, and work-shy is not a good reputation to have in service.  It didn’t make me well-liked amongst the other staff and I did not respond well to their blatant criticism and disdain.  I’m not surprised Lord Grantham believed Carson over me.” 

“You were a completely untrained latent guide trying to cope with the pressures of unguarded mundane minds and feelings pressing up against your own,” Kit said.  “I feel horrified just at the thought of it.”

“Unfortunately, it wasn’t just mundanes,” Richard said softly.  The rest of it still made him furious.  “The Lady’s Maid, O’Brien, was a dormant Sentinel.  O’Brien had apparently managed to persuade the Lady of the House to take her into her service when O’Brien did her a good deed.  O’Brien ran before we could speak with her, but going by Thomas’ account, it’s clear she latched onto him and used him to ground her.”

Kit shuddered.

Robin looked as furious as Richard felt.

“Doctor Burton thinks that it is a miracle she didn’t drive Thomas into dormancy himself,” Richard noted in a clipped tone. 

Thomas sent him a soothing rush of affection.  “Another dormant Sentinel, John Bates, was hired in 1912.  Not that I knew at the time, but that started a territorial feud with O’Brien who saw him as an intruder and she embroiled me in it.  The fallout from the fighting made it untenable for me to stay.  The war gave me a good excuse to leave as an avenue of other employment was suddenly available to me.”

“The butler had both down as mundanes in his logbook and claimed they’d lied when asked,” Richard said grumpily.  “Bates did confirm that he’d never been asked.”    

“Well, I’m really not surprised that the regulatory changes came in after all that,” Robin commented, setting his cup and saucer down.  “I’d like to think we would have been able to show a clean record at Locksley, but I cannot be certain since my father and our butler would have sway over that.”

“I can appreciate why neither of you would wish to go to Downton,” Kit said.  “However, setting aside all the politics at play here, and even the players…”

“It feels like we need to be involved,” Thomas supplied.

The two guides exchanged an understanding look.

“Psionic shenanigans?” Richard enquired.

Thomas nodded.  His gaze met Richard’s.  “I think we need to go there ourselves.”

“I’ll follow you anywhere,” Richard said.  He raised Thomas’ hand and kissed the back of it gently.

Thomas smiled at him.  “Let’s get Berry back in here and start talking logistics.  A man’s been murdered and the sooner we get to Downton and start our investigation, the better.”

“We’ll follow your lead,” Robin confirmed with a sharp smile.  He nodded at Kit. “You won’t go to Downton without back-up, that I can promise you.”

o-O-o

Downton Abbey, 1920

“It is a beautiful estate,” Richard commented as they drove up the long winding road to the Abbey.  “A grand house indeed.”

“It is,” Thomas said.  “I was very proud to serve here at one time.”

Richard took a moment to lean over and kiss Thomas softly.  “I’m very proud of you.”

Thomas smiled, his nerves shining out of his expressive eyes before he composed himself, determination settling over his features like a mask.

Across from them, Robin tipped his head and Kit looked out thoughtfully as they approached the house.

The car pulled up outside the main door to the house and they came to a gentle halt.

A brown-haired brown-eyed footman opened their door, and Richard exited the vehicle to stand on the gravel driveway.

Thomas stepped up, side by side with Richard to greet the Earl of Grantham who was bounding down the steps towards them, despite the protests of Sergeant Harris who was trying to catch up with him, pushing past the irritated butler, Carson, who was at the door.

By all accounts, Robert Crawley wasn’t a bad man, Richard considered as he took in the Earl.  Grantham was dressed in a warm tweed suit with a maroon tie.  His curly grey hair was swept back from a once handsome face which had matured into a more homely visage.  He was the picture of elegance.  If gossip was to be believed, he wasn’t a good business manager, following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather.  From everything Thomas had said when they’d met, if Grantham wasn’t careful, his own children would have to marry fortunes to keep Downton Abbey just as he had done with his own wife, Cora.

“Ah, thank you all for – ” Grantham blundered to a stop as he gawped at Richard’s Guide.  “Thomas?!”

Richard clocked the Carson’s shocked craggy face as he maintained his position by the door.  The rotund butler’s illustrative eyebrows were almost on top of his head.     

“It’s Guide Barrow now, Lord Grantham,” Thomas said politely beside him.  “May I introduce the Northern Order First Sentinel, Richard Ellis.” He paused.  “My Sentinel.”

Grantham nodded towards Richard, but his eyes remained on Thomas.

“May I also introduce you to our Seconds, Sentinel Robin Huntingdon, the Viscount Locksley, and his Guide, Kit Smythe-Jones.”

The introduction of a fellow aristocrat tore Grantham’s gaze away from Thomas.  He knew better than to offer his hand to Sentinels and Guides, but he gave Robin a hearty nod.

“Thank you for coming out, gentlemen,” Grantham said.  “This has been a terrible business, but I’m sure it will be quickly sorted.”

“I imagine so, Lord Grantham,” Richard replied.  He looked past Grantham to the waiting red-faced Sergeant and nodded an acknowledgement to him.  He turned back to Crawley.  “Once we’ve assessed the situation with Sergeant Harris, we’ll start our interviews.  If you can arrange for one of the rooms to be given over to us for our use for the interviews with the family and your guests, it would be appreciated.  Sentinel Huntingdon and Guide Smythe-Jones will liaise with you to ensure it is set-up in the way we need.”

“Of course,” Grantham said, smoothly, “we’ll accommodate whatever you need.  Carson will assist you.”

“I think not,” Richard said pleasantly but implacably.  “Given Mister Carson’s history with the Order and with my Guide, I believe the housekeeper, Mrs Hughes, would be the better liaison between ourselves and the staff in the circumstances.”

Thomas had only ever had good things to say about Mrs Hughes when they had spoken of his time at Downtown.

Still, both Carson and the Earl visibly flinched.  Carson went a worrying purple-red in his face, but Richard ignored it.

“Ah, if that is your preference,” Grantham stuttered out.

“It is,” Richard said firmly.  “I will tolerate no disrespect to my Guide, or my Seconds.”

Grantham looked like he was sucking a lemon, but he nodded.  “Of course.”

Richard held his gaze for a moment assessing his sincerity before he gave a short, sharp nod of his own.  He gestured at the policeman hovering beyond Grantham’s shoulder.  “Sergeant, if you could escort myself and Guide Barrow to the scene of the crime?”

Harris puffed up with importance and extended his arm back towards the house.

Richard made for the door, walking past the Earl with a doff of his hat, comfortable Thomas was right beside him.

Carson moved back to provide entry and Richard ignored his presence completely as they swept hats off and entered the hallway.  Another footman divested them of their outerwear, and finally they made for the grand staircase.

They were led along an upstairs corridor to one of the bedrooms.  A constable stood outside the door and moved away when Harris waved him off.  Harris unlocked the door allowing Richard and Thomas entry and switched the wall light on.  He followed them in, hovering in the doorway.

“Please leave us, Sergeant,” Thomas said politely.  “We’ll make our assessment and be out to speak to you shortly.”

“Understood, Guide Barrow,” Harris said gruffly.

Richard held out his hand and grasped Thomas’ as he began to take in the scene with all of his enhanced senses.

The immediate surface impression was a strong scent of lemon wax.  It was likely used to polish the wood and Richard noted that there was hardly a speck of dust anywhere, even on the canopy over the bed frame. 

He breathed, focused on Thomas as his anchor and pushed past the surface impression.

“There’s been at least six women in this room over the past two days,” Richard says, tilting his head to take a better sniff.  “Five or six men too.  From the scents I’d say it was at least the Earl, the valet, Carlisle, the footman and Carson.  One unknown.”

He turned his attention to the tableau on the bed.

“He’s been dead since the early hours of the morning,” Richard continued.  “Single gunshot.  There’s a burnt pillow.”

They moved to take a closer look.

Richard stared down at the body. 

Carlisle was sprawled on his back, right arm extended across the bed, the small revolver held loosely in his hand.  There was a small gunshot wound to the right side of his head, the blood congealed around the wound.  The exit wound was likely in the back and Richard knew once they moved him, they’d find the puddle of brains and blood seeped into the pillow and mattress underneath.   He relayed as much to Thomas.

“Unlikely suicide then,” Thomas noted dispassionately.  “Angle’s wrong for that.”

“Rest of the body is wrong for that,” Richard agreed.  “Any empathic impressions?”

“Anger,” Thomas said immediately.  “He was very angry, and it overwhelms everything else in the room.”  He tugged them towards the wardrobe and pulled out a dinner suit hanging there.  “Humiliated.  There was a fight.  He was punched.”

“That’ll be the broken engagement and altercation then,” Richard said.

“He was vengeful,” Thomas murmured.  “He intended to hurt them all.”

Richard nodded.  From what little he knew of the man, Sir Richard Carlisle was a ruthless and nasty operator.  It did not surprise him in the least to realise that the man intended revenge.

“Someone got to him first,” Richard said.  He tapped the open dresser drawer.  “Gun was likely his and stored in here.  I can smell the gun oil.”

Thomas pursed his lips.  “We should check that with the valet.”

Richard nodded.  He let go of his Guide and made a careful progression around the room.

Thomas pulled a set of thin gloves on and started to review the contents of the wardrobe and drawers. 

Nothing else looked out of place or disturbed to Richard’s mind.  He wondered at the half-dressed Carlisle.  Was it his habit to sleep with only pyjama bottoms – the shirt was discarded on the chair – or was that another unusual clue?

Thomas hummed over by the wardrobe. 

Richard went over to him immediately.  “Thomas?”

Thomas pointed at the small brown leather folder on the top shelf of the wardrobe.  “This is filled with papers.  It’s partially open.  The surface impression is anxiety mixed with hope.”

Richard frowned.  He folded his arms over his chest and made a slow review of the room.  “Someone came looking for whatever Carlisle had on them.”

“That would be my guess,” Thomas said.  “Difficult to know though if they found what they were looking for or if they didn’t, and if it was when they came to shoot him or if someone rifled through it earlier in the day.”

Richard sighed.  “Carlisle didn’t particularly help himself, did he?”

Thomas nodded.  “Let’s ask them to bring the valet up so we can ask some questions.”  He looked over Richard.  “You’re doing alright with the corpse smell?”

Richard nodded.  “It isn’t as bad as I feared.  Room’s cold and the lemon wax hides a lot.”

Thomas huffed a laugh.  “Room being cold is the staff being petty.  A footman’s supposed to lay out extra wood, ‘specially in the winter months.” He pointed at the empty basket by the hearth.  “Not to give someone extra is a signal they held no favour.”

Richard smiled, proud of Thomas showing off his knowledge.  “You don’t think it’s a sign of premeditation?”

“You mean someone deliberately making it so the room was cold to hide the timing of the body’s death?” Thomas shook his head.

Richard hummed and crossed over to the door to request for Pike to be sent up.  Thomas headed over to the closed curtains and opened them up.  A bright shaft of sunlight struck the room, illuminating the whirling dust motes that had been dislodged from the curtain folds.

It only took a few minutes for Pike to arrive.  He was ushered in by Harris and stayed close to the bedroom door as they made quick introductions, his eyes resolutely fixed to Thomas, away from the body of his employer. 

Richard took in the long thin man with a matching face, his thinning hair swept back with product.  He looked nervous but determined. 

“Mister Pike,” Thomas said politely, “our apologies for asking you to do this, but we must be certain that there is nothing missing from Sir Richard’s belongings.  May I ask you to take a look?”

“Of course,” Pike looked relieved at the request. 

He went immediately to the wardrobe and looked carefully through the set of clothing.  His eyes flickered to the open leather folder briefly.  He made for the dresser and the drawers.  His eyes ran over the cufflinks and watches set out.

“All seems to be in order,” Pike said crisply. He pointed at one of the suits.  “Sir Richard requested that suit for travelling this morning when he changed for bed.  He wanted to leave before the rest of the household would be up.”

“Was it his habit to sleep without the top?” asked Richard, pointing at the discarded pyjama shirt.

Pike nodded.  “He rarely slept with it on.”      

“And the gun?” Richard asked.  “Can you confirm that it was Sir Richard’s?”

“Yes,” Pike grimaced. “He bought it earlier this year after he was shot at leaving his club.  He blamed it on people unhappy with him publishing about the Juniper scandal.  He’d received threats you see.”

That scandal had been a doozy, Richard remembered.  Carlisle’s newspaper had revealed a long-term affair between Sir Arthur Juniper, a shipping magnate, and his former housekeeper, a Mrs Madelaine Gordon which had all come out after his death.  Apparently, there had been a grown illegitimate child and Gordon had been a beneficiary of Juniper’s will which had infuriated his three legitimate sons.  Carlisle had exposed the whole thing leading to the mistress shooting herself.  The illegitimate offspring had apparently ran for the hills without a penny. 

Nasty business.

“And you, Mister Pike, what were your thoughts about your employer, may I ask?” Richard straightened to look directly at the man.

Pike grimaced, his thin lips pressing into almost nothingness.  “He was a hard man,” he allowed.  “I’ve been with him since the end of the war and found him to be difficult to please and ruthless in his dealings.  His ambition knew no limits and that made him less than pleasant.”

“But?” prompted Thomas.

“But he was fair to me,” Pike said.  “Demanding to be certain, and he did hate any of the staff taking any time for ourselves.  He complained when the servants here were excused for Christmas lunchtime, and he complained about the whole idea of the Servants’ Ball.  He was thrilled to hear it was cancelled due to His Lordship’s former valet being found guilty of murder and sentenced to hanging.”

“You don’t mean Mister Bates?” asked Thomas. 

Richard felt Thomas’ shock resonating through their bond.  He hid a wince.  He hadn’t exactly hidden what was going on with Bates and his murder charge from Thomas, but he hadn’t informed his Guide of the matter either.  He was Thomas’ Sentinel, Richard thought tersely; it was his duty and honour to protect his Guide.

“Indeed I do, Guide Barrow,” Pike responded.  “His wife works downstairs herself and has been quite distraught about it this past day since the verdict came down.”

Thomas took a breath, pushing past his shock, and pointed at the leather folder.  “Is this usually kept here?”

Pike nodded.  “Sir Richard claimed it held all of his important papers.  He’d go nowhere without it.”

“May we ask you to detail what happened from your perspective from the end of dinner last night?” Thomas queried briskly.

Pike nodded.  “Sir Richard called for me around ten. It was rather early for him, he usually retired after eleven.  He explained that Lady Mary Crawley had broken their engagement.  His appearance was in some disarray, nothing another person may have realised except for a valet – we notice scuffs and marks.  I later found out he’d had a tussle with Mister Matthew Crawley which had to be broken up by Lord Grantham and the Dowager Countess.  One of the footmen was gossiping about it when I went back downstairs, but they shut up pretty sharpish when they saw me.”

Richard and Thomas waited for Pike to collect himself.

“When I dressed him for bed, Sir Richard gave me the instruction to wake him promptly at five, that we would be leaving first thing this morning for London by car,” Pike recited crisply. “He was angry and I found it best not to try to engage him in any conversation during those moments.”

“Did he say anything himself about the altercation?” asked Thomas.

Pike shook his head.  He hesitated before continuing.  “He did make a comment that he’d ruin Lady Mary.  I believe his exact words were ‘if she thinks she can cast me off without consequences, she can think again.  I’ll see her ruined if it’s the last thing I do.’”

Richard and Thomas exchanged a quick glance.

“Is that why you barricaded the room and demanded the police be called?” asked Richard dryly.

“My employer was many things,” Pike said, nodding.  “Suicidal was not one of them.  I knew as soon as…” he waved towards the bed but did not look.  He drew himself up.  “I may not have liked the man but if it is murder, he should have justice just like any other man.”

Richard felt Thomas’ grudging admiration for the valet and had to repress the urge to smile.

“Forgive the impertinence,” Richard began, “it is a standard query in these matters, but do you know who the beneficiary of Sir Richard’s estate might be?” 

Pike nodded.  “I witnessed the will myself, Sentinel Ellis.  Everything was left to Lady Mary as he assumed they were to marry.  I believe there were a few smaller bequests to friends and a distant cousin, Alistair Carlisle.  They were not close.” He gestured. “Hardon and Clementine in London handled his personal legal affairs.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” asked Richard.

Pike grimaced.  “It will not surprise you to know it, sir, but Sir Richard had many enemies.  He delighted in his words at ‘poking the bear.’  I realise that one should not speak ill of the dead, but is it wrong to say as much as I was shocked this morning to discover him, I was also not surprised?”

“Not wrong,” Thomas jumped in, “when a man makes such a bed, it is not unusual to find that he’s been shot dead in it.”

“Exactly,” Pike concurred with a nod.

“Are you the only member of Sir Richard’s staff present at the Abbey?” asked Richard.

“The chauffeur, Mister Gibbons, is also here,” Pike said.  “He’s downstairs gathered in the Servants’ Hall with the rest of the servants.”

Richard nodded.  They’d see him next when they get downstairs for the interviews.

“Has he been with Sir Richard long?” asked Thomas.

“A few months only,” Pike said.  “He came on board in August.  I believe he served in the Army Transport Services during the war.”

“Thank you, Pike,” Richard checked with a quick glance at Thomas and dismissed him. 

They were left alone again in the room.

“Murder it is,” Richard mused out loud.  “Will you tell me again about the Crawleys?  It’s been a long time since we talked about your service at Downton.”

Thomas sighed but acquiesced with a tilt of his dark head.  “What do you want to know?”

“Well, let’s talk the main suspect – Lady Mary Crawley,” Richard said. 

“When I served here, I would have said she was a spoilt brat – or she was before the war at any rate.  In hindsight I think she was trying her best to live up to her parents’ expectations and present the epitome of a daughter of her class, I just didn’t realise it,” Thomas said immediately. 

“She’s the eldest daughter,” Richard said.

Thomas nodded.  “She was also brought up to understand that she and her cousin, Patrick, would marry.  There’s a very strict entail for the estate to be inherited along with the title, and that of course follows the male primogeniture inheritance rule.”     

“Having your life laid out like that might make anyone bitter,” Richard commented.

“Patrick Crawley went down with the Titanic,” Thomas reported bluntly.  “The new heir, Matthew Crawley is a distant cousin, a solicitor.  Very middle-class in his style, but well-educated and I always got the impression that he was what Robin and Kit would call ‘a decent chap.’  They started throwing the sisters at him as soon as he got here.”

“Another reason to be bitter,” said Richard.

“There was a rumour that they, Lady Mary and Mister Matthew did get engaged around the time I left,” Thomas mused, “or at least, I think it was in the offing?  Downstairs was full of the gossip of them falling for one another.  Then Her Ladyship got pregnant and there was some talk before she miscarried of Matthew Crawley being surplus to requirements if she had a boy. Regardless of intent, there was no formal engagement announcement that I can remember.”

More drama, Richard mused.  “So old lovers?”

“Likely so, I mean, metaphorically not literally as they were mostly chaperoned or with others, but sweethearts, definitely,” Thomas mused.  “I did read an announcement that he was engaged to someone else during the war, but I don’t know what happened there.”

Perhaps a love triangle then, Richard mused.  He took Thomas’ hand in his to support him through the angst of divulging what he knew about his old workplace. “Tell me more.”

o-O-o

Interlude

Elsie Hughes followed the constable up through the door and into the hallway.

The front door was thankfully closed to the elements, but there was still an awful cold from when it had stood open.  She sharply took in those present and their moods in the way a good housekeeper was trained to do.

Lord Grantham was hovering, for the lack of a better term, in the centre of the hallway.  He looked deeply uncomfortable, and had his hands tucked in military style behind his back as he always did when he wanted to pretend confidence. 

Mister Carson was stood by the wall, upright and smart as always despite the circumstances, but there was a glower peeping out of his servant’s blank mask and his fingers twitched unusually at his sides.

Poor Lawrence was stood by the door trying to maintain a blank look and failing to hide his own glee at events.

She sighed.  They’d struggled to attract and retain male staff in the wake of the war and Lawrence was unfortunately the best they could do.  He was a good lad, she reminded herself, just clearly not settled into a mindset of service.

The two other men in the hallway were interesting contrasts.  A red-haired, blue-eyed aristocrat, if she read his bearing correctly, and a younger gentleman with dark wavy hair and sharp dark brown eyes.  They both had that same sense of ‘Other’ about them that all awakened Sentinel and Guides had.  They each carried a smart black leather satchel.

She politely ignored them and nodded at His Lordship.  “Your Lordship, you wished to see me?”

“Ah, Mrs Hughes,” Lord Grantham motioned at their visitors.  “May I introduce you to one of the pair of Sentinel and Guides who have been dispatched to help us with this ghastly business with Carlisle.”

Elsie nodded through the introductions.  She was pleased to have been right about her musings when one was introduced as Viscount Locksley.  She wondered what his parents had been thinking naming him Robin.  Perhaps it was the name of an ancestor, but the folklore also painted the man as a rather notorious Sherwood Forest criminal.

“Please can you give them every assistance in setting up a room for their convenience,” Lord Grantham stated.  “They will be holding interviews and need somewhere to do that with the family.”

Elsie nodded her head, while wondering why Carson hadn’t been delegated.  “Of course, m’lord.”

“You’ll also be their liaison to the staff,” Lord Grantham continued cheerily as though that was usual rather than Carson assuming that role.

“I see,” Elsie said, and she did see.

It had been a terrible to-do when Mister Carson’s abrogation in respect of Downton’s responsibilities to the Sentinel and Guide Order had been revealed at the start of the war.  His disregard to their duties in the matter was so unlike the man she knew that she had wondered if she had known him at all. 

To know that his actions had put a young Guide in danger was particularly horrifying, even one as troublesome as Thomas Barrow, (and the unsettling question of whether Thomas might not have been so troublesome had he not been preyed upon by a dormant Sentinel had been plaguing her ever since Sarah O’Brien had fled in the night).

She didn’t dare look at the butler.

“I should also inform you that the other Sentinel and Guide,” his Lordship suddenly hesitated, red suffusing his cheeks, “it’s Thomas and his Sentinel, Mrs Hughes.”

“I think you mean the Northern Order First Sentinel Richard Ellis, and his Guide, Thomas Barrow, Lord Grantham,” Sentinel Huntingdon corrected sharply.   

“Forgive me for the familiarity, Sentinel Huntingdon,” Lord Grantham waved him off, “but we did know Thomas before the war and his, uh, awakening.”

There was a small staring match between the two men which was entirely ridiculous posturing in Elsie’s opinion.  If she’d been downstairs and it had happened amongst the staff, she might have rolled her eyes.

The Guide coughed into his hand, his dark eyes alive with amusement and she realised he might have gained a sense of her feelings about the whole pissing match that they were witnessing.

She cleared her throat pointedly. “Perhaps we could use the small study by the dining room for the interviews, Lord Grantham?”

It was generally used for upstairs staff hirings such as the nannies, governesses and tutors of the children.  It was close enough to the backstairs that the staff could traverse the distance without too much trouble, and away from the drawing room where the family were gathered.

“That would be very suitable, Mrs Hughes, thank you!”  Relief flooded over Lord Grantham’s face.

She turned back to the Sentinel and Guide pair.  “May we also arrange for a fresh tea-tray to the family and work out something for luncheon?  The staff and family have been waiting for a long while now.”

“I believe it will be fine for the staff to start preparing luncheon, Mrs Hughes,” Guide Smythe-Jones nodded at her.  “Perhaps I can come with you and give some instructions on their expected behaviour while we conduct our investigation.”

“Of course,” Elsie acquiesced.

“I’ll come with you, Lord Grantham and do the same for the family,” Sentinel Huntingdon said firmly.  “Kit, please give the staff the news about the presence of Guide Barrow too.  He doesn’t need the distraction of anyone reacting to his presence.”  He motioned at Lord Grantham. “If you can lead the way to the drawing room, Lord Grantham?”

“Mister Carson, Lawrence,” Elsie said firmly.  “Perhaps you can come with us seeing there’s a constable guarding the door.”

Carson looked slightly horrified but nodded.  He motioned for an equally reluctant Lawrence to follow after them.

Elsie led the way down the stairs and into the servants’ domain.  She tutted as they all scrambled into better seating positions and postures as she led the Guide into the Hall.

“This is Northern Order Second Guide Smythe-Jones, he is here to help determine what took place regarding the death of Mister Carlisle this morning,” Elsie informed them briskly.  She nodded, handing over the reins of the conversation to the young gentleman.

“Myself, my Sentinel Robin Huntingdon, and the Northern Order First Sentinel and Guide Richard Ellis and Thomas Barrow have been asked to investigate Sir Richard Carlisle’s death.”

Guide Smythe-Jones looked around the Hall and Elsie wondered whether he’d sensed something already just from his brief sentence.  It was said that the Order could tell lies from truth, guilt from innocence.

She saw shock on the faces of the staff who had worked with Thomas – Mrs Patmore, Daisy, Anna.  There were so few of them left from before the war, she mused.  William had died, O’Brien had fled, and Mister Bates…the less said about his awful fate the better.  They could only hope that the sentence could be commuted.

“We’ll be calling you one-on-one for interviews sometime later today,” he continued.  “You may refuse to answer questions if you wish as is your legal right, but it will be better for all of us if we can resolve this matter quickly.”

There were accepting nods amongst the staff.        

“Mrs Hughes has requested preparation for luncheon to begin and we have accepted that request,” Guide Smythe-Jones said.  “You’ll do your usual work under instruction from Mrs Hughes until you are called for interview.  You will not talk amongst each other about the death of Sir Richard nor any of the events of yesterday evening.  I will remind you that if you do talk, a Sentinel will hear you. Do you understand?”

There were more nods and Elsie allowed herself a brief sigh of relief.

“Finally, a word regarding First Guide Barrow,” the Guide said grimly.  “I appreciate that some of you may have worked here when Guide Barrow was in service, or that you may have heard gossip regarding him.  I will remind you all that Guide Barrow is not the same man who was in service here and while he was here, he was suffering as an untrained Guide forced into unknowingly keeping company with two dormant Sentinels.”

And that sobered the lot of them up sharpish, Elsie noted.  She felt Mister Carson bristling behind her, but it wasn’t like it wasn’t true.

She remembered over-hearing Isobel Crawley talking with the other ladies of the house about the ramifications for an untrained adult Guide left to the mercies of dormant Sentinels. 

“Barrow could have gone mad, you realise, unknowingly being bombarded with whatever mental and emotional trauma that sent them dormant,” she’d said bluntly, “not to mention he might not have survived his awakening at his age with no training.  He was fortunate to live through it.”

Isobel Crawley was of the mind that they had been lucky not to have had the entire Abbey under Order sanction after the whole horrible business, Elsie mused, and she agreed with her.  Those who had been in service at the time knew beyond a doubt that it had only been Lord Grantham’s unwavering loyalty to his long-serving butler in the face of his terrible error of judgement that had saved Mister Carson from being prosecuted and sacked without reference.  In the end, the only real punishment Carson had suffered was being sent off for a week for a remedial training in Sentinel and Guide ethics.

“Whatever you think you know about Guide Barrow, I would strongly suggest you disregard such thoughts,” Guide Smythe-Jones continued.  “I would also remind everyone that Sentinels are incredibly territorial and protective of their Guides.  Do not provoke First Sentinel Ellis by being anything but respectful to his.”

It was a good reminder, Elsie thought.

“Mrs Hughes,” Guide Smythe-Jones nodded at her politely and stepped back.

It took only a moment for Elsie to direct the staff into their usual duties.  She was pleased to see Lady Rosamund’s maid, Marigold Shore, also bustle away to see to her duties.  The Lady’s maid possessed a self-assurance and poise that put Mrs Hughes more in mind of Isobel Crawley than the typical woman of service.

She led the Guide back up the stairs to the study.  He confirmed it was entirely suitable for their purposes and requested a tray of refreshments to be made available.

She went back down to make the arrangements. 

She was almost back to the kitchen when the Sergeant found her with a request for Pike to be sent up.

Elsie made her way back to the Servants’ Hall.  Pike, Carlisle’s valet was a quiet contained man.  He’d sat himself at the back of the hall despite his rank and quietly minded his own business.  She found him huddled around the servants’ battered tea-tray with Carlisle’s chauffeur, a John Gibbons, a young man with a dashing air.

Pike looked nervous to be sent up to the bedroom to assist Sentinel Ellis and Guide Barrow. 

She put it out of her mind as she arranged for the refreshments tray and paused in the doorway of Mister Carson’s office.

He sat staring into the distance. 

“Mister Carson, I would have thought you’d be assisting Lawrence upstairs in the dining room?” Elsie said briskly.  “I’m not sure he knows how to set out for a cold buffet.”

“I’ll go up in a moment, Mrs Hughes,” Carson said absently.  “I am sorry that you have been asked to shoulder the tasks that should have been mine in these circumstances.”

“I accept,” Elsie said smartly, “but I don’t think I’m the one owed an apology. Perhaps if you get the chance, you’ll proffer one to the person you harmed.”

Mister Carson huffed a touch.  “I don’t believe I’ll get that chance, Mrs Hughes, given the ample warning of protectiveness that we were just subjected to hearing.”

“Aye,” her Scottish dialect slipped out accidentally, “you might be right about that.” She nodded at him.  “I’d best be checking that everyone is doing as they’re needed.”  It was a heavy hint for him to get onto his own tasks.

She left him alone.

She hovered outside the sewing room as her ears caught Anna’s voice.

“…it’s not as easy as all that, Miss Devon,” Anna was saying. 

“But surely when you have the opportunity to speak to them at your interview, you can ask them to look into your husband’s situation, couldn’t you?” The Lady’s maid’s strong Welsh lilt was evident as she encouraged Anna.

Unfortunately, it really wasn’t that easy, Elsie thought as she moved on, confident that Anna could argue her corner herself. 

John Bates had been let go from the house after the revelation of his status as a dormant Sentinel had been revealed.  He had lied about his status and when it came down to it, Lord Grantham had chosen to use what favours he had to save Carson rather than Bates.

But Bates had been rehired a couple of years into the war after Lord Grantham had lost another valet, Mister Lang.  Poor Lang been suffering with shellshock and hadn’t been able to perform his duties in the end.  Everyone had been grateful for Bates to return, despite his acknowledged dormant status. 

Yet, in her lone moments, Elsie could remember the bitter battle Bates had engaged in with O’Brien and Thomas.  Had he known Thomas might be a Guide, she wondered.  Had he known the damage he could do to someone untrained?

She’d never know, Elsie mused, and while she was quite certain that John Bates was not guilty of his wife’s murder, she sometimes remembered the anger that had occasionally coated his eyes, the capacity for violence that lingered under his skin.

Elsie headed up the stairs.  She checked the maids were doing the usual cleaning in the family bedrooms and paused at the end of the corridor as she caught Miss Shore closing the door on Lord Hepworth’s room.

Elsie walked over immediately. “And what do you think you’re doing in that room?”

Miss Shore may have been momentarily startled, but Elsie admired her immediate calm composure even as she grew even more suspicious in its wake.

“I was returning an item of clothing to Lord Hepworth,” Shore said evenly.  “If the rooms get searched, I’d rather they didn’t find it in Her Ladyship’s bedroom.”

“There’s an investigation,” Elsie said sternly.  “You’d be best to not to be moving anything from the rooms.”

Shore rolled her eyes.  “I simply want to save my Lady some embarrassment.”

Elsie drew in a sharp breath at the spoken insinuation.  Frankly, Lady Rosamund was a widow and if she wanted to find some happiness with a handsome Lord of her own age, it was really nobody’s business, in Elsie’s mind.  But society would not view her kindly regardless of her age, station and wealth.

“Stick to your Lady’s room from now on,” Elsie said firmly.  “Do I make myself clear?”

“Clear,” Shore held up a hand as though taking a vow and smiled.  She walked back down to the next room and stepped inside.

Elsie continued on her rounds.

Her footsteps took her downstairs to the parlour.  She stepped in and reviewed the room with a keen eye.

Matthew Crawley hovered by the mantel.  His mother was not present as Isobel Crawley had taken a car home after the dinner the previous night.  The Dowager Countess who had stayed over and Lady Rosamund shared one settee, and the two Crawley sisters had taken the other.  Lady Grantham sat in one of the elegant armchairs by the hearth, near to her daughters, with Lord Grantham standing behind her.   Lord Hepworth was the only man sitting, taking the closest chair to Lady Rosamund.

Elsie missed the presence of the younger Crawley daughter fiercely.  Sybill Crawley, or rather Sybill Branson, was sunshine in human form.  She only hoped the young lady was doing well in her married life.  Elsie had liked Tom Branson for the most part when he’d been their chauffeur, stupid acts towards Generals notwithstanding.  He’d been a well-read and informed young man with a lot of fiery opinions that she believed would peter out with age and maturity, but she wasn’t certain of a marriage between him and a high lady, even one as progressive as Sybill.

She was gratified to see a fresh tea-tray complete with some biscuits laid out.

“Ah, Mrs Hughes,” Lord Grantham greeted her cheerily, “all in order I hope?”

“All in order, m’lord,” Elsie replied.  “Does anyone need anything while luncheon is prepared?”

There were quick glances around the room and shakes of head.

“I cannot believe that man is making even more trouble for us dead than he did alive,” the Dowager Countess remarked. “Really!  Do we really need to be locked in here like naughty schoolchildren?!”

“You know we aren’t supposed to talk about it, Mama,” Lord Grantham said firmly.

“Well, what else are we supposed to talk about?” the Dowager Countess said.  “The weather?!”

“They’ll let us move about freely once the interviews are done, I’m sure,” Mister Matthew said.

“Is everything alright downstairs, Mrs Hughes?” asked Lady Grantham, unsubtly changing the topic. 

“The servants have been allowed to return to duties ahead of their interviews,” Elsie confirmed.  “We should have a buffet luncheon prepared shortly.”

“How exciting,” Lady Edith remarked brightly, clearly trying to take a positive outlook on the event.

“Thank you for letting us know, Mrs Hughes,” Lady Grantham said, “that will be all.”

Elsie heard the dismissal clearly.  She nodded and departed the room.

She made her way back through and was crossing the hallway to the stairs when she heard footsteps above her.  She paused and her eyes widened as she saw Thomas for the first time since he’d left the house to enlist.

He looked good.

He had always been a beautiful boy with his raven locks, porcelain skin, and piercing silver eyes.  It had been hellish to keep the maids from making moony eyes at him.  Not that he’d ever paid them much attention.

As he came down the stairs, Elsie could admire that he’d grown into a handsome man.  There was a confidence in his step, an inner light that had been dulled too much while he’d been in service. 

“Mrs Hughes,” Thomas greeted her pleasantly, nerves hardly showing under his cool demeanour, yet she had worked with him for four years and could see them, nevertheless.  “You look well.”

Elsie would have hugged him, but she knew better than to do so with a Guide.  “You look well yourself, Thomas.  I mean, Guide Barrow.”

“I’ll always be Thomas to you, Mrs Hughes,” Thomas quipped, a hint of his cheekiness peeking out.  He turned to the man beside him.  “May I introduce my Sentinel, Richard Ellis.”

The Sentinel nodded at her, smiling warmly.  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs Hughes.  Thomas has spoken very highly of you.”

“Well, I’m glad of that,” Elsie said, touched to know Thomas had praised her to the most important person in his life.  “Glad too that he has someone to protect him these days.  He always deserved to be happy.”

Sentinel Ellis positively beamed at her.  “I think so too.”

Thomas blushed.  “We need to interview Carlisle’s chauffeur.”

“Your Seconds are in the small study by the dining room,” Elsie said, even though she suspected they knew.  “I’ll wait a moment so you can get yourselves situated and I’ll send him up to you?”

The Sentinel and Guide exchanged a quick look between them, and they nodded with an eerie synchronicity.

“That would be marvellous,” Sentinel Ellis said. 

“Well, Thomas knows the way,” Elsie shooed them in the right direction.  She watched them head down the right corridor and shook her head.

Ah, but it was good to see him well.  She drew up her composure and raised her chin.  Time to gather the dashing Mister Gibbons and send him along for his interview.

o-O-o

Thomas knew he was incredibly lucky. 

He’d awakened abruptly in the middle of his enlistment, and whatever rudimentary shielding he’d managed to cobble together himself subconsciously over the years, had disappeared in a second when the heat of his gifts bloomed fully.  But almost as soon as he was overwhelmed by the world and press of minds and thoughts and feelings and emotions, there had suddenly been Richard.

Richard, who had shielded him, protected him, loved him.  Richard who had accepted Thomas flaws and all. 

He was so lucky.

The debacle of how he’d missed testing because of the failures of butlers to do the right thing had changed the law.  Understanding fully the damage to him from his time at Downton had taken a long time for him to accept. 

He’d bundled his complicated feelings about it all to the back of his mind back at the beginning of the war.  He’d been too bewildered by all the training he’d needed as a Guide, desperately trying to cope with the pressure of many British Sentinels and Guides suddenly looking to him and Richard for guidance and direction, and dealing with the war which was a constant literal battle for their attention such was its threat to their tribe. 

The Order had insisted on psychological therapy in the wake of the war ending.  It had been hellish to slowly take out each experience he’d had at Downton and examine it with the new knowledge that his emotions and actions had been unduly influenced by dormant Sentinels, and by his own lack of understanding of his own empathetic gifts and how to interpret what he was feeling properly.

He had come to hate many of his selfish actions back then; was deeply ashamed about the measure of his character in service.  He’d been twisted into the caricature of a villain, one damned for his innate preferences for good measure – as if who he loved mattered.  He’d come to realise that he had hated himself underneath all the posturing that he had used to armour himself against the rest of the world.

Richard’s wholehearted acceptance of him had been his salvation.  He’d told him every sordid detail and Richard had simply held him, kissed him, and told him that he loved him anyway.

And he loved and accepted Richard in turn.

Richard was as stubborn as only a Yorkshireman could be once he’d made up his mind; his temper was slow to burn but terrifying when it blew; and yet he was the kindest man Thomas had ever known.

Thomas had taken a knife wound to the hand two years into the war saving his Sentinel’s life on the battlefield when a German Sentinel had tried to assassinate them both.  He’d almost lost the hand entirely, but it would have been worth it in his opinion to have Richard alive.

If there was one whimsical regret about his life after awakening it was losing his fags. 

Smoking had always been his coping mechanism; an escape, the tobacco calming his fraught nerves, the cigarette giving his fingers something to hold.  Yet he had given it up because his Sentinel could barely stand the smell of tobacco and hated the sight of nicotine stains on Thomas’ fingers.

Six years on and there was barely any sign that Thomas had once smoked.  His fingers were as pale as the rest of his skin, his complexion had even improved without the smoke, and he had to admit that he was glad not to smell of ash and only of the woody scent that Richard preferred.

Being back in Downton though…he was suddenly craving a cigarette.

Or more likely, Thomas mused, he was craving an escape.

It was his duty though to investigate and he would not let his tribe or his Sentinel down by fleeing from his bad memories and past indiscretions; from the people who he had once loved and hated in equal measure.

Richard nudged him as they entered the small study where the interviews were to be held.  “Mrs Hughes seems to be exactly how you described her.”

“She is,” Thomas said.  He’d felt her affection for him fully for the first time.  She’d been happy to see him; fondness had coated her every thought and gesture.  It warmed him.   

“Are you alright?” asked Richard bluntly once the door was shut and it was just them with Robin and Kit.

“It’s difficult to be back,” he conceded.

“We could take over?” Robin offered.

Thomas shook his head.  “No,” he said firmly.  “I’m needed here.”

Robin tapped his ear and pointed upwards.  “I think Kit and I should search the rooms.  Someone’s already moved something around to hide it in case of a search.”

Richard nodded.  “Could you ring Mabel and get her to send us information on that whole Juniper business?”

“Weird that it was that business that started him carrying a gun and not the whole Marconi affair,” Kit said.

Richard agreed.  “I think that’s partly why I want to understand it better.”

There was a knock on the door.  It opened under the firm hand of Mrs Hughes as she ushered the young chauffeur in.

Gibbons nodded at them nervously.  His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore his smart uniform well. 

“Take a seat, Mister Gibbons,” Richard patted the comfortable visitor’s chair in front of the desk and simply leaned back on the desk rather than sitting in the rather plump leather seat on the other side.  Thomas took the second visitor’s chair, grabbing a notebook and pen. 

Robin and Kit nodded at the chauffeur and left to their tasks, closing the door behind them.

“As my colleague mentioned downstairs, you can refuse us to answer questions, but we would appreciate your help to sort this matter swiftly,” Richard said.

“I’ll do my best,” Gibbons said, swallowing hard.

Richard hummed as the fast sound of Gibbons’ heartbeat.  “How long have you worked with Sir Richard?”

“Since August,” Gibbons said.  “I was hired on by Sir Richard himself.”

“How did you find him?” asked Richard.

“Hard,” Gibbons admitted in much the same way Pike had done.  “He believed everyone needed to work for a living as he did, and he felt any time away from your work was you being useless.  He demanded his staff be available to him at any time.”

“What happened last night from your perspective?” asked Richard.

“I had dinner in the Servants’ Hall around nine,” Gibbons said, “and we, me and Mister Drake, left for the chauffeurs’ housing just after.  Around ten, we had a footman banging at the door to tell us Sir Richard wanted the car ready to leave at five thirty.  He did say that Sir Richard’s engagement with the Lady Mary had been broken and that there had been fisticuffs between him and Matthew Crawley so himself was wanting a quick exit.”

Richard tilted his head.  The heartbeat was still fast, but it was slowing.  “Did you come back up to the house at any time after that before you got the car out for him this morning?”

“No, sir,” Gibbons shook his head furiously.  “Wasn’t any need to – I mean, I could have done with a warm breakfast this morning, but it wasn’t like I could ask the staff here to accommodate that.  Drake gave me some tea, bread and butter  in the cottage; he’s a good bloke.”

Richard glanced at Thomas. “What happened this morning?”

“I was waiting in the car on the gravel outside, I was keeping the engine idling you know sometimes they seize in this cold,” Gibbons grimaced.  “Butler came out to tell me that Pike had found Sir Richard dead and would I mind taking the car back to the garage?  Cold as ice that bloke, I tell you. Police turned up shortly after and told us to get up to the house and wait with the other servants.”

Thomas felt amusement through their bond.

“Is there anything you can think of that Sir Richard may have spoken about in the car that might have constituted a threat to his life?” asked Richard firmly moving the questioning along.

“Not really,” Gibbons said, “no.  I mean, I don’t really pay attention.”  He paused.  “He wasn’t a kind man.  I’d hear his tone sometimes when he talked to his Lady…my Ma would have cuffed my ear if I spoke to Helen that way or her Da would shoot me, I mean…” he gestures fiercely as though to hide the words, “I mean, it just weren’t right and it’s not as though he stopped his dalliances, you know, despite them being promised.”  He waggled his eyebrows expressively.

“Thank you, Mister Gibbons,” Richard said.  “Please stay downstairs for the time being until we finish our interviews.”

Gibbons left, shutting the door behind him.

“He hates him,” Thomas remarked when the chauffeur was out of earshot.  “He’d like to pin it on Carson, but he wants us to think Lord Grantham did it.”

“Which makes me wonder why,” Richard said musingly.

Thomas shrugged.  His therapy had included far too many references to his own relationship with his father for his comfort.  “His Ma, her Da.  I’m betting he doesn’t have great father figures in his life.”

“I wouldn’t bet against you,” Richard said warmly.

Thomas smiled at his Sentinel.  “You never do.”  He sobered a touch.  “I think we should interview anyone involved in the altercation next, probably starting with His Lordship.”

“Right then,” Richard said, uncrossing his legs and standing straight.  He stretched and Thomas admired all the lean length of him.  “I’ll get him.”

Thomas took the time Richard was gone to re-arrange the furniture a touch.  He set two chairs side by side by the small couch in front of the hearth.  He set a side table beside one of the chairs and placed his notebook and pen on it.

He sat down but rose a moment later as Richard returned with Lord Grantham in tow.

“Lord Grantham,” Thomas dipped his head automatically.

“Thomas,” Lord Grantham smiled warmly at him. 

Richard coughed pointedly.

“I mean, Guide Barrow,” Lord Grantham corrected himself.  “I suppose we should follow formalities given the circumstances.” 

Thomas guided him to sit on the couch.  “Would you like some refreshment before we begin?”

Lord Grantham shook his head and sat down.  “I’m all washed out with tea in truth, Barrow.”

Thomas nodded.  As though they’d already agreed it, Thomas took the lead in the questioning as Richard took the seat next to him.

“Please tell us about last night’s dinner, Lord Grantham,” Thomas invited casually.

“We’d had bad news – maybe you’re aware that John Bates went up for murder at York County Court day before yesterday?”

Thomas wasn’t aware and shook his head.  He sensed Richard would have a different answer and wondered if his Sentinel had been protecting him from the news.

“Damnable business,” Lord Grantham said out loud. “Bates was implicated in his ex-wife’s death.  He got arrested for her murder and well, we got the verdict and sentence which wasn’t good news.  He was found guilty and sentenced to hang.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows a touch in surprise.  He had mixed feelings about Bates.  With hindsight, he realised his behaviour with Bates had been childish, stoked as it was by O’Brien in her territorial dispute with Bates. He’d wondered for a long time if Bates had known he was a Guide and simply left him to twist.  He had no doubt O’Brien had.

“The dinner, Lord Grantham,” Richard gently redirected.

“Yes, well, it was a rather dull affair the dinner,” Lord Grantham said. “I knew, of course, that Mary intended to break off her engagement with Carlisle.  I’d become aware in his absence after the shooting that the man was blackmailing her into continuing their connection and I told Mary she did not need to bear it any longer, that we’d deal with the consequences rather than continue to have her tied to such an ungentlemanly cad.”

There were times, Thomas mused, that Robert Crawley surprised him.

“How did you intend to deal with the consequences?” enquired Thomas.

“We’d have sent her abroad to her grandmama for a while during the scandal until things settled here,” Lord Grantham said succinctly.  “Both Cora and I were agreed on the matter, we’re more than capable of facing less invitations to dinner and some snide remarks than have her marry the man.”

Thomas inclined his head. 

“So, Mary eventually took Sir Richard aside,” Lord Grantham said resuming his tale.  “Matthew excused himself and I realised belatedly that he must also have been aware and gone to Mary’s aid.”

“I couldn’t quite remember, m’lord,” Thomas said, “were they engaged at one point, Lady Mary and Mister Matthew, before the war?”

“Yes,” Lord Grantham nodded, “well, not officially.” His face dimmed with a touch with grief.  “We all got muddled when Cora, when Lady Grantham became unexpectedly pregnant and well, you know how that ended, Barrow.”

Thomas nodded sympathetically.  The miscarriage had been a truly awful event.

“Mary hadn’t said yes exactly, but she hadn’t refused him before we told them about the baby, and Rosamund told her she should wait until we found out whether Matthew was still the heir, and…” he grimaced.  “It was a mess.” He gestured at them.  “Still, they’ve remained fond of each other, and I dare say we’re all now hoping that they might find their way back to each other again.”

Thomas nodded again.  “So, Mister Matthew excused himself and went to Lady Mary’s aid…”

“I went after him, of course, because really if anyone should go to her aid, it should be her father,” Lord Grantham complained without rancour, “and just as well because I got there to find Matthew rolling around fighting on the floor with Carlisle.  Poor Mary looked completely horrified.”

“Were either of them hurt?” asked Richard.

“Matthew had gotten a solid punch to Carlisle’s face,” Lord Grantham confirmed with an inner glee to his shining eyes that made Thomas’ lips twitch.  “Matthew’s suit was a bit worse for wear after.”

And of course, His Lordship would notice that.

“There were words exchanged, of course,” Grantham continued.  “But Carlisle left after my mother came in to see what was going on.”  There was too much amusement in his voice.

“I take it the Dowager Lady Grantham put Sir Richard in his place?” asked Thomas dryly.

“Quite,” Lord Grantham said.  “He said she’d never see him again and she said ‘Promise?’” He grinned at them before sobering abruptly.  “Apologies, probably not quite appropriate given a man is dead.”

“He wasn’t a man who’ll be missed,” Richard remarked saving Thomas the trouble.

“Indeed,” Lord Grantham said fervently.  He suddenly shifted realising how that might come across and grimaced.  “I mean…”

Thomas cleared his throat.  “Forgive the question, m’lord, but can you tell us your whereabouts from after you left the room where the altercation had taken place to the time you were informed that Mister Pike had discovered the body?”  

“Well, initially, we all went back into the library apart from Carlisle who’d stormed off to his room,” Lord Grantham said.  “Mama went to bed soon after, I think I called the car for Isobel soon after that…I can’t quite remember if Edith and Mary went up before Cora and Rosamund retired but I think they must have done as I was soon after her, Lord Hepworth was with me.  We left Matthew in the parlour having a final nightcap.”

Thomas made a careful note.

“Then, I changed in my dressing room and went through to the bedroom,” Lord Grantham said.  “Cora and I read a little before we turned out the lights and I was asleep straight away.  Next thing I know, Carson is shaking me awake to inform me of the death.”

Thomas nodded.  “Did you know Sir Richard had a gun in his possession?”

Lord Grantham shook his head, his manner sobering.  “No, and I would have said words if I’d known he was keeping a gun in his room.”

“Thank you, Lord Grantham,” Thomas said.  “I have no more questions for you.”

They all stood.

“If I may say something?” Lord Grantham requested with some urgency. 

“If it is in relation to the case, of course,” Richard acquiesced.

Lord Grantham nodded.  “I realise that the idea of that man committing suicide is difficult to comprehend, but I just cannot believe anyone here would murder the man.”

“He was murdered, Lord Grantham,” Richard broke the news briskly.  “We have established that much.”

Grantham drew in a sharp breath.  “Then someone here is a murderer.”

“Don’t worry, Lord Grantham,” Thomas said, “we’ll find them soon enough.”

Lord Grantham smiled tightly.  “I don’t doubt you will, Thomas.”

And he left without saying another word.

o-O-o

Lady Mary Crawley hadn’t changed from the last time Thomas had seen her.  She was still uniquely beautiful in an almost untouchable way that made her seem ethereal and inhuman.  Her dark hair was in an up-do, and she wore a dark purple dress with black accents.  Not quite mourning, but not quite gay apparel either.  There were shadows under her dark eyes cleverly disguised by make-up.

“I’m neither sad nor sorry he’s dead,” Mary said boldly as soon as she sat down.

Thomas had always admired her gumption.

“But I did not kill him,” Mary asserted firmly.

She was telling the truth.

“We still have to ask you a few questions,” Thomas told her.

“I understand, Thomas; ask your questions,” Mary frowned, “my apologies, Guide Barrow.  Forgive me, habit.”

“Quite alright, Lady Mary,” Thomas answered.  She was surprisingly genuinely regretful.  Perhaps, he mused, she’d grown up since the last time they’d interacted.  Not a surprise, really, considering they’d been through a war in the years in-between.  “You broke your engagement?”

“Yes,” Mary said.  “The beginning of our relationship was not all bad, you understand, but I was coerced into remaining engaged to him.  He threatened me about that whole business with Pamuk.”

“The rumours that claimed Pamuk died in your bedroom and not his own,” Thomas checked.   

“Exactly,” Mary’s face was serene, but he felt her gratitude for the way he had phrased it.  She rubbed her upper arms as though cold.  “Richard wasn’t kind, and I was regretful I’d ever agreed to be engaged to him.  My father told me he knew and gave me his permission to break the engagement, so I did.”  Her chin raised a touch at the end.

“Walk us through last night to this morning from your perspective,” asked Thomas quietly.

Her story of the fight matched her father’s.  She’d been encouraged to return to the main party afterwards by her grandmother for a single nightcap.  She and her sister had followed their grandmother to bed.  She admitted frankly she’d barely slept, but had been woken by her maid, Anna, with the hullabaloo around Carlisle’s death.

Thomas looked over at Richard.  They both knew through their various gifts and her frank honesty that she was innocent.    

“Did you know he had procured a gun and kept it with him?” asked Thomas.

Mary nodded sharply.  “Someone took a potshot at him back in July coming out of his club.  His past chauffeur admitted that he’d told some woman where they’d be that day in the pub the night before.  Richard was furious, he fired the man on the spot.”

“You were with him for a while,” Thomas noted, “is there anyone or anything you witnessed that you feel should be brought to our attention?”

Mary shook her head.  “No, I’m afraid not.”  She sighed.  “It seemed to me that Sir Richard made enemies every day.  I only wish I’d been braver sooner and prevented this catastrophe from happening here.”

“Thank you, Lady Mary,” Thomas said, bringing the questioning to a close.  “Could I prevail upon you to request Matthew Crawley come to us next?”

“Of course,” Mary said as they all stood up.  She paused by the closed door and turned around.  “Guide Barrow, I…I hope you can forgive me, but I cannot let this moment pass without offering you a sincere apology for all you suffered here at Downton.”

Thomas’ eyebrows shot up.  He felt staggered by the heartfelt simple words of apology. 

“M’lady,” he struggled to find the words in the wake of feeling her sincerity, “that is kind of you.  Thank you.”

“It’s not kind at all,” Mary said sadly, “you deserved better from every single one of us.”

And suddenly, Thomas wanted to cry.  He took a shaky breath.

Richard reached out and Thomas gratefully took his hand.

“We appreciate the apology, Lady Mary,” Richard said evenly, “but perhaps this is not the time to rake that over.”

Mary nodded hurriedly and swiftly departed.  She closed the door behind her.

“She’s grown-up,” Thomas voiced his earlier thought.  “Of all the people here, I’d have had her low on the list who’d offer me an apology.  She genuinely adores Carson.”

“Perhaps that’s why,” Richard commented.  “There’s nothing to give a sharper jolt of reality to a person than realising your loved one has feet of clay.”

Thomas nodded.  He took a deep breath to recover his composure.  He didn’t know why her apology had meant so much or affected him so deeply.  Perhaps something he’d need to work out in therapy. Keeping his emotions steady was vital to a Guide with the strength of his gifts.

Richard drew him into his arms and he sheltered in the protection of his Sentinel while he got himself steady again.

He got himself together just in time for a sharp knock on the door.

They separated and, after a quick look to which he responded with a nod, Richard called for Matthew Crawley to enter.

The solicitor was neatly turned out.  Blond hair trimmed and tidy, a black suit tailored to his lithe frame.  He was a beautiful man; Thomas had always thought so.

Crawley took the seat on the sofa and made a similarly bold proclamation of innocence as the woman before him.

“Any solicitor worth their salt knows it’s best not to beat around the bush where the Order is involved,” Crawley said crisply.  “I’ve given the family that advice.”

“We appreciate the frankness,” Richard said. 

And certainly, his proclamation was the truth – they could feel and sense that.

Thomas was content then to let Richard take the lead with the solicitor as they went back through the events of the evening.  It rapidly became clear that Crawley was head over heels in love with Lady Mary, and unsurprisingly, correspondingly, that he had hated Sir Richard Carlisle with every fibre of his being. 

“I was last up,” Crawley confirmed.  “I just needed to…think, process what had happened.”

Thomas watched as Richard nodded understandingly.

“It was almost midnight I think when I did go up,” Crawley sighed.  “I’ve tried to think whether there was anything unusual, but no, nothing.”

Thomas felt the sense of something important.  “What about anything usual?”

Crawley looked over at him, surprise written all over his face.  “Usual?  I’m not…” his features fall into a study of consideration.  “Of course.”  He nodded decisively.  “There was a footman or perhaps a valet, a man at least, walking towards the servants’ backstairs,” he murmured, “one of the maids coming out of a bedroom.  Is that what you mean?”

Thomas nodded.  “Nobody thinks anything of servants coming in and out of rooms.”

“We don’t, do we?” Crawley sighed.  “I’m not even sure which bedroom the maid was coming from.  I think Lady Rosamund’s?  I mean the other room along there is where Lord Hepworth is staying.  I don’t think it was a Downton maid, but we’ve had a lot of new faces in the last year and I’m not here consistently enough to remember them all, I’m afraid.”

They continued along and established Crawley knew absolutely nothing about the gun, but he was aware of the previous attempt on Carlisle’s life.

“It was the talk of the club that week,” Crawley confirmed.  “I was up in London on business, and it was all anyone could speak about.  Peter Juniper was rumoured to be about to sue Carlisle for suggesting it was him or his brothers who’d arranged it. Gossip had it that Carlisle claimed there were threats from them that he’d make public if he did and that shut the old boy up.”

How curious, Thomas mused.

They ushered Crawley out and Robin and Kit swept in, Mrs Hughes on their heels.

“Mrs Hughes?” asked Thomas politely.

“I’d like to serve luncheon now, if you please, Thomas,” Mrs Hughes said crisply.  “Everything is ready.”

“Well, we can’t let Mrs Patmore get frustrated with waiting, can we?” Thomas quipped with a hint of his old cheeky self.  “Go ahead and serve, Mrs Hughes. But if we could have a tray in here, please, if it’s no trouble?”

“I’ll sort it out for you myself,” Mrs Hughes promised.  She left as quickly as she had arrived, closing the door firmly behind her.

Robin immediately drew out a package from the satchel he carried and placed it on the coffee table.  It was a fox stole with a burnt hole through it and flecks of blood decorating the fur.

“Lord Hepworth’s room, I presume?” asked Richard dryly.

“Actually, it was in Lady Rosamund Painswick’s room, packed away into a random hat box,” Kit said.  He rubbed his chin.  “I can’t get an empathetic impression from it though.”

Thomas moved forward and placed two fingers on the stole.  He closed his eyes.  He let his gifts open and…

Satisfaction.  

