Chapter Text
Anna grits her teeth as she watches Mr. Wilson assess the assembled line of footmen. Whatever Thomas and Mr. Ellis did had worked perfectly; the Royal footmen were gone, and now Andy, Mr. Molesley and Albert were dressed and ready to go. The next phase of the plan was actually getting them upstairs, but the longer that Mr. Wilson scrutinized them, the more worried Anna became.
Mr. Carson wanders into the kitchen. “Is everything under control here, Mr. Wilson? I gather the others caught the train.”
“And this is what we're left with,” Mr. Wilson bemoans. Anna clenches her fists at her sides, annoyed by his rudeness. The scrape of John’s cane on the floor as he tightens his grip on it tells her that her husband feels the same. Really, you’d think a man representing the King and Queen would have some manners.
Mr. Wilson, after what feels like ages of pacing and judgment, throws his hands in the air. “No. No, this simply won’t do.”
Their footmen's eyes all widen in surprise, and Mr. Carson gathers himself up. “I assure you, my staff are perfectly capable—”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure they are,” Mr. Wilson waves him off. “But surely you understand that this evening’s service must be absolutely perfect.”
“Certainly, I do,” Mr. Carson says, “and I expect nothing less.”
“Then you understand my problem,” Mr. Wilson huffs. “There are four footmen in a proper Royal contingent. You can’t possibly expect me to send out only three to serve Their Majesties.” He gestures to the lineup, all still standing at attention.
Anna feels all her hope for their plan slip right out of her. What were they to do now? They couldn’t just pull another footman out of thin air. She looks to John and Miss Baxter, hoping one of them might have an idea, but they look just as lost as she feels.
“Isn’t there anyone else?” presses Mr. Wilson.
“What about Samuel?” Mr. Carson asks Mrs. Hughes, looking around as if their other hall boy will magically appear.
Mrs. Hughes shakes her head. “He’s never served at table before.”
“No, that won’t do at all,” Mr. Wilson agrees. He thinks for a moment, then sharply looks back to Mr. Carson. “What about that other butler?”
Mr. Carson blinks. “Mr. Barrow?”
“Yes. Couldn’t he step in?”
“What about me?” Anna turns around to find Thomas and Mr. Ellis standing in the kitchen doorway.
Mr. Carson hesitates for a moment. He surely knows as well as she does how Thomas is likely to react to this request, but there is no other option.
“It appears,” Mr. Carson says, “that we are one footman short. Mr. Wilson and I were hoping that you would be so kind as to fill the gap.”
Thomas stares, looking between the two of them. His face is hard like the way he always used to get when he was rearing up to be difficult, and Anna holds back a sigh.
“Let me just be sure I have this right,” Thomas says slowly. “I’ve already been dismissed from my duties as butler, not once, but twice—” He looks from Mr. Wilson, who is unbothered, to Mr. Carson, who looks the tiniest bit shamefaced. “And now you want me to go even further down the ladder, and play footman?”
He lets this sink in, lest none of them see how audacious a request it is. The silence stretches on, and Anna realizes he is actually waiting for an answer. Mr. Carson, face as pinched as she’s ever seen it, lets out a heavy breath through his nose. “It would be most helpful,” he finally says.
“No, thank you.” Thomas says quite cheerily.
"Now, Mr. Barrow—"
"I am not on duty, Mr. Carson. This is not my problem." Then Thomas turns on his heel and storms off down the passage.
Anna glances at their footmen, all their faces fallen—Mr. Molesley looks like he might melt into a puddle of disappointment right there. Mr. Carson has cast his eyes to the ceiling as if God will agree with him on the perils of trying to reason with Thomas Barrow. Mr. Wilson has gone back to his pacing and tutting. This will not do at all. Anna steels herself for an argument and starts to follow Thomas, but Mr. Ellis put a gentle hand on her shoulder and blocks her from going past him.
“Let me have a try, Mrs. Bates,” Mr. Ellis says quietly. Anna peeks out the doorway and watches as he jogs down the hall to catch up with Thomas, who reluctantly stops.
Anna sighs in relief. Really, she can’t be expected to manage the plan, keep an eye on Miss Lawton’s sticky fingers, and wrangle Thomas all at once. Besides, she’s seen the way Thomas has been looking at Mr. Ellis; their unexpected ally will have the best chance of convincing him, surely.
When she turns her attention back to the kitchen, Mr. Wilson has moved on to asking after Mr. Courbet, and Anna has to hold back a grin. She’s quite pleased with herself for taking care of that problem, at least.
“He went out,” Mrs. Patmore tells him, coming around the counter with a bowl of bright red sauce. “So I thought I'd better get on with dinner. Wasn't I right?”
“No, you were not right! You were entirely WRONG!” At his yell, Mrs. Patmore “accidentally” dumps the sauce all over Mr. Wilson’s crisp white shirt. Anna is relieved that an opportunity presