Archive of Our Own

 

Jimmy had an afternoon off, and though the clouds were dark and everyone told him he was being stupid because it was going to rain, he walked to the village anyway, though he nicked Mrs. Hughes’ umbrella when he left.  It was cold and damp out, but the leaves had all turned and on his way down the road they rained on him like sovereigns.   By the time he reached The Dog and Duck, he was clutching his coat closed.  He had nothing in particular in mind to do, and that was the best part of the day.   At the pub he had a beer and played two games of billiards with a fellow from the post office.   After the second game he spotted Mr. Molesley, who was back at Crawley House as butler, and wanting to avoid a lengthy conversation with Molesley of all people, he only nodded a hello and stepped out.  The village shop was probably an unwise venture, especially with a little money in his pocket.  But because it was as close to a holiday as he was likely to get anytime soon and there was no one around to think him childish, he brought a scoop full of caramels, two sticks of rock candy, a mystery story magazine, and a mouth harp that caught his fancy.

By the time he left the shop, a caramel melting in his mouth, it was sprinkling. He grumbled and stuffed the bag of loot under his coat, hoping the magazine wouldn't get wet. The road turned to mud even before it started pouring buckets.

“Oh, just lovely,” he mumbled, holding the umbrella lower over his head to fend off the downpour. “What next? Slip in the mud?”

Stepping around a puddle, he tripped over a rock, and slipped in the mud.

He groaned and growled and stumbled to his feet, but the ground was so slippery that his foot shot out from under him and he fell into the puddle. The bag of treats, mercifully, was at least still safe when he found his legs. But his coat and hat were a collective disaster and dirty water had splashed in his face.

“Stupid bloody rain bloody...”

He had fallen on Mrs. Hughes' umbrella and now it was half-collapsed. The rain took no notice of his torment and assaulted him all the way down the road. By the time Downton was in sight, he was sure he had a tickle in his throat. He was probably getting ill. No one would be nice about it, they'd only blame him for going out in the first place. He was wet enough for drowning and his hair was ruined. He was sure he looked a fright.

“Many brave heeeaarts are asleeeeep in the deeeeep,” he sang in a dour baritone. “So bewaaaaare because the bloody brolly won't budge stupid bugger ugh. And I'm definitely sick because bloody Alfred gave me his cold.”

He sniffed and just as he was about to trudge through the back gate behind Downton, he heard a meow. He thought it was a meow; a whining plea from a thick hedge.

Jimmy stopped for a moment and eyed the hedge. “Sorry, cat,” Jimmy said. “Got me own problems.”

The meows strengthened.

Jimmy sneezed.

“Ugh.” He started to trudge through the gate, just as the cat mewled yet louder. “Oh, come on.”

The difficulty was that Jimmy happened to like cats. He readjusted his things, all clumped beneath his coat, and turned on his muddy heel to investigate. He squatted down in front of the hedge, his coat dragging in the muck, and squinted through the rain. The kitten was tiny and grey with white paws. It crouched under the leaves; ears flat, mouth wide as it yelled at him for help. It was scrawny and as soaked through as Jimmy was.

The thing was bloody pathetic.

“Well, where's your mum then?” Jimmy said.

“MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW!” The cat said.

“Oh, Lord... Alright. Alright!”

The kitten went under Jimmy's coat.

At the back door, he muttered at the kitten, “If you want me to help you, you'd better shut up.” He shut his coat around the thing and hoped it would muffle the sound. He wasn't certain of Mr. Carson's views on strays. Alfred was in the servants' hall, sipping tea and reading the paper.

“What's happened to you?” He said.

“It's called rain,” Jimmy said. “It's water that falls from the sky.”

Jimmy struggled to close the broken umbrella and replaced in its stand as he wiped his boots on the doormat. He'd have to explain about the umbrella to Mrs. Hughes. He hoped she wouldn't ask him to replace it, seeing as how he hadn't asked to borrow it in the first place.

“What've you got under your coat?” Alfred said.

Jimmy frowned at him. “Nothin'.” His coat meowed and he coughed. “Think I'm comin' down with somethin'. I'm going to dry off.”

