Work Text:
It all happened so fast. One moment he was wondering whether he should be relieved or offended that His Majesty's 'Page of the Backstairs' would be taking over the preparations and execution of the Royal visit, and the next the decision was taken out of his hands and handed over to Carson. Now thathe was offended by, there was no question of that. And, when the news had been sprung upon him, without so much as a 'by your leave', he had reacted accordingly. Seeing as it had happened that quickly, wihtout a moment's pause for thought or consideration, the magnitude of his own conduct didn't sink in quite soon enough to stay his tongue.
At the echo of the green baize door firmly closing behind him, it all hit him with full force. Thomas Barrow stopped dead in his tracks, frozen and horrified as his brain caught up with his actions. His eyes widened, his breath hitched and he stumbled back to lean heavily against the wall. He suddenly felt quite faint.
What had he just done?
Interrupting and raising his voice at his employer was bad enough, but then he had gone and slammed the door practically in the Earl's face. What had he been thinking? He had believed himself to be past lashing out at his superiors these days. But never, not even in the most reckless periods of his youth, had he ever been rude to a member of the Family. Not openly, at any rate. And not counting Mr. Branson. Not that he hadn't accepted that the former chauffeur was part of the family by now, but that was beside the point. The level of rudeness and disrespect he had just displayed towards a man who had the power to decide his entire future would have been unimaginable to him not even half an hour earlier. Thomas would consider himself lucky if they allowed him to stay the night, much less return to his duties after Their Majesties had left.
With his mind racing, back against the wall and hands on his knees to support his hunched figure, he desperately tried to quell his mounting panic.
Richard Ellis was on his way back from the attics when he heard the thud of the door being shut with considerable force.
This may not have been such a notable occurrence had he still been in the attics, or even in the kitchens, but there was only one door it could be, considering his current position. The one separating the upstairs and downstairs. The nobility and the servants. The one door in the Family's part of the house they generally ignored. Out of sight, out of mind. Not to be seen, and most certainly not to be heard.
The King's valet resumed descending the stairs. He was a little curius, though not unduly alarmed. It wouldn't be the first time a member of the resident staff had a break down during Their Majesties visits, or under the stress of preparing for it. The pressure was high and everyone was being pushed to their limits. He had seen it all before. Usually, it was some maid or other that gave out first. Richard himself had become quite adept at calming members of the female staff suffering from fits of hysteria. And loud noises, like the one he had just heard, could just as easily be the result of some poor, overexcited housemaid fainting dead on the floor. His conscience wouldn't allow him to move on without investigating the matter. Besides, what would his mother say? Actually, he knew perfectly well what she would say, 'Just because you have no interest in marrying one, does not give you the right to treat a girl without the consideration and respect she deserves!'.
He could hear ragged breathing of distress before seeing the person responsible for them. Surprisingly, there was no maid in need of rescuing, but the butler of the house himself! The handsome man was perhaps youngest in the senior position of butler the valet had met so far. Not to mention friendly and approachable, and less prone to arrogance and selfimportance than many he'd had the misfortune of meeting in his own position for the crown. And he appeared to be quite a capable fellow as well – being intimidated by Mr. Wilson was not a failing in his book. Anyone would be unsettled by his presence. The older man could make the very walls of a house cry, and drive saints to pull their own hair out in frustration.
"Mr. Barrow?" he called out in a confused greeting.
Was the man ill? He seemed perfectly alright at breakfast. Not that Richard had been paying any undue attention to the man, of course. Though, he was nice to look at.
The butler gave another anguished groan and just about collapsed against the wall, dangerously close to sliding into a pile on the floor.
"Hey, hey," the valet rushed down the last few steps to the other man's side, putting his hands on his shoulders to hold him up. "Take a deep breath."
The black-haired man appeared to be having trouble breathing. If Richard hadn't know any better, he would say Mr. Barrow really was having a hysterical fit.
"That's it. Deep breaths," he said as evenly as he could manage, moving a hand to the poor man's upper back and started moving it in soothing circles, hoping the butler wouldn't be too offended by the contact when he came back to his senses. "Everything's gonna be alright."