Richard’s hand at his neck stopped him drowning in it.

“Whoever it was wore gloves,” Thomas said, “but they were deeply satisfied with their work.”

“There are a couple of scents on the stole, but I don’t doubt they’d end up belonging to the maid or the lady herself,” Richard said.  “I can smell the leather from the gloves and that’s common enough that without gathering and lining up everyone’s gloves it’d be difficult to tell.”

“Needle, haystack,” Robin agreed. 

“Do we think this an attempt to incriminate Lady Rosamund or her maid?” asked Kit.  “Because I can’t believe that the murderer would be stupid enough to hide it among their own belongings.”

“What item did the maid return to Hepworth?” asked Richard.

“Her scent was on a stained man’s silk dressing gown,” Robin replied.  His nose wrinkled. “It stank of arousal and I’m sure you can deduce the rest for yourselves.”

“Any other incriminating evidence ‘hidden’ away?” asked Thomas dryly as he threw the stole to Kit to pack away in one of their briefcases.

“Not that we could find,” Robin sighed, running a hand through his red hair.  “We’ll go through the servants’ quarters after some food.”

A knock at the study door arrested their conversation for a moment.  Mrs Hughes opened it at their call to enter, Anna following in her wake with a tray. 

“The footmen are all busy in the dining room,” Mrs Hughes said apologetically.

“I dare say we’ll make do, Mrs Hughes,” Thomas said.

Anna avoided Thomas’ eyes and set the heavy tray on a nearby side table.  She turned to their grouping and looked over at Richard.   

“Would you like me to serve you?” she asked politely.

Thomas frowned at her tired and wan expression.

“Thank you, we’ll serve ourselves,” Richard said.

Anna bobbed a curtsy and made for the door.  Mrs Hughes looked after with concern.  She shot them an apologetic smile and left them to it.

Richard wrinkled his nose in the way he always did when he’d scented something that he had connected with something else.

But safe behind the closed door once more, they suspended discussions for passing out plates and cutlery to make a solid lunch out of an excellent ham and egg pie, sauteed potatoes tossed in a parsley butter, and creamed spinach and peas. 

They ate around the small table.

“We shall have to commend Mrs Patmore on her cooking when we interview her,” Richard said, setting his clean plate back into the tray.  “That was delicious.”

“She’s a good cook,” Thomas concurred.  “She always made the best of whatever we had in for downstairs.”   

“Better than the cook at Locksley at any rate,” Robin said.  “She’s a frightful old harridan that thinks everything should be covered in aspic.”

They all shuddered.

“What do we think so far then?” asked Richard as they adjourned back to the sitting area.  “I assume you listened in on the interviews, Rob?”

Robin sighed.  “I’m assuming you’ve ruled out the Crawleys interviewed to date?”

Richard and Thomas nodded.

“As much as I hate to say it,” Thomas said quietly, “I agree with His Lordship that it’s deeply unlikely to be one of the family.”

The Crawleys were a product of their class and education, tied up in manners and traditions that went back centuries.  They may not have liked Sir Richard Carlisle, but they were unlikely to have killed him on their own doorstep if only to prevent the ensuing scandal.

“So, a servant?” posited Kit.

“Or a guest,” Richard said, “although from what I know about Hepworth I can’t really imagine it.”  He tapped his fingers lightly on his chin.  “That Juniper business keeps coming up.”

“Oh, I got some information from Mabel when I called her,” Kit said.  “It was pretty much as much as I ever knew about it anyway.  Juniper did have a will listing Madelaine Gordon as a beneficiary, but it wasn’t signed or witnessed.  That’s how the sons still inherited, and Gordon was left out.  Carlisle didn’t bother printing that.”

“Gordon killed herself with a single gunshot wound to the head,” Robin said pointedly, raising two fingers to his head and blowing an imaginary trigger.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Thomas said out loud. He gestured when the others looked at him questioningly.  “Juniper has this affair and maybe he writes out this will.  Why?  He’d gone years hiding the affair from his family.  He’d made good provision for the child involved by all accounts.  Suddenly after his death, this Will stirs everything up and Carlisle gets hold of it and publishes the story, but to what end?”

“Selling that awful rag of his presumably,” Robin said.

“But why would anyone involved sell the story to Carlisle?” asked Thomas.  “It wasn’t in Gordon’s or her child’s interest for the story to be published as it was never going to put the pressure on Juniper’s sons to give them anything.  It only cast shame on Gordon for her years of criminal adultery.  It wasn’t in the sons’ best interests for it all to come out either.  It destabilised their inheritance and embroiled them in a public scandal.”

“Who would know enough about it all to sell the story?” asked Kit.

“The servants,” they all chorused.

“If a servant wanted revenge on one of the Junipers for some reason, that would certainly do it,” Thomas said. 

He’d often thought about it himself when in service, and yet he’d shied away because it had felt too disloyal, even for him.  He couldn’t deny though that he had used or tried to use what he knew to get ahead or to force a better path for himself so a servant selling the story wasn’t too far-fetched.

“Robin,” Thomas instructed briskly, “when you start with the servants’ quarters, ask Carson to show you the references for all the servants.  See if any of them has a connection to Juniper.”

“Wouldn’t they hide it?” asked Kit.

Thomas shook his head.  “Why would Downton care?  If Carson or Mrs Hughes noted the connection, they’d probably have sympathised with the need for a servant to find other employment than a family in scandal.  If this individual applied directly to Carlisle, he might have cared enough about the threats to turn them away.”

“So his chauffeur and valet are ruled out?” asked Robin pointedly.

“Unless he knew and employed them anyway,” Thomas said.  “But certainly Pike didn’t act like he was connected to the scandal itself when he spoke about it being the reason why Carlisle had the gun.”

“The chauffeur was nervous but covered it well,” Richard mused.  “He didn’t hide that he didn’t like the man.”  He sighed.  “We didn’t actually ask him anything to provoke a reaction around the Juniper part.”

“But what exactly are we theorising here?” Robin cut in.  “If a servant did sell the Juniper story to Carlisle, what possible motive could they have for killing him?  They made a transaction.”

“Carlisle could have stiffed them on the deal,” Thomas offered, but he acknowledged Robin’s point.  “You’re right though. If Juniper was the motive than either the Junipers themselves or Gordon’s child has a motive of revenge for publishing the story.” He hesitated for a moment.  “The Junipers do have enough money to engage an assassin rather than do it themselves and what better way for an assassin to hide than as a servant?”

“I like that for a theory better than a disgruntled former Juniper servant concocting all this,” Robin said.

“Do you think a servant can’t concoct a clever plan?” asked Thomas a touch too sharply.

Robin shook his head.  “Of course I don’t think that, they can concoct clever plans, I know that.  I just think getting themselves hired here in order to be in place for Carlisle visiting, and everything to fall out with the engagement so perfectly that they could murder him…it’s all very convenient.”

“Or maybe not,” Kit remarked.  “Everyone knows Carlisle and Lady Mary were engaged at least.  Planning to be here so they would be in proximity to Carlisle isn’t a clever plan, it’s practical.”

“Practical for anyone with a motive,” Thomas agreed.

Richard nodded.  “I’d like to finish interviewing the family and guests.  Rob, Kit, maybe you both can start tackling the servants after the search through their quarters?”

“We’ll discuss setting up somewhere downstairs,” Robin said.  “Whoever did it is still here and didn’t scarper into the night, that’s all we can say for certain, and it means they don’t expect to be caught.”

“They didn’t expect us,” Richard retorted.

“Nobody expects us,” Thomas teased.

They disbanded.  Robin and Kit heading out.  Thomas rang for someone to collect the tray and Mrs Hughes turned up herself to take it away.

Richard went to collect the next person they were to interview. 

Thomas rose from his chair as the formidable Dowager Countess of Grantham walked through the study door with his Sentinel.

They settled her on the sofa with a fresh cup of tea. 

“Really, I’m very surprised you didn’t interview me first,” Violet Crawley said sternly.  “After all, I know who did it!”

o-O-o

Interlude

Violet Crawley had seen and experienced many things in her lifetime but admittedly to be in the same house as a murder was a surprising first.

Of course, if anyone deserved to be murdered, it was that wretch Richard Carlisle – and no, she was not according him the honour of his knighthood. Why would she?  He was no knight.  He’d paid for that knighthood as much as he paid for everything else in his life.

She had nothing against a good industrialist, unlike her mother who had labelled the lot ‘dreadful new money’ and would have fainted at the very idea of Violet or any of the family actually marrying one.  Violet took a more pragmatic view.  Yes, industry was new money, but money was money, and if old money was foolish and almost lost the lot in some endeavour then good that there was new money to help keep the ship afloat.  It was why she’d inevitably bowed to the need for Cora and, while he was alive, to Rosamund’s earnest husband, Marmaduke.

Of course, one still had to show disapproval in public for such a thing, especially at the time of the marriages, but Rosamund had trained her husband into gentlemanly manners and Cora’s mettle had seen her prove herself up to the task of being Lady Grantham, even if Violet wasn’t about to admit that until her deathbed. 

And, truly, she couldn’t deny that her views had been influenced further away from her mother’s by the advent of war, the familial acquaintance of Cousins Isobel and Matthew, and by her three granddaughters.

(She was still horrified by Sybill’s rebellion, of course she was.  Sybill stood firmly in favour of modernising and Violet stood firmly in favour of tradition, but she was also more than a little proud to think that she might have contributed in some small way to Sybill’s courageous spirit.

She would never approve of Branson.

Really.

Of all people Sybill could have chosen.  There were plenty of English rebels in the aristocracy from which she could have picked a suitor.

She digressed.)  

Industrialists were needed if the economy was to thrive.  But there were businessmen and there were businessmen, and Sir Richard Carlisle seemed to have nothing in his character to persuade her that he was anything other than a common thug.

She had been surprised by Mary’s interest in Carlisle.  Violet had put that down to a desire to feel wanted when the man she loved was engaged to a very sweet but entirely unsuitable girl. Once Lavinia Swire had passed away of the Spanish ‘flu and that particular complication no longer existed, it had not surprised Violet in the least that Mary’s attention had been drawn back to where her heart was so firmly affixed.

And if that so happened to be the heir to Downton Abbey…why Violet was simply pleased to keep the estate within the family.  She had always believed the estate should have been Mary’s in the first place.

Admittedly, her first impression of being involved in a murder was one of boredom.  Being herded like cattle into the drawing room with the arrival of the police and being told to wait had been excruciating.  Who would want to spend hours locked in the same room as their family for hours?  It was a form of torture, Violet was certain.

It wasn’t so surprising that the Chief Constable had involved the Order.  Gregory had always been a keen politician, and certainly a Sentinel and Guide could find out what happened much more quickly than the police themselves.

The arrival of Thomas Barrow back to Downton Abbey had not surprised her at all. She had known since the death of dear Sir Mortimer Lassiter and his Guide, Margaret, that the position of First Sentinel and Guide of the Northern Order had gone to Thomas and his Sentinel.

It was a matter of deep shame to Violet that they had allowed a Guide to be mistreated within their home.  When the news had come out (when Thomas had awakened so traumatically) and the Lassiters had descended upon them to investigate, Violet had been thoroughly shocked.

She had liked Thomas as a footman enormously.  He was uncommonly beautiful with his striking colouring.  Cheeky, yes, but cheekiness in small measures was preferable in her opinion to a dull footman even if publicly she had to espouse the opposite view.  She had known of course of his proclivities and truthfully, she had been grateful that he wouldn’t look to the girls; that if they looked to him, they were safe because he wouldn’t be interested.

She’d known through various sources and chatter that he had a reputation for laziness, was considered too close to Cora’s treasured O’Brien, (who was very much a strange creature and why had that not rung alarm bells), and as such that he did not have favour with Carson in whom they all had trusted at that time.

Violet still had not forgiven Carson for his transgression in regards the testing and correct documentation of the staff.  She would have sacked him, but then she had known him since he was a footman, and while she had always considered him fondly as a trusted and capable cog in Downton’s machinery, she was lacking the warmer affection towards him that both Robert and Mary had formed.

It amused her to find Robert so disconcerted when he’d been escorted that morning into the drawing room by the very handsome Robin Huntingdon.  Viscount Locksley was very inch the kind of heir Robert had wished for all of his life.  Not that young Matthew wasn’t proving himself equal to the task of becoming such an heir, but Huntingdon simply was. 

She had not blamed the Sentinel for laying down the law to the family about how they should treat Thomas.  While Robert had muttered a complaint when young Huntingdon had left the room, Violet had pointedly reminded him that he only had himself to blame over the whole debacle.  Apart from the nonsense of Robert stepping in and saving Carson both from prosecution and from losing his employment, Robert had been the one to delegate the task of testing when he’d become Earl, setting the whole crime in motion.

Still, she had been disappointed to wait her turn to be interviewed.  There again, Robert would have had an apoplexy if he hadn’t been the first of the family to be interviewed (and she knew she only had herself to blame there – she had drummed proper ranking into his head from the time that he was born). 

Luncheon had been held in mostly awkward silence since they hadn’t been able to discuss the situation very much, but both Mary and Matthew seemed to be in good spirits after their interviews.

Mary had made a point of saying it was good to see Guide Barrow excelling in his position and to be so adored by his Sentinel just as Carson had started pouring the wine.

Violet did love that girl.  It pleased her to see that despite her high affection for their butler, Mary knew that her father had made the wrong decision.  It gave her hope that once Mary was settled again with Matthew, and they were safely married that they would make a great Earl and Countess of Grantham in time.

It was tremendously satisfying though to be invited to interview after lunch ahead of Cora. 

Violet had hardly been seated before she made her pronouncement of knowing who had killed Carlisle and smiled at their shocked faces. She sipped her tea and set it aside.  She’d rather had too much tea with all the waiting.

“Well, rather I don’t know exactly, but I have a fair suspicion,” Violet allowed, placing her hands in her lap.

Thomas exchanged a look with his rather handsome Sentinel before turning back to her.  “Perhaps you could explain what you mean by that, m’lady?”

Violet smiled sadly. “At the beginning of the war, I took it upon myself to always have the background of anyone who came to work for the house or who wished to inveigle themselves into the family.” She lifted an aged hand.  “Obviously I did not include the poor soldiers or nurses stationed here during the period of the convalescent home.” She allowed herself a sigh. “The disgraceful failure we had in respect of your care made it imperative someone step up to ensure such a thing did not ever happen again, Guide Barrow.”

Thomas smiled back at her.  “I did receive your note asking after me after my awakening, m’lady, it was very appreciated, and please call me Thomas.”

“Richard, m’lady,” his Sentinel added.

Violet inclined her head at the honour of being allowed their first names.  “I received your gratitude note in return, Thomas, and I was glad to hear you had ended up with a fine Sentinel to protect you.”

Thomas smiled at her again.

Ah.  If only she was so many years younger and he was not a Guide nor one with a preference for his own sex.  They might have made a merry pair.

“You have investigated all the servants who work at the Abbey then,” his Sentinel commented.

“Yes,” Violet sighed.  “My papers are at the Dowager House, but I can say that there are three here who you may wish to interview first.”

Thomas nodded.  “We would appreciate any pertinent information, m’lady.”

“Excellent,” Violet said approvingly. “My primary suspect is my daughter’s maid, Marigold Shore.” She pressed her lips together briefly.  “Shore’s main reference was from the housekeeper Mrs Linney of Goldsmith Hall in Essex.  Shore claims she was head housemaid.  Her reference is a lie.  There is a Goldsmith Hall, but Mrs Linney has not worked there since before the war.  Mrs Linney in fact went to work for Lord Hepworth at Hatton during the war.”

She was gratified when their faces showed their dawning understanding.

“I assumed that the falsehood was all part of Lord Hepworth’s scheme to marry my daughter,” Violet said.  “He is completely broke and in need of a fortune.  He has his eyes on Rosamund’s.  I faced him with it after the shooting party and he confessed to Rosamund who is determined to continue her love affair with him.”

“There’s more though?” Thomas prompted.

“Well, yes,” Violet said.  “The private detective I employ cannot find any trace of a Marigold Shore existing at all.”  She paused.  “Do you know who owns the estate next to Hatton?  Indeed, who bought Hatton?”

Thomas frowned.  “Please tell me it’s not the Junipers.”

“If only I could,” Violet said.  She was relieved to hear that they had made that connection already.  “A Marjory Kipling was a ward of the housekeeper at Millington Castle Estate, the housekeeper of course being the ill-fated Madelaine Gordon, and the ward being her illegitimate daughter with the departed Sir Arthur Juniper.”

“Marjory Kipling is Marigold Shore,” Richard said.

“That is my suspicion,” Violet stated.  “Lord Hepworth attended school with Peter Juniper and was often at Millington.”

Thomas nodded.  “You believe she ran to Lord Hepworth for help when the Juniper story of her mother’s affair was published.”

“I do,” Violet concurred, nodding in approval at his deduction.  “I believe she is the guiding hand behind Lord Hepworth’s interest in my daughter.  She got hired on as her maid to facilitate the affair and encourage Rosamund’s interest in him.” She drew in a breath.  “She is smart and conniving.  I would name her the murderer, getting revenge for the fate of her mother which she must have blamed on Carlisle.”

“Was Carlisle a premeditation or an unexpected boon?” Thomas asked, before blushing as though he had not meant to ask it aloud.

“Perhaps a lucky coincidence,” Violet postulated.  “I think if she’d planned it, she would have planned a better escape than this.”

“Which is why she may not have done it,” Richard said.  “She’s been smart enough to conspire to get Hepworth married to your daughter.  She doesn’t strike me as reckless or unthinking in her actions.”

“Perhaps she did plan to kill Carlisle all along,” Violet allowed. 

Although vexingly it did not resolve the fact that she herself had pointed out; Marigold Shore or rather Marjory Kipling was certainly capable of planning a better murder and alibi.

She harrumphed.

“You do make a good case for Shore,” Thomas said, thoughtfully, “but I think you mentioned three to be interviewed?”

“Indeed I did,” Violet affirmed.  “You may be interested to know that Lawrence Gilbert also hails from the Millington Castle Estate.”

“The first footman,” Thomas stated.

“He was brought on after the engagement announcement that Carlisle put in his newspaper,” Violet pursed her lips because it really had been untenable that he had done so without Robert’s approval.  “He did have a good reference and he has been in service since he was fifteen, except for a gap between the Junipers and here.  He came into some money from a source my detective couldn’t ferret out.  He hails from the local village of Millington, next to the estate.”  She deflated.  “I rather had him pinned as a spy.  Spratt tells me he sends a lot of letters, although we’ve yet to catch sight of the address of any.”

Thomas and Richard exchange the type of look that a Sentinel and Guide exchange when they know something.

Violet huffed.  “And that look is for?”

“We thought that there might have been a spy or an assassin planted by the Junipers to get close to Carlisle,” Thomas admitted.

“Or,” his Sentinel added, “perhaps Lawrence is the servant who sold the story to Carlisle.  He leaves service.  Carlisle needs a spy here so…”

“He hires the one he already knows is willing to break the trust of a family,” Violet drew in her breath angrily.  It made too much sense.  Hadn’t Carlisle tried to make Anna Bates spy on Mary?

“Well, two down, one to go,” Thomas remarked cheekily, “who’s your third suspect, m’lady?”

“Ah, well, that would unfortunately be Mrs Bates,” Violet said, genuinely regretful at having to mention her.

“Anna?!” Thomas almost yelped the name so huge was his surprise.

“I am afraid so,” Violet said.

“She’s Lady Mary’s maid,” Richard checked.

“Yes,” Violet said.  She picked up her tea and took a refreshing sip, more to steady her nerve than to partake of the taste.  “I should check, my dear boy, that you are alright with my speaking of Bates?”

“As in Anna’s husband?” Thomas nodded.  “I won’t claim to have the best history with him, but I worked with Anna for four years.  She was always a kind woman from what I remember, even if I found her kindness grating back then.”

Violet nodded.  She couldn’t imagine how O’Brien might have twisted his thinking and his emotions.  How Bates might have done the same. 

“Thank you for asking,” Richard murmured.  He held out his hand to Thomas and Thomas took it.

Supportive, that was good.

Violet allowed herself to sigh once more.  “When everything came out about your situation, it was revealed that not only was Bates a dormant Sentinel, but that he was married to a rather terrible woman, Vera Bates.”

“The ex-wife he’s accused of murdering,” Thomas noted.

“Yes,” Violet confirmed.  “During the war, she held him hostage in their marriage and refused him a divorce.  He eventually left her having discovered her infidelity, but his attempt to blackmail her into a divorce did not work as he had himself continued a very ill-advised correspondence with young Anna.  Vera Bates further blackmailed him into continuing their marriage because of a secret about this house which had been unwisely confided to Hugh MacClare, the Marquis of Flintshire by Lady Edith.”

“The business about Pamuk, I presume?” Thomas said.

Violet’s eyes widened a touch.  She wondered if Mary’s secret was the worst kept secret in all of England.  She inclined her head. 

“Eventually, Bates managed to find tangible evidence of her adultery enough to divorce her and so his former wife decided to publish the story.  Lady Mary requested assistance from Carlisle and he did trick the Bates woman into giving him the story and securing her silence.” She lifted a hand and made a vague gesture.  “When the woman discovered it, she apparently raged at Bates that she’d never divorce him.  He went to London to discuss the matter with her, and she committed suicide and simultaneously framed him for her murder.”

And there.  That would hopefully get the Sentinel and Guide interested in Bates’ situation.

“Why would Anna murder Carlisle then, m’lady?” asked Richard.  “It sounds like he did her a good turn.”

“Ah, well, my understanding from what Mary told me was that Carlisle has been keeping the papers quiet over Bates’ murder trial and conviction, but with the broken engagement, he no longer felt the need to be chivalrous.”

“What a bastard,” Thomas muttered, “if you’ll excuse my language, m’lady.”

“He was indeed as you say,” Violet said.  “But undoubtedly it does give Mrs Bates a motive.”

“Somehow I can’t see Anna being desperate enough to commit murder in such a way,” Thomas said.

“Neither can I,” Violet admitted.  “However, I thought it best to bring it to your attention.”

“We’re very grateful for the information,” Richard said.  He smiled at her.  “Just for form’s sake, Lady Grantham, you didn’t happen to murder Carlisle yourself?”

“Oh, heaven’s no!” Violet said, somehow delighted to have been asked.  “I just rather hoped he’d keep his promise that I would never have to see him again.” She pursed her lips.  “He has at least had the good grace to do that.”  

They wrapped the interview then.

Thomas helped her to stand very much as he had helped her occasionally when he’d been a footman.

She patted his arm.  “I’m glad to see you doing well, Thomas.”

“I’m glad to have had this chance to talk with you, m’lady,” Thomas said.  “You have my thanks for your help in this matter.”

Richard offered her his arm and Violet took it gratefully.  They walked the short distance between the small study and the drawing room slowly.

“Tell me,” Violet implored, “he really is doing well, is he not?”

“Thomas is perfect,” Richard said with the resonance of a man deeply in love.

She gave a pleased hum.  “I did worry about him when the news came out even though I knew he’d bonded to a smart Sentinel.  Mortimer thought it was a very good match.”

“It is,” Richard said. “We’re happy.”

Violet patted his arm gently.  “And I am very happy to hear that.”

They entered the drawing room and he sat her back down in the most comfortable chair which had been left for her.   

“Thank you, dear Richard,” Violet said.  “I’m glad to have been a help.”

“You’ve been marvellous, m’lady,” Richard said, holding her hand, “and you will always be welcome at the Order.”

“Perhaps I should pay a visit to you and Thomas when this matter is settled,” Violet proposed.  It would help start to mend the damage done to Downton’s reputation with the Order certainly if she was seen at the Order.

“That would be lovely,” Richard said with a smile that told her he knew what she was thinking.  He brushed a kiss over her knuckles and straightened.

“Lady Rosamund, perhaps we could interview you next?” Richard asked.

Rosamund’s surprise was evident, but she set her teacup down and gracefully got to her feet. Richard escorted her out. The door closed behind them.

Robert stared at Violet from across the room, shock at how Violet and Richard had warmly interacted written all over his expressive face.  Really, his etiquette tutor should have taught him to be better at hiding his emotions than that.

“What?” asked Violet, pretending an innocence she hadn’t had for years. 

“Oh, Granny,” Mary said warmly, her tone full of approval.

Violet sat back satisfied.  She had a feeling it was going to be an eventful afternoon.

o-O-o

Richard sensed the great lion who invisibly walked beside him through life pacing as they waited for Thomas to finish taking Lady Rosamund through the events of the evening.  She’d been far too nervous under her Lady veneer for them to go directly to the questions they really wanted to ask.

Downstairs, Robin was ushering Lady Rosamund’s maid into Mrs Hughes’ office where they had already briefly interviewed Carson.

Richard hadn’t been upset at avoiding that particular encounter.  He wasn’t a man given to hate, but if he hated anyone, it was the Downton Abbey butler.  Perhaps if Carson had treated Thomas just a little bit better, with just a little more compassion, or perhaps if he had owned up and accepted his responsibility for what had happened rather than hiding behind Lord Grantham’s skirts…

No, better for Robin to take lead with the butler whose snobbish view of life would make him more amenable to being interviewed by a Viscount rather than a First Sentinel and Guide, especially one who used to work for him.

He hadn’t even half-listened into the interview to find out if his rather uncharitable thought was true.     

Thomas cleared his throat, drawing Richard’s attention back to their own interview.  “Lady Rosamund, I believe you knew Sir Richard Carlisle prior to his introduction to Lady Mary?”

“We were distant acquaintances in London society circles,” Lady Rosamund allowed.  “I did not introduce them.  Mary attended a social gathering of her peers and met him there.  We became better acquainted once he began courting Mary, of course, and I included him in my own London social circle once they became engaged.”

“Did you like him?” asked Thomas.

“I rather thought he and Mary were mismatched,” Lady Rosamund said bluntly, giving away that she would not have maintained a relationship with him otherwise.  “Sir Richard was wealthy and accomplished and, on paper, a suitable candidate for her hand, but he had no softness to him, everything was a business transaction including marriage.”

“Do you have a suspect in mind for the murder?” asked Thomas directly.

“Certainly it is not the family,” Lady Rosamund said firmly.  “We were all satisfied that the engagement had been broken and that would be the end of it regardless of any threats the man made.” She shrugged.  “If anyone had a right to shoot him, it was Mary, but for all her sharp edges, I don’t think she’s capable of that kind of violence.”

“And outside of the family?” enquired Thomas carefully.

Lady Rosamund looked back at them with a direct gaze.  “Are you alluding to that frightful London gossip about the Junipers?”

“You don’t think it has any merit?” asked Richard evenly.

She inclined her head. “Someone did shoot at him. Jinx, I mean Lord Hepworth, was actually there when it happened, but I dare say that the Junipers were not the only family who were angered at their dirty laundry being published for the world to see.”

Thomas nodded.  “Lord Hepworth and Sir Richard knew each other”

“Not well, I believe,” Lady Rosamund said, “and you would never know they knew each other at all from how they acted with each other, but they’re members of the same club.”

“Lord Hepworth is here at your invitation?” Thomas probed.

“Formally at Robert’s,” Lady Rosamund said.  “But yes, I asked my brother to invite him along for the Christmas period.  I was acquainted with his late wife before the war.  We ran into each other in London a few months ago and renewed our acquaintance.”

Thomas gestured at her.  “How long as Marigold Shore been in your employment?”

“A couple of months,” Lady Rosamund answered briskly. 

“What happened to your previous maid?” asked Thomas.

“Elizabeth had an unfortunate accident with a car while running errands.  She’ll live, but will be unable to work as she did,” Lady Rosamund said.

Thomas darted a look at Richard.

Richard stepped into explain the information the Dowager Countess had given them about Marigold’s reference and connection to Hepworth.  She was clearly rattled.

“I see,” Lady Rosamund’s tone could have frozen hot tea.  “It is your supposition that they have conspired together to encourage a marriage between myself and Lord Hepworth?”

Thomas nodded.  “I am afraid so, m’lady.”

She sprang to her feet and paced in front of the hearth momentarily before whirling to a halt. 

“Damn it!” Lady Rosamund snapped.  “I so hate it when Mama is right!”   

Richard drew out the briefcase where they had stashed the stole and brought it out.  “Do you recognise this?” He arranged it to hide the bullet hole and any sign of blood.

“Yes, it’s one of my stoles,” Lady Rosamund said, her brow creasing in confusion.

“When did you last see it?” asked Richard briskly.

There was a hint of a refusal to answer in the tightening of her lips, but she tilted her head. “It would have been yesterday morning.  I wore it for a walk with Lord Hepworth around the grounds.”

Deflection.

“Lady Rosamund, when did you last see it exactly?” Richard pressed.

She held her upper arms tightly.  “I believe I last saw it in Lord Hepworth’s room.  I may have spent a moment there after our walk and I do not recall having it when I left the room.”