Upstairs he opened his coat over the bed. The hat, the bag from the shop, and a wet and startled kitten tumbled out. He kept an eye on the cat as he stripped off his clothes and toweled away the wet. The kitten was curious and stumbled around on the bed, tracking mud on his blanket. It did not stop meowing the entire time.

“Will you please shut up?” Jimmy said. “I'll get you some milk, alright? Shut the bloody hell up!”

“MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW!”

He changed into a dry pair of trousers and socks, and sat on the bed. “I'm not goin' to give ya milk if you keep hollering.”

“MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW!”

He sighed, lying down on his side. “Are you a boy or a girl? It's hard to tell with kittens.”

“MEW!”

“You look like a boy.”

“MEW.”

“I'll take that as a yes.”

He patted the kitten on the head. The kitten flattened its ears and crouched down on its stomach. “MEW!”

“I'm not goin' to sock you, stupid.”

He tapped the kitten on the nose and it bit his finger playfully.

“Aw.”

Jimmy named the kitten Apollo.

 

Thomas’s day was going smoothly.  The Dowager was over with her guest, an opera singer whose name Thomas could not keep in his head for love or money.  Thomas was picking up Jimmy’s slack but Mr. Carson could hardly begrudge him his due.  Jimmy was supposed to have had his afternoon off the week before but Alfred had asked to switch.  So Thomas served luncheon with Alfred and wondered what Jimmy was up to.  He, like everyone else, warned Jimmy not to go out in the potentially foul weather, but Thomas knew how trapped one could feel at Downton after too many days cooped up.  Even a rainy day outside could be a blessed relief.  Apparently the Crawleys agreed as, despite the gathering clouds, the ladies all insisted on tea in the garden. Thomas thought they were all trying very hard to be cheerful for the sake of both Lady Mary and Mrs. Crawley, both solemn in their black mourning clothes. At least they had spared Mr. George the chill; he was safe up in his nursery. Even Thomas would have traded the company of children for the damn cold air, as he stood waiting to pour next to Alfred, umbrellas at the ready, just in case.

The opera singer did well keeping things light and had Lady Mary and Mrs. Crawley smiling at her stories of shows at Le Palais Garnier. She was describing a large headdress that had slid down over her face during the performance of an aria (Thomas couldn't make heads or tales of what opera she was talking about, nor did he care), when it began to rain. The ladies trilled and leapt to their feet as Thomas and Alfred opened the umbrellas; the problem being that there were two umbrellas and six ladies.

Thomas didn't see Edith slip and fall into the wet grass, but Lady Mary did and she burst out laughing. Then she fell down, right on her bum, and Edith started laughing. The Dowager fluttered around, cawing about how they would surely ruin their dresses and the opera singer seemed uncertain as to how she was expected to act.

“Mama!” Lady Mary gasped, between hysterical giggles. “Mama, help me up!”

Alfred stepped forward, still attempting to hold the umbrella over Lady Grantham's head, and grabbed Lady Mary's hand to help her to her feet, but when he dug his heels into the grass as he pulled her up, he slipped, bringing them both to the ground, which made Lady Mary giggle even more. Thomas had never seen her this way. She didn't look mad either, only genuinely mirthful.

Mrs. Crawley was laughing too, and she clutched the Dowager's shoulder. The Dowager didn't laugh, but her expression of pleased amusement gave her away. Lady Grantham huddled under Thomas's umbrella, grinning, but Thomas was sure he saw tears in her eyes. She even glanced at him and, feeling required to join in on the mirth, he attempted a placating smile that only made her look away.

Thomas helped them up, resolute that he would not fall down, and he didn't. The oddest part was when, having gotten to their feet, Lady Mary and Lady Edith hung on to each other, still breathless with fresh peals of laughter, for they could not help themselves. Thomas, though he didn't think about such things very often, had not thought they were any closer than they used to be. It just went to show, you could spend all your days' hours in the family's house and still not know all the details.

Thomas and Alfred gave their umbrellas over to the ladies so they could clean things up, even as the delicate white tea cups spilled over with rain. Trudging back, as the pomade was rinsed out of his hair much to his displeasure, Thomas spotted a book left under a willow tree in the garden.