As Thomas' breathing slowed to a less alarming level, his current circumstances started to sink in and his embarrassment at having been witnessed in it crept unto his pale cheeks to rapidly darken them. And did it have to be Mr. Ellis of all people? The valet hadn't seemed to object to his company so far. Had invited his conversation, even. Now he had surely ruined all that, and lost all dignity in the eyes of the refined valet, and any respect with it.
"Are you alright?" Mr. Ellis asked kindly, more concerned than disapproving of his most unprofessional display. "Did something happen?"
"I..." the butler trailed off and dropped his head back into his hands. "Oh, dear Lord!"
The valet took a firmer grip on the man's shoulder, alarmed at the return to his former state of distress.
"I slammed the door in his Lordship's face,"he forced out, muffled by the hand covering his own face, as if he could smother the words and erase the last half hour of his life from existence.
"What?" the lighter haired man said, more out of bewilderment than anything.
"Carson's taking over as butler," he continued as if the other man hadn't said anything at all.
"Wait. You got sacked?"
"No, I don't know. Maybe," he stood up, but leaned back, trusting the wall to hold him up while his spirit would not, and rubbed his good hand across his forehead. "Probably."
"But you're being replaced, you said?" the valet questioned with furrowed brows, trying to make sense of the disjointed words.
"Yes. Mr. Carson, the old, retired butler, is coming back," Thomas explained more calmly, though no less gloomily, patting his pockets in search of a pack of cigarettes. "They don't think I can handle a grand visit like this."
He produced a weak, self-deprecating smile and had to give up the search of his pockets. They weren't there. He had left it upstairs, along with his lighter. It truly had been a while since he last felt the insistent craving of a cigarette.
"Now that's rubbish," the valet pronounced forcibly, eyebrows raised in doubt. "You seem perfectly capable to me."
"Well, the upstairs don't seem to agree with that. Carson's already here and all," he said bitterly, looking down, unable to meet the other man's intense gaze as he continued. "Proved them right, didn't I? With the way I just acted. Not fit to handle the big, important stuff."
"I'm sure they couldn't have expected you to take it well," the valet said reassuringly, hoping he wasn't about to make a liar of himself. "Springing it on you like that, with no warning? Anyone'd take it badly."
"I interrupted Lord Grantham, twice. And that's not counting the third time when I did it with the door," the butler shook his head in defeat. "I'm lucky if they let me stay the night."
"Well, if they do kick you out," the valet began, giving Thomas' shoulder a solemn pat. "My parents live nearby, I'm sure they'd let you borrow my old bed. No doubt they'd be thrilled to have some company."
The butler cracked a smile. Not a big one, mind, but a small, fragile thing, with hints of something radiant hiding under the surface. Who would have thought calming techniques for soothing hysterical housemaids worked just as well on distressed butlers?
"Now, cheer up, Mr. Barrow. It's not the end of the world. So you've got an unexpected holiday. Should be cause for celebration, really. I mean, in this job?" the valet said cheerfully, with a smile of the highly contagious kind. "And I wouldn't worry about it. You're not missing much. Trust me, old Wilson'll have ripped the reigns out of your Mr. Carson's hands before the day is done."
"Thank you, Mr. Ellis, Thomas said sincerely, his smile growing just a tad wider.
The valet acknowledged his gratitude with another grin and a nod of the head. "Richard."
"I'm sorry?" the butler said with a questioning look.
"Well, since I might have just averted a major crisis on the staircase, the least you could do in return is call me by my given name," he said reasonably, fighting another smile. "Don't you agree?"
"I suppose so," Thomas replied in amused surprise. "Mr.- Richard."
Out of sorts from both the ordeal in the library earlier, as well as the unexpected help and kindness of the visiting valet, the butler didn't realise until much later – while straightening his livery in front of the bathroom mirror – that he had failed to respond in kind and offer the use of his own given name. He could only hope the man would forgive him for the slight, given the state of his mind at the time. Mr. Ellis – Richard – seemed like a reasonably forgiving man, not easily offended.
He certainly hoped so.