Richard hummed.  “Robin, bring Marigold Shore to the small study.”

“May I be excused?” Lady Rosamund asked frostily.

“Please bear with us for a while, m’lady,” Thomas said softly.  “We believe the next few moments are going to be vital in determining who actually killed Sir Richard.”

Lady Rosamund huffed.  She made her way back to the settee when Thomas ushered her there.  Her posture was ramrod straight.

There was a brief knock before Robin, Kit and the defiant Marigold Shore entered.

She took one look at Lady Rosamund and grimaced, understanding without being told that her scheme was at an end.

She’d simply fenced words with Robin in her interview, neither admitting nor denying anything.

“Marigold Shore or should we call you Marjory Kipling?” asked Richard briskly.

Shore glared back at him.  “You’re not framing me for that bastard’s murder.  I didn’t do it.”

Honesty.

Robin sighed.  “You couldn’t have just said that downstairs?”

“I thought you were trying to get me to admit to trying to get Hepworth to secure her money,” Shore said crudely, “not cop for a murder!”

“You are Marjory Kipling then?” asked Richard sternly.  “Daughter of Sir Arthur Juniper and Madelaine Gordon?”

Lady Rosamund’s eyes widened at the charge.

“Yes,” Shore sighed heavily.  “I am.”

“You ran to Lord Hepworth after the story was published by Carlisle to seek sanctuary?” asked Richard.

Shore’s hands formed fists at her sides, but she nodded.  “My existence wasn’t exactly a secret in the family.  My half-brothers and I used to be friendly. Sir Arthur paid for my education and helped me secure a position as a clerk in his company.  All that went to hell when Carlisle published that story.  Peter and Jinx were friends, and he was always kind to me.”

“Only Lord Hepworth has no money,” Richard said.

“He ran into Lady Rosamund, and you saw your chance for him to marry her and secure access to her fortune,” Thomas continued.  “You’d serve as her maid, and you’d be his mistress much in the same way as your mother had been Arthur Juniper’s.”

Shore didn’t reply but she didn’t have to say anything.

“Did you arrange for the former maid’s ‘accident’?” Thomas asked in a hard tone that demanded she answer.

“So what if I did?” Shore sneered.

Lady Rosamund gasped.

“You must have been perturbed at finding yourself in the same house as Sir Richard Carlisle,” Thomas remarked.  “The man responsible for your situation, for your mother’s death.”

Shore shrugged.  “I didn’t pay him any attention.  It seemed to me that Lady Mary was going to set him aside and he’d get his comeuppance that way.”  She snorted in a very unladylike fashion.  “He’d have been blocked from high society if he’d ruined her the way he ruined me.  Can’t think of a better punishment for him than that.  All that work he’d done to make something for himself, all ruined because he was just a nasty little bastard under his skin.”

Lady Rosamund huffed in agreement and the two women snapped a look at each other before pointedly turning away once more.

“Do you recognise this?” Richard showed her the stole.

Shore frowned.  “Lady Rosamund wore it yesterday for her walk.  I wasn’t able to find it in the room when I tidied up last night, I thought she might have left it in Jinx’s room and figured if she had, it was best to leave it there and retrieve it when I could best use the information.”

A blush crept across Lady Rosamund’s freckled face despite the mask of her paint and powders.

Thomas grimaced beside him, and Richard felt the echo of Thomas’ regret that he had once thought similarly to Shore, that it was best to hoard information in order to use it against people; the echo of similarity to how O’Brien had thought and acted.

Richard placed his hand on Thomas’ shoulder.  “So, you never retrieved this stole from Lord Hepworth’s room and placed it in a hatbox?”

“No,” Shore rolled her eyes at them before her gaze went suddenly sharp.  “What’s so important about this stole?”

She’d been honest again and Richard had no inclination to give her the answer to her question.

Richard placed it back in the briefcase.  “Robin, Kit, can you please escort Miss Shore back downstairs and speak to Mrs Hughes about securing her somewhere while we complete our investigation?  Maybe you can tackle the footmen next?”

Robin nodded.

“For the record, Miss Shore, or Miss Kipling,” Lady Rosamund said brusquely, “you are so very fired.”

Shore sent her an ugly look as Robin and Kit walked her out.

“Let me walk you back to your family,” Richard said.  “I’d ask you to keep silent about these revelations while I retrieve Lord Hepworth for his interview.”

Lady Rosamund swallowed hard, but she held his gaze.  “What is so important about my stole?”

“Let’s just say it was in the wrong place at the wrong time, m’lady,” Thomas said with a surprising amount of firmness to his voice that made Lady Rosamund stare at him.

“Very well, Guide Barrow,” she said formally.    

Richard admired her ability to pull her composure together.  He escorted her back in total silence.

She entered the parlour and re-took her seat without a single glance towards Lord Hepworth.

“Lord Hepworth,” Richard said firmly.  “If you’ll accompany me, please.”  He could see the ripple of surprise that it wasn’t Lady Grantham or Lady Edith. 

Hepworth was completely taken aback, but he set his drink down and got to his feet.  He smiled charmingly.  “Lead on my good fellow.”

They walked back to the small study briskly.

Richard closed the door.  “Take a seat, Lord Hepworth.”

Thomas and he sat together as Hepworth took the settee.  He caught how Hepworth’s eyes strayed to the leather valise on the desk.

“I’m really not sure what help I might be able to give you,” Hepworth began jovially. 

Richard could see why Lady Rosamund and Shore had fallen for him.  He was a handsome man with a slightly too long nose.  He was all upper-class charm and chivalry in manners, affable and engaging in character.

“I’m afraid your scheme with Miss Shore, or rather Miss Kipling regarding Lady Rosamund has come to light, Lord Hepworth,” said Thomas in a tone that was anything but apologetic.

“Ah,” Hepworth took the blow with a visible and pretended wince.  “That is unfortunate.” He sighed deeply.  “I am truly very fond of Rosamund.  She is a wonderful woman.”

“But you’re in love with Marjory Kipling,” Thomas said with a certainty that had to come from his empathy.

Hepworth grimaced, genuinely.  “She was my first love and I hers,” he confessed.  “We couldn’t be together then, of course, because an heir to a title was never going to marry the ward of the cook to the neighbouring estate, even if she was truly Sir Arthur’s daughter.  My father had me arranged to marry dear Eleanor before I was even out of short trousers.”

“Kipling ran to you after Carlisle published her story,” Thomas continued.

“We renewed our friendship,” Hepworth confirmed.  “I was glad to give her something of a safe haven given the terrible business.  Unfortunately, the end of the war has left me with quite the financial pickle.  Running into Rosamund seemed like serendipity.”

“How did you know Carlisle?” asked Richard.

“We were acquaintances,” Hepworth allowed.  “Members of the same club.  That was all.”

“Can you explain why your scent was in his room?” asked Richard bluntly, taking a guess at the unknown scent he had been unable to place that morning.

Hepworth froze.  “Ah.” He grimaced.  “I have no excuse there really.” He pushed a hand through his hair making it even more unruly.  “I confessed my financial woes to Rosamund at the end of the shooting, and apparently, Sir Richard overheard.  When we returned briefly to London, he came to see me and told me that as soon as he had proof, he’d publish my financial ruin for the world to know.”

Richard was a little surprised that he was admitting a motive to kill Carlisle quite so handily, but Hepworth wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.

“Everyone knew he kept any important evidence in his folder there,” Hepworth pointed towards the desk.  “When he arrived yesterday, I tried to sneak into his room after he’d gone down to take a look…” he gave a sheepish smile.  “Got caught by a maid and had to pretend that I’d wandered into the wrong room.” He lifted his hands as if to say ‘what else could he have done.’

Richard pulled out a stole. “Do you recognise this?”

“I think Rosamund was wearing it yesterday for our walk,” Hepworth said.  “I accidentally took possession of it briefly yesterday.”

Chivalrous, Richard thought partly amused at the attempt to save Lady Rosamund’s reputation. 

“Lawrence said he’d see it returned to her after he undressed me last night,” Hepworth said.

Thomas stilled.  He’d clearly worked something out.  “Lawrence acted as your valet?”

“Yes,” Hepworth smiled in that charming way of a guilty upper-class schoolboy caught cheating at cricket, “I haven’t been able to afford my own for over a year now.  It was a stroke of good luck to turn up here and find Lawrence and see he was doing so well.”

“You know him?” asked Richard.

“Of course,” Hepworth seemed surprised at any other conclusion.  “He was previously at Millington Castle with the Junipers.  I always felt a bit sorry for him, you know.  Arthur may have provided for his wild seeds, but it never seemed right to me to place one directly into one’s own family estate’s service.  Very awkward, you know.”

“Thank you, Lord Hepworth,” Thomas said, standing.  “You’ve been very helpful.”

Richard stood.

“I have?” Hepworth seemed surprised as he scrambled to his feet. “Well, of course, I’m glad to have been of any assistance and…”

“He’s running…”

Richard’s enhanced hearing picked up on Robin’s warning and he started towards the door as Thomas gestured at Hepworth and told him to remain in the study.

Thomas caught up with Richard in the corridor.  Richard grasped his hand as an anchor and opened up his senses and…

Lawrence was frantically running through the house, having burst through the door to the downstairs’ stairwell, Robin and Kit were in pursuit.

Thomas tugged him and…

Lawrence stormed into the entrance hall and…

Richard and Thomas hurried into the hall through the door from the dining room just as Robin and Kit entered from the door to the stairwell…

“STOP!” Lawrence yelled, grabbing an unsuspecting Lady Edith, who had the misfortune in exiting the water closet near the main door at just the wrong moment.  He dragged her to him and put a knife to her throat. “I’LL KILL HER! I’LL DO IT!”

There was noise behind them as the family rushed out to see what was happening, and more footsteps and babble as various servants came running, peeking over the banister railing from the upstairs and at the doorways.

“Lawrence,” Richard said quickly before Lord Grantham could open his mouth.  “Eyes on me.”

Thomas’ hand tightened on Richard’s.

Lawrence glared at them and took a step to the door.  “I want out!  Get me a car.  I’m taking her with me until I’m safe!”

“Oh dear God!” Lady Grantham murmured, hand to her mouth.  Lord Grantham held her closer to him, shielding her from the sight of their daughter in danger with his own body.  

“You won’t be going anywhere,” Thomas said with the certainty of his Guide gifts.  “You must know that.”     

“That cow Marjory gave me up, didn’t she?!” Lawrence snarled, his hand tightening painfully on Lady Edith’s arm.

“Why did you kill him?” Richard asked, sensing Thomas beginning to reach out and draw from the psionic plane.

“He was such a cunt!”

“Well, really!” The Dowager Countess said under her breath.

“Mama,” Lady Rosamund tried to hush her.

“He’s not wrong, but there is no need for that kind of language in mixed company.”

Richard blocked the exchange and focused on Lawrence.  “He was blackmailing you.”

Lawrence gulped heavily.  The young footman was red in the face, eyes frantic with fear and anger.  “Even though he’d been given the shaft, he told me I was to continue working here to get dirt on them all otherwise he’d tell the police about how I’d killed my father!”

“Oh God!” Lady Mary said.

“I just wanted what my father had given my brothers!  What he’d given Marjory!  An education!  Something that would mean I didn’t have to bow and scrape to my own bloody blood for the rest of my life!” Lawrence snarled.  “Thought I’d do better with Peter, but he was just as bad!  He refused to even look at me!”

He was almost screaming.

Thomas cleared his throat.  “That’s why you sold the story about Madelaine Gordon to Carlisle.”

“Served them all bloody right!” Lawrence agreed, calming a touch in the face of Thomas’ projected calm.  “And I was doing well after too with the money until fucking Carlisle wanted a spy because he didn’t trust his bride not have another man suddenly die in her bed like that foreign bloke did!”

Richard didn’t need to look at a horrified Lady Mary to know she’d immediately looked to see Matthew Crawley’s reaction to the revelation.

Lawrence fidgeted and pulled Edith closer, the blade dangerously near to her skin.  Edith gave a small cry.

Richard shifted.  “Lady Edith, keep your eyes on me.”

Edith swallowed hard, her eyes shining with tears.

“I said, I was going!  I’m not fooling!  Get me a car!” Lawrence said.

Thomas smiled.  “You’re not going anywhere.”  And he reached out with that sharp beautiful mind of his and downed Lawrence, ensuring the knife he held clattered harmlessly to the floor.

Thomas’ panther shimmied into view atop the comatose murderer snarling his victory.

Richard pulled Thomas to him as he staggered a touch with the effort he’d expended. 

A shaky Lady Edith lurched away from the crumpled form of her attacker and into the arms of her mother. 

Robin and Kit sent apologetic looks as they hurried over to deal with Lawrence.

The panther padded over to Thomas and bumped up against his hand. 

“Thomas…” Lord Grantham called out.

Richard didn’t let go of Thomas as they turned to look over at the Earl of Grantham, hovering beside his distraught middle daughter and his wife still clasped in a frantic embrace of relief and comfort.  Mary avoided Matthew’s concerned gaze determinedly nearby.

“Thank you,” Lord Grantham said, sounding sincere and truthful, “thank you for saving Edith’s life.”

Richard didn’t care.  They still had to wrap up the investigation, but then he was taking Thomas away from Downton.

o-O-o

Thomas looked at the huddled and miserable form of their murderer as he was shuffled into the police transport that had been called to take him away to jail where he’d be arraigned and trialled just like any other accused, even if Lawrence in the end had given them a full confession after Thomas had woken him up.

His panther bumped his head against his good hand asking for pets.  The spirit animal hadn’t left his side since he’d felled Lawrence in the hall. 

Richard stood silent and strong beside him, a Sentinel in action as well as in form. 

“I know I shouldn’t, but I feel for him,” Thomas said quietly.  “Service can be bad enough when you’re not related by blood to the family.  It’s still a hard thing for a man or woman with any natural pride to swallow that you’re working your fingers to the bone for people who are only in their privileged position because of an accident of birth.  You cater to their every whim, keep their house clean and tidy, and beautiful to the eye, and know that it’s never for you to use or touch or own.  Not only that, but you’re meant to be grateful for their benevolence in giving you a position in their service to do it all.”

“I think it’s only natural for you to place yourself in his shoes, you were in them here at Downton at one point – first footman, doing the same job,” Richard commented in the same quiet tone. 

Thomas smiled at his words.

“It’s easy for you to remember the frustration you genuinely felt at having to serve and imagine how much worse it might have been if the Crawley ladies had been your sisters, Lord Grantham, your father…”

Thomas snorted at that picture.