The book was The Wind in the Willows, and the ink of the inscription on the title page was running in raindrops, but Thomas could still make it out and it read:

To my beautiful Sybbie, from your Great Grannie Violet

Thomas felt a flash of consternation. The nanny had likely left it out. There was always something thrilling in the discovery that someone else wasn't doing their job well. By the time he found Mrs. Hughes in the hall, having put the tea things away, he was fairly puffed up with self-satisfaction.

“That nanny is rubbish,” Thomas said importantly, holding up the book. “She leaves Miss Sybbie's things out to spoil and it's pouring out.”

Mrs. Hughes frowned. “Well, that was careless of her.”

“And it was a gift from the old- from the Dowager Countess.” He sat at the table with his evidence and lit a cigarette, sticking it in his mouth to take off his soaking wet jacket. Briefly he wondered if Jimmy was back yet. “She ought to be reprimanded at least.”

“You can be sure I'll speak to her, Mr. Barrow,” Mrs. Hughes said. “If you're so concerned, you might dry the book out. Put it up on a rack to air the pages.”

Thomas frowned at the book. Now he had a task. Which wasn't nearly so good as only having a complaint. But he puffed away with an air of aggravation, grabbing the book, to search for an empty dish rack in the kitchen. Instead he found Jimmy mid-sneeze, begging milk from Daisy as she was gutting a chicken.

“Never mind why,” Jimmy insisted. “Can't a man have a bit of milk if he wants it? I'm not askin' for the world. And if you're throwin' away those insides, I'll have those too.”

“What, the giblets?” Daisy said, looking at him as if he were mad.

“Yeah. It's a...cold cure. Me mum told me...”

“Well, I've never heard of it.'

“Daisy.”

“Yes, alright! Just a moment...” Daisy rolled her eyes and went off for the milk. Jimmy found an empty sugar bowl on the counter and dropped the greasy chicken guts in it, sneezing again.

“The rain's made you ill, hasn't it?” Thomas said behind him, flipping the pages of the book. It wasn't so very wet after all. “I knew it would. Did you have a good time anyhow?”

“Yes, it was fine,” Jimmy said peevishly. “And I'm not ill. What've you got there?”

“Nothin' important,” Thomas said. “Just a book. Are you up for chess or cards tonight or are you on your death bed?”

“I'm not ill, I said. Ah, no. I've got...somethin' I need to do. Well, maybe one game of hearts.”

“I see.” Thomas was slightly put out, but he was mostly curious as to Jimmy's odd behavior. And that was not to mention that milk and chicken's guts were no cold cure.

In fact, Jimmy returned to his room and didn't come back down except to eat dinner with the rest of them. He seemed privately amused about something. He told Thomas about his day, although when Thomas asked what he'd gotten at the village shop, Jimmy changed the subject.

“Ah, Mr. Barrow, what do you think...?” Jimmy's sentence wandered off, a forkful of chicken Diane halfway to his mouth. He glanced at Mr. Carson, made an inexplicable and ridiculous face, and looked down at his food.

“What do I think of what?” Thomas said. He was on the edge of his seat.

“Ah, nothin.' Tell you later.”

But he didn't tell Thomas later. Thomas didn't see Jimmy for the rest of the night. So Thomas sulked over his newspaper and giving up on a dull story about pent up communists, he rose to go to the kitchen and see how Miss Sybbie's book was faring. He had left it in the pantry, where it was warm but far from the possibility of spills. He paged through the little tome. It was nearly dry. The Dowager's ink had run like black tears, but that couldn't be helped. An illustration caught his eye and he opened the book to a drawing of a toad wearing a suit and sitting in a rowboat. Thomas knew that The Wind and the Willows was a children's book about animals having adventures. Though he had once heard the Dowager herself profess to like it. Perhaps it was a favorite if she had given it to Sybbie. Without a thought, Thomas turned to the first page just to see what the fuss was about.

The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home.

Twenty minutes later, Thomas had lost all sense of the world around him. He was out and about with Mole and Ratty and Toad. He had not read a good book in ages. He had forgotten what a pleasure it was to escape now and then from real life.

“Have you been in here this whole time?” Mr. Carson's voice startled him and he shut the book, snapping to attention. “I've been looking everywhere for you.”

“Yes. I was just... It's after dinner, I don't see what-”

“I was only finding you to let you know that there's a duck hunt tomorrow,” Mr. Carson said sternly. “I'll need you to speak to the gamekeeper early in the morning. Then there's the boot room to see to and the guns...”

“A duck hunt. Now?” Thomas said.

“They think it might cheer Lady Mary,” Mr. Carson said. “She had a good day today. So we will give her the best duck hunt we can manage. Won't we?”

“No arguments here,” Thomas said with a shrug. Mr. Carson left him, glaring for no reason that Thomas could see. For a man who so disapproved of buggery, Thomas thought. he walked around as if he had a large and unforgiving stick shoved up his bum most of the time. Thomas gave up on cards with Jimmy, and went up to his room to retire for the night, the book under his arm. It was not quite dry after all. Miss Sybbie was not yet two years old, she would hardly miss it. He knew the nanny wasn't going to miss it. So Thomas changed into his pajamas, even though it was earlier than he would usually retire, and sat up in bed with his cigarettes and Mole, Ratty, and Toad. An hour later, there was a soft knock on his door. Thomas was already halfway through the book. He muttered obscenities and put it aside. Why did it have to be so bloody short? It was awfully entertaining. He opened his door a crack to see Jimmy in shirtsleeves, frowning at him.

“What, you've gone to bed already?” Jimmy said. “I thought we'd play cards.”

“Oh...” Thomas frowned, his mind still on his book. “You were busy.”

“I was. I'm not now, let's play cards.”

“Oh. Can't. I'm very tired.” It was silly to lie. But he felt embarrassed to be so engrossed in a children's book even if it was one of the Dowager's favorites.

Jimmy squinted at him. “But you weren't asleep, I mean if you're so tired. What've you got in there?”

“Nothin'.” He nodded at Jimmy's room. “What've you got in there? Why've you been holed up in your room so long?”

“It's nothin'.”

They stared each other down for a moment until Thomas finally said, “Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight,” Jimmy said, taking a hesitant step back.

Thomas nodded and shut the door. He stayed up to read a little longer, but finding he would finish the book soon if he rushed it, he stopped, and went to sleep and dreamed of toads driving automobiles.

 

The reason Jimmy had deigned to go find Thomas for cards was because the kitten had fallen asleep. Jimmy had tired it out. He had fed it chicken giblets and milk. Then he found a spare shoelace and dangled it for the kitten's amusement. That had gone on for an hour. Apollo was a curious sort; he was always crawling under the blankets or burrowing under Jimmy's arm as if there were some hidden world just beyond it. Jimmy was enchanted and had lost all track of time, until the bloody creature had nodded off. He was aggravated not to find Thomas waiting up for him in the servants' hall, and aggravated at himself not to have noticed that Thomas's light was on when he came back up. But he was utterly out of sorts when Thomas threw him over, ostensibly for sleep. Thomas never turned down an opportunity to spend time with him, especially after Jimmy had made it clear that he enjoyed Thomas's company. Jimmy had only just gotten used to this. He never need ask: would you like to play cards? Fancy a game of chess? Thomas's eager affirmations were almost embarrassing, so Jimmy often outright stated what they would do next.

He had never been rejected before on this count.

It was vexing.

Jimmy lay on his bed, leaning on his hand, and watching Apollo sleep; he was on his back, his paws outstretched, and his tongue sticking out.

“He's hiding something,” Jimmy muttered. Of course, Jimmy was hiding something too. But the thought of introducing Apollo to Thomas was vaguely mortifying. Jimmy rubbed Apollo's round little belly and the kitten shivered. Jimmy could swore he smiled. “I don't think I'm allowed to have you in the house is all. I'll have to sort it out.”