“I can’t condone what he did,” Richard said, “but I appreciate he had a valid complaint at his father’s decision for him to enter service rather than provide better for him.”

“Carlisle was stupid, he should have allowed him to leave Downton,” Thomas said bluntly, “and knowing Lawrence had already murdered, he really should have locked his door before he turned in.”

It had all tumbled out in the confession.  Carlisle had sought out Lawrence after leaving the altercation.  He’d ordered him to find more dirt on the Crawleys, and when Lawrence had protested staying in service longer, Carlisle had reminded him that he’d had Lawrence signed confession to his father’s murder – something Carlisle had tricked Lawrence into doing.

Lawrence had stewed on the unfairness of it all until finally he’d sneaked up to Carlisle’s room with the fox stole Hepworth had given him to return to Rosamund.  He shot Carlisle using the stole to muffle the shot, staging it to look like Madelaine Gordon’s suicide.  He’d removed his confession from the folder and hightailed it out of the bedroom.  He’d burned the confession in the slumbering fire in the Servants’ Hall.  He’d taken a moment in the chaos of the morning before the police arrived to sneak back into Lady Rosamund’s room and hide the stole, thinking nobody would find it in a hatbox.

“Arrogant,” Richard said, “Carlisle was arrogant.  He thought he had control of everything, and he paid for that arrogance.”

Thomas waved the next transport forward and a still defiant Marjory Kipling was marched forward to be placed on board.  She sent them a defiant look as they put her into the car.  They were charging her with assault on the maid.  Lady Rosamund had declined to charge either Kipling or Hepworth with attempted fraud.

Thomas nudged Richard as they started back inside.  “You should find Robin and Kit.”

Their fellow Sentinel and Guide were devastated they’d allowed Lawrence to get upstairs and into a position to harm someone.

“You’re not coming with me?” asked Richard.

Thomas shook his head.  “There’s something I have to do.”

“Bates won’t thank you for it,” Richard murmured grumpily.

“Bates doesn’t deserve to hang,” Thomas stated firmly.  Richard’s protectiveness was welcome, but deep down he knew his Sentinel agreed.  “And Lassiter would have given him a harsher punishment than simply insisting on his sacking if he had established that Bates knew that I was really a Guide.”

Richard paused their progress in the deserted hallway.  He kissed him softly.  “Just…just take care of you in all this.”

“I promise,” Thomas said. 

Richard moved off, heading back to the small study.  Thomas watched him do and made for the door to the downstairs.

He found the staff gathered in the Servants’ Hall.  They all surged to their feet at his arrival in the doorway – even Carson.

He ignored the butler who was beginning to splutter and waved them back down.

“Mrs Bates, if I could see you for a moment?”

Anna paled but nodded. 

Mrs Hughes gave her an encouraging nod.

“If I could make use of your office, Mister Carson?” Thomas said politely.

Carson regarded him with a frown.  “Is it really necessary for you to put her through this?”

Thomas’ panther growled. 

Carson flinched back.

“I think you’ll find that it is none of your business, Mister Carson,” Thomas said evenly.  “Mrs Bates.”  He gestured for her to proceed him from the Hall.

They entered the pantry, and he closed the door.  He motioned for her to take a seat and he pulled up another rather than use Carson’s empty chair.  His panther nudged his hand and disappeared.

“Why haven’t you appealed to the Order about Bates, Anna?” Thomas asked gently.

Anna crumpled, her face squishing up as she tried and failed to stop her tears.  He offered her a handkerchief, then reached out and held one of her hands as she cried herself out. 

She finally took a shaky breath and looked at him with a watery gaze.  “When it came out that he was a dormant Sentinel, that he’d lied about it, and you’d awakened…he was so ashamed, Thomas, properly ashamed.”  She took another breath.  “I asked, I begged him to reach out to the Order when he was arrested, but he said he didn’t deserve your attention to his case; that the way he had ignored his own instincts that something wasn’t right…” she sighed deeply.  “He wouldn’t do it.”

Thomas was heartened to hear that Bates had been chastened.  “You really think he’s innocent?”

Anna nodded.  “I’m not saying he’s not capable of violence,” she admitted, “I can see that in him, although he’s never been anything but gentle with me.”

A dormant Sentinel always had a greater capacity towards violence, and Thomas was thankful Anna had realised it.

“Even with Vera, his ex-wife, he wasn’t violent in their confrontations,” Anna said, “and he walked away when she’d try and provoke him.” She sighed.  “If she’d provoked him into strangling her, I’d maybe believe it, but into premeditated poisoning?”  She shook her head.

There was a truth to her words that Thomas couldn’t deny.

He sighed and met her eyes.  “I can call the London Order and ask them to send a Sentinel and Guide to review the case; that will immediately suspend the hanging order.”

Anna’s face brightened so rapidly that he was momentarily worried about whether she’d faint.  She threw herself at him and he caught her in an awkward hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Anna said.

Thomas gently disengaged her and set her back in her chair.  “I need to warn you that as a dormant Sentinel, if they find him guilty, they’ll execute him immediately…”

“They won’t find him guilty, I promise!” Anna babbled.  Her tearful eyes were filled with happiness. “I promise!”

Anna truly, deeply believed in her husband’s innocence.  Thomas almost didn’t need his gifts to know it. 

He smiled.  “Then, off you go and tell Mrs Hughes, while I make a telephone call.”

Anna got up, hugged him again and left, pulling the door shut after her. 

Thomas turned to the telephone and picked up the earpiece waiting for the operator.  The call took no time at all.  He was quickly given assurance that the suspend order would be given immediately to York Prison. 

His bond was telling him Richard was done soothing Robin and Kit, and that he was hoping Thomas was done with his task.

A knock sounded on the door, and Mrs Hughes entered a step, holding onto the door. 

“May I speak to you for a moment?” she asked.

Thomas waved her in.

Mrs Hughes closed the door and smiled warmly at him.  “That’s a lovely thing you’ve done for Anna, thank you.”

Thomas nodded.  “Bates really should have unbent enough to have requested the assistance when he got arrested.”

“He was deeply ashamed when he was found out to be lying,” Mrs Hughes said, “more so when it came out that you had awakened and had almost died of the trauma.”  She paused.  “He told me just before he left back then that if he’d ever stopped to think about what he had been sensing, he might have put it together, but he’d let his prejudices and anger blind him.”

“I wasn’t nice to him, I was mean and jealous,” Thomas said shortly.  “I don’t blame him for giving me short shrift in his thinking.”     

Mrs Hughes gave an unhappy nod.  “Still, I think those of us here at the time, look back and wonder if we’d stopped O’Brien from isolating you from the start, maybe things might have turned out better.”

“You mean I might have been less sly and conniving,” Thomas said bluntly.

“You may not have needed to be if you’d thought you didn’t have the whole world against you,” Mrs Hughes said.  She grimaced.  “Mister Carson wanted me to ask if you’d spare a moment for him?”

Thomas immediately shook his head.  “My Sentinel won’t entertain that idea, Mrs Hughes, and I won’t entertain doing something that will cause Richard any distress.”

“I understand,” Mrs Hughes said. 

Thomas stood up.  “Speaking of my Sentinel, I should get back to him.”

Mrs Hughes stepped back and Thomas opened the door.

“Please thank Mister Carson for the use of his office,” Thomas said politely.  “We’ll be on our way shortly, Mrs Hughes, so if I don’t see you again, it has been good to remake your acquaintance, despite the circumstances.”

“Same here, Thomas,” Mrs Hughes said, her emotions bubbling up and making her a little teary-eyed.

Thomas escaped, rapidly returning to the upstairs.  He slowed his approach to the study as he caught sight of Matthew Crawley already dressed in white tie for dinner sitting in one of the couches in the main salon, brooding.

“Mister Matthew?” Thomas said, walking up to him, unable to let a man stewing in unhappiness be without trying to offer some help.

Crawley looked at him almost blankly.  “Guide Barrow, apologies I didn’t see you there.”  He grimaced.  “Mary tells me that business the lad lobbed at her about someone dying in her bed was true and…” he sighed.  “I’m just not sure what to make of it all.”

Thomas smiled.  “Begging your pardon, but I think you are sure, you’re just fearful of taking the next step with Lady Mary.”

Crawley blinked at him.  “Perhaps you’re right.”

Thomas hesitated and then ploughed on.  “Love is a precious thing.  If the war taught us anything it’s that we shouldn’t waste our time delaying the inevitable, and if I may say so, there is something very inevitable about you and Lady Mary whatever may have happened in the past.”

Crawley cracked a smile.  “Thank you, Guide Barrow.”  He got up, set his glass on the side table and departed in the direction of the drawing room.

Thomas nodded to himself.  Crawley would make up his own mind. 

He turned back to his previous course only Lord Grantham appeared in front of him, stepping out of the dining room and blocking his way to the study.

“Ah, Barrow, I’m glad I caught you,” Lord Grantham began.

“Lord Grantham,” Thomas said politely.  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m just on my way to my Sentinel.”

“I just wanted to offer my sincere apologies for what happened during your time here,” Lord Grantham bulled on with only the confidence the upper-class possessed, knowing as they did that any of lower rank would likely allow them to continue regardless of any verbal protest.  “I hope you realise that my decision to step in and request adjudication for Carson was driven only by his years of loyal and devoted service and…”

“Lord Grantham,” Thomas cut in.  His emotions bubbled up raging, and he felt Richard’s approach like a storm coming in to sweep across a field and set it on fire.

Richard’s lion appeared beside him and roared.

The Earl stepped back, suddenly registering Thomas’ anger and realising that he had most definitely made a horrible mistake in continuing to press his excuses.

Richard came to a halt beside Thomas, a second behind his lion.

“Did I or did I not make myself clear about how my Guide was to be treated?” Richard thundered in his quiet way.

Lord Grantham’s jaw worked as he considered his position carefully.  “I apologise.  I only wished…”

“You only wished to make yourself feel better about your decision to retain your butler despite his criminal behaviour,” Richard bit out tersely, “even if that meant hurting my Guide again.”

Thomas put his hand on Richard’s arm, less to restrain him as he didn’t truly think that Richard would punch an Earl in the face, and more to comfort him.  He returned his gaze to his former employer.

“You know Sentinels and Guides can detect fact from fiction, Lord Grantham,” Thomas said bluntly.  “Sir Mortimer said Mister Carson lied about asking me to test and you had to know that to be the truth.  When you intervened and had Mister Carson’s punishment reduced for his failure to follow the proper procedures, for his negligence in allowing a dormant Sentinel to latch onto a latent Guide, for lying about it all after…” he breathed in sharply, “you knew the truth and you intervened anyway.”

Finally, the Earl looked down and away, shamed.

Thomas was vaguely aware of the Dowager Countess hovering in the back arch of the salon.  The others were likely upstairs dressing for dinner, although Hepworth had already departed for the station, no longer welcome under the Downton roof.  Mrs Hughes had appeared by the servants’ door, closing it behind her and standing guard.  He could imagine the gaggle behind it listening in, could sense the heavy presence of Carson just beyond…

Thomas took a breath as Richard sent him a rush of love and support through their bond.  “I accept that you did what you did because you love Mister Carson who has served you in every other way with the devotion and loyalty of a good and grateful servant, and you did not want to look beyond your dislike of me, who was neither a good nor grateful servant, to see that the roots of my behaviour were formed in the dysfunctional relationships I had and which he fomented with his negligence.”

Lord Grantham seemed to have been shocked speechless.  His cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment.

“I even take some responsibility myself for not insisting upon testing at my previous service certainly, but definitely when I got here,” Thomas said.  “Being a Guide or a Sentinel seemed so very unlikely to me, a working-class lad, what was I to care for the fact that I hadn’t been tested.” 

His past attitude had led him to create a new education programme that explained the importance of Sentinel and Guide testing to every schoolchild in every village whether working class, middle or upper. 

“I almost died, Lord Grantham,” Thomas said starkly.  “I almost died and if I had, I would have taken Richard with me, and that is entirely unacceptable to me.” His voice thickened with emotion at just the idea of it.

The Earl breathed in sharply.

“So, you see, Lord Grantham, why I will never, can never forgive Mister Carson for his actions, or rather inaction,” Thomas said, “and why I cannot abide your own decision to interfere so he did not face the full measure of what should have been his punishment.”

Richard’s hand slid into his and he held it tightly, lending support.

“I understand,” Lord Grantham said sombrely.  “I understand more now than I ever did, and I…I am sorrier than I can ever say, Barrow, for all of it.”

Thomas nodded. 

Richard cleared his throat.  “Thomas and I will not return to Downton for any unofficial business while Mister Carson remains employed here.  I trust you understand, Lord Grantham?” 

He gestured at Lord Grantham with his hat, and it was then that Thomas realised Richard was already in his outer coat ready to depart.

Robin and Kit stood by the door with the very flustered second footman, goggle-eyed and trying desperately to hide his shock at what he’d heard, his arms full of Thomas’ coat.    

“I understand,” Lord Grantham said, his voice heavy with it.  “Thank you for your efforts today, for finding the truth and…and saving Edith.”

Thomas nodded along with Richard. 

“We’ll take our leave of you now,” Richard said.

They headed for the scent of the crisp outdoors, pausing only for Thomas to shrug into his coat, pull on his gloves and hat.

The car stood idling, waiting for them. 

Lady Mary stood alone, a short distance away, still in her day dress, arms wrapped around her body as she stared up at the dark evening sky and the beginning of a light snowfall.  She looked over to them and nodded her goodbye.

Thomas nodded back.

Richard tugged him into the back of the car and Thomas happily leaned into his embrace as soon as they sat.

“Ready to leave?” asked Richard.

“I’m ready,” Thomas said, and meant it in all the ways he’d thought he’d done when he’d left before. 

Only he hadn’t meant it the last time he’d left, because he hadn’t been ready; he’d run away rather than be sacked; run away from the toxicity he and O’Brien had created with Bates.

Richard tucked him closer to him as though he could shield Thomas from his past with his own body.

And it was the past, Thomas reminded himself.  He had done a lot of healing to make himself worthy of his Sentinel, and he had more healing to do, but he would do it with Richard beside him every step of the way.

The car moved off, turning around in the drive to head back down the long winding road to the gate.

Thomas couldn’t help but look back through the tiny back window. 

And there in front of the house, Matthew Crawley was down on one knee in front of Lady Mary.

Thomas smiled.  He turned away leaving them to their moment.  Richard kissed his brow and Thomas leaned into his strength.

“Let’s get home,” Thomas said. 

He had his own happy ending to live.    

fin.