He had found a wooden crate and some old newspapers for the kitten to go in. That was the most important matter, to Jimmy's mind. The thing was cute, true. But he wasn't having any animal droppings in his lonely little room, it was depressing enough already.

It occurred to Jimmy that Thomas might be able to help him keep Apollo if Mr. Carson found him out. He was well aware that he couldn't expect to keep a grown cat shut up in his room without someone finding it. Also, it would be awful for the cat.

“Could probably make him do a lot of things if I wanted,” Jimmy said. Apollo flinched as if to disagree. He had once thought to himself that Thomas was so enamored with him, it would be easy to make do all kinds of favors. But even entertaining the thought made him feel off in his stomach. And after the fair and everything...

God no, I practically owe him my life, Jimmy thought. And even if he didn't, it was disgusting to him. He didn't consider himself the kindest person in the world and he didn't try to be. But when he thought of Thomas's face after Jimmy had told him they could be friends, or the way he had sounded when he had spoken of his blighty, or the way he had looked when he'd admitted he thought Jimmy pitied him... Well, you couldn't mess about with a person who felt things so keenly. That's what Jimmy had realized.

“But I'm still goin' to discover his secret,” Jimmy said. “You see if I don't.”

Apollo yawned.

Jimmy was late to breakfast the next morning, and a shade concerned about the possibility of scrounging up more food for Apollo. Thankfully, the start of his cold and gone away with the night's rain. That was a blessed relief anyhow. But it left him without even that excuse to beg milk and giblets for a “cure.” Perhaps he could pocket some sausage at breakfast. Did kittens eat sausage?

Thomas was also late to breakfast, but that didn't stop him giving Jimmy the side-eye as they walked down together.

“Sleep well?” Thomas said.

“Very,” Jimmy said agreeably. That was a fib. Apollo had pounced and frolicked all over him half the night until Jimmy hid his head under his pillow, lost between a groan and a laugh. “And you?”

“Quite well, thank you. And your cold's gone...?”

“The chicken's guts cured me,” Jimmy said. Thomas nodded absentmindedly and looked away, a funny smile on his face. “What's got into you?”

“Nothin', honest. I'm feeling cheerful is all,” Thomas insisted.

“Yes, exactly. You're never cheerful.” A thought occurred to Jimmy with a jolt and he grabbed Thomas's arm to pull him aside in the hallway and speak more quietly. “Have you... Have you got... Ah, I shouldn't ask probably. Sometimes I forget you're senior-”

“You always forget I'm senior,” Thomas cracked. “We are friends, aren't we? What were you goin' to say?”

“Have you got...a lover?” Jimmy said it in a low voice, the corner of his lip turning up, The very idea was so scandalous and, since it had nothing to do with him, Jimmy found himself a bit curious as to how Thomas managed to get away with such things with a willing participant.

Thomas smiled, or Jimmy thought he looked like he was about to. He ducked his head in that way he sometimes had around Jimmy when he was being shy. “Ah, no. It's not that.”

“What is it then?” Jimmy nudged Thomas in the ribs.

“It's just...a book. That I'm reading.” Thomas looked somewhere over Jimmy's shoulder.

“A book.” Jimmy sneered at him. “You're off your head over a book?”

“Yes. A book. And I'm not off my head.” Thomas rose an eyebrow. “I know you're literate. I've heard you mention books.”

“Well, it must be very good, I suppose.” They had reached the breakfast table finally, and sat down to eat. Mr. Carsonglanced up at the clock and down at Jimmy with a critical expression.

Yes,yes, but Mr. Barrow is late too, Jimmy thought.

His plate was waiting for him and he took a bit bite of toast and some eggs. When no one was looking he snuck some ham into his pocket.

“It is very good,” Mr. Barrow muttered.

“What's very good?” Alfred said next to him.

“Mr. Barrow's reading a book,” Jimmy said.

“Front page news,” Anna said.

From the end of the table Mrs. Hughes said, “It's not that book that belongs to Miss Sybbie is it, Mr. Barrow? The one Miss Clark left out in the rain?”

Miss Clark, the nanny, ate with the children, and so was not there to defend herself. Then the full weight of what Mrs. Hughes had just said rested on Jimmy and he looked over at Mr. Barrow who, he was certain, had lost his footing.

“Ah, no, Mrs. Hughes,” Mr. Barrow said. “I think I can do better than a children's book.”

Jimmy cast him a feline smile. “Can you?”

Thomas didn't answer. But Jimmy was positive he was onto something. After breakfast he stole away to his room for the briefest moment to put out the ham for Apollo and came back just in time to be barked at for disappearing. Mr. Barrow kept looking at him funny.

Well, I'm not telling him about Apollo until he shows me that ruddy book, Jimmy decided. Because the two things seemed somehow connected. He decided not to go poking around in Mr. Barrow's room. That was a bridge too far. Besides which, that wasn't any fun.

 

Thomas was rereading The Wind in the Willows.

His reasoning was that soon he would have to return the book to Sybbie and he wouldn't dare buy it for himself. A grown man couldn't be seen buying a children's book. Even if other adults did profess to love it. But it had put him in a lovely mood. Which caught Jimmy's attention. Particularly interesting, since Jimmy was obviously keeping a secret himself that had to be of more import than a silly book.

It was driving Thomas to distraction.

Jimmy kept sneaking away to his room and had spent most of the previous evening there alone. Thomas's mind went to places it shouldn't...

Nothing so depraved, you lunatic, Thomas told himself. Maybe he's reading a book too. Something he found in the village. Yes, or maybe he's got a secret stash of dirty photographs. Naked ladies in garters.

That thought put him in a less good mood.

After breakfast he went to speak to the gamekeeper, but he didn't miss Jimmy trotting back up the stairs when he was supposed to be setting up for the family's breakfast. He would get into trouble if he wasn't careful. The rest of the day was all about the duck hunt, which went well. Lady Mary returned a little muddy, but in good spirits, all things considered. Jimmy appeared from the boot room with Alfred as the family was coming back, but he was skittish around the spaniels.

“You're afraid of dogs now?” Thomas said, teasing.

“No, of course not,” Jimmy said, a growl under his voice. “Only I don't want to smell like dog, it'll frighten...”

“Frighten who?”

“Never mind. I've got to collect the boots, I'll see you at dinner.”

Alone in his own room that evening, Thomas could hardly focus on Mr. Toad, his mind raced thinking about whatever Jimmy was up to. But Thomas couldn't just go knocking on his door. He hadn't been to Jimmy's room since The Incident. It had been over a year, but Thomas felt it was still a sensitive subject between them. He was on the verge of giving in, since he couldn't concentrate on his beloved book anyhow, when he heard a soft knocking. Thomas marked his page, setting his book on the bed, and went to answer the door.

It was Jimmy, rocking on his heels and seeming sheepish.

“Have you got some old newspapers?” Jimmy said, eyebrows hopeful.

“Newspapers,” Thomas repeated. They were both in their undershirts and trousers; half in and half out of the day's work. Jimmy nodded and barged into the room, looking around.

“You keep the old ones for a couple of days, don't you?” Jimmy said. “I know you did when you were convalescing...”

“What do you need newspapers for?” Thomas said, leaving his door wide open. “What've you got in your room?”

“I'm not at liberty to say,” Jimmy said. Thomas saw Jimmy's gaze fall on the book and his cheeks warmed. “Is that the book? What is it?”

“I'm not at liberty to say,” Thomas cracked. He crossed back to his bed, getting between Jimmy and Mr. Toad.

“Why are you so embarrassed?” Jimmy demanded.

“Why are you so embarrassed?”

“I'm not.”

“I'm not either,” Thomas said simply. He wished he were holding a cigarette to emphasize the point.

Jimmy ducked around Thomas, lunging for the book. Thomas made a grab, but Jimmy got to it at the same time so they were holding it between them. It had gotten to the point that Thomas could hardly remember why he was keeping such an idiotic thing from Jimmy. Only he had gone too far now and it would be doubly humiliating if he were to relent. It was all so ridiculous that he couldn't help but smile a little.

Thomas's hand was over the title and Jimmy was prying at his fingers.

“Let me see it!” Jimmy demanded.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why do you want to?” Thomas said.

“Because you're being such a lunatic about it,” Jimmy insisted. “Let me see!”

“No, stop it.” They grappled and Thomas said, “Be careful with it!” Jimmy was about to tear the thing in two so Thomas let go and Jimmy stumbled back with a laugh. Thomas sighed slightly and now he did go to his nightstand to fetch a cigarette because things were about to get painfully stupid.

“The Wind in the Willows,” Jimmy said, reading the title in a monotone.

“Yes,” Thomas muttered, lighting up.

Jimmy's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “This is what you couldn't stand to show me?”

“What've you got in your room?” Thomas said.

Jimmy laughed again. “Why do you care so much if I know you're reading The Wind in the Willows...?” He opened the book, seeing the inscription. “Oh, it's Miss Sybbie's book- You're reading Miss Sybbie's book!”
“Do shut up,” Thomas said, and took a drag.

“You often borrow books from the nursery?”

“What's in your room!”

Jimmy nodded and grinned and gestured to the door. “Alright. Come on then.”

Thomas followed as Jimmy continued to tease him. “When you're done with that one, I hear The Piped Piper of Hamlin is a ripping tale.”

“Having fun, are you?” Thomas said.

“Plenty.”

“I found it in the rain and I got to reading it. It's quite good, I'll have you know.” He hesitated in the hallway even as Jimmy was opening his door. “Ah, maybe I shouldn't-”

“Oh, don't be daft,” Jimmy said, sneering. “Come in, it's fine.”

Thomas felt the thrum of victory in his heart as he stepped into the room, and it was muted by the sight of a tiny grey kitten sitting on the bed.

Thomas said, “What on earth...?”

“You found a book, I found a cat,” Jimmy said. He stood by the bed, his hands in his pockets, and rolled his eyes. “I-I didn't... Eh... Well, I've been feedin' him scraps. But I don't know if Mr. Carson'll let me keep him-”

“He won't.”

“Oh.” Jimmy face fell as if he'd been told he would soon lose his hair. “Why not though? He won't hurt anything.” Jimmy sat down on the bed and the kitten tackled his knee, biting at his trousers.

“You didn't name him, did you?” Thomas said.

“His name's Apollo,” Jimmy said, flushing a little. “Well, couldn't you... Isn't there a way I could keep him? I mean that the house could keep him? What's wrong with a house cat? We had one at Lady Anstruther's.” Thomas stood loitering near the open door until Jimmy said, “Oh, sit down, would you? You won't be arrested.”

Thomas sat down on the bed, as far away from Jimmy as he could get, which put him near the pillows and that was somehow even stranger. Apollo bounded over to him, attacking a stray thread hanging off his undershirt.

“Oh, Lord,” Thomas mumbled.

“He's friendly,” Jimmy said.

“Apparently.” Thomas patted the kitten, perhaps too hard because it frowned at him and flattened its ears. “We used to have a house cat in the downstairs. But there was a mouse problem at the time. It killed all the mice. I think it disappeared during the war, I'm not certain. But Carson was all too happy when it was gone.”

“Maybe you could speak to him?” Jimmy suggested.

“He won't...” Thomas paused as a plan unfolded in his mind. “Huh. He might agree, if there was a compelling reason. He didn't mind the cat when there were mice...”

“But you said there's no mice problem now.”
Thomas smiled slyly. “Or maybe there is.”

 

Early the next morning, before even Ivy was up to knock on doors and start the fires, Thomas and Jimmy were awake and dressed for the day. They were in the pantry, speaking in whispers.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jimmy hissed. He was gripping a small knife.

“No,” Thomas admitted. “But it's all I've got, if you insist on keeping that thing.” Thomas picked up a bag of floor and gestured to a bottom corner with his own knife. “Just a tiny little hole. Scatter a bit of stuff about. Make it look...”

“Mousey?” Jimmy said.

“Yes. Not too much now. Just a couple to start. I'll get this flour. You do the corn meal down on the bottom shelf.”

There was something a bit exciting about a caper, Jimmy had to admit. Even one this benign. Though it was tantamount to stealing food. Jimmy bit his lip and stabbed the bottom of a bag of cornmeal with knife. He tore too large a hole and yellow cornmeal streamed out onto the floor. “Oh, bloody hell!”

Thomas said, “I told you to-”

“I know!”

“Well, make it look mousey.”

“I'm trying.” Jimmy sat on the floor and scooped up cornmeal with his hands, pouring it back into the bag. It had a hole in it now after all, he supposed it would be tossed away. He arranged the bag back on the shelf and sighed dramatically, sweeping what was left on the floor into the appearance of a “mousey” trail from the bottom of the bag into the shadows behind the shelf.

Thomas had apparently taken a more precise tact and was slowly poking away at the flour with the tip of his knife. “Funny,” he said softly.

“What's funny?” Jimmy said.

“Nothin'. This just reminds me of something.”

“Oh? So you've ripped holes in dry goods before then?”

“Yes, I have. As it happens.” Thomas wasn't looking at Jimmy. He was focused on his bag of flour.

“Um...why?” Jimmy said, feeling the spark of curiosity again.

“I had it in mind to go into the black market. Spent all my savings on a load of stuff. Only it was rubbish and I lost all my money.” He spoke quickly and sniffed, as if it were nothing. His laugh was brittle as straw. “Got a bit upset about it and tore all the goods up.”

Jimmy had stopped his work and he looked up at Thomas. There was a snide remark on the tip of his tongue.

A hell of a businessman, aren't you?

And I thought I knew the stupidest thing you'd ever done.

But, Jimmy thought, you can't mess about with someone who feels things so keenly.

“It was the end of the war,” Thomas went on, perhaps to fill in the silence. Because Jimmy didn't know what to say. “I just wanted to go into business for myself. Didn't turn out so well.”

“I thought of doin' that,” Jimmy finally said, and spoke lightly as he swept the cornmeal into a line with his fingers. “When I left Anstruther's. I thought it would be nice to be on me own, not livin' in someone else's house. Didn't pan out, obviously. Not that I had a plan. I mean, at least you tried somethin'.”

Mr. Barrow seemed pleased enough by that response and he said, “Why did you leave Lady Anstruther's anyhow? I'd quite fancy livin' in France.”

“Ah...” Jimmy grimaced. His corn meal spill was appropriately “mousey.” He brushed the detritus off his livery. “Well, I... I've only ever lived here.”

And England was all I had left, he thought. And I was scared but I don't know why.

But bugger that. He wasn't about to say all that.

“That's good enough,” Mr. Barrow said, surveying their careful disaster. “We should go up now. Then we just wait for Patmore to discover it.”

“Even if Carson agrees to a cat,” Jimmy said, “Apollo's a bit small to go chasing mice.”

“I don't know. He seems pretty tough to me. Maybe he'll live up to his name.”

Their handy-work was not discovered until just before luncheon, after Thomas had begrudgingly slipped Jimmy a slice of ham as a donation for Apollo. Mrs. Patmore's howl was so shrill that Jimmy winced as he drank tea in the kitchen and Thomas calmly held a finger to his ear.

“Mice! Mice! Rats! Vermin! God in heaven! Somethin's got into the corn meal and the flour... Oh my word!”

Thomas smiled at Jimmy who tossed him a wink.

“We ought to get a cat,” Thomas suggested as Mrs. Patmore strode to the counter, shaking her head, more red-faced than usual.

“I saw a kitten outside,” Jimmy said. “I could fetch it. It's good to get them while they're young, you know.”

“Maybe,” Mrs. Patmore muttered. “Somethin's got to be done!”

“I don't think Mr. Carson would approve. He didn't like that last house cat...” Thomas said this sadly, frowning at his tea.

“No, you're right!” Mrs. Patmore said. “Find me that kitten, James. I'll speak to Mrs. Hughes and she'll handle Mr. Carson.”

When her back was turned Thomas and Jimmy clinked their teacups together in a gesture of victory.

“If there's one thing I won't put up with,” Mrs. Patmore said, “it's a couple of pests sneakin' around the house up to no good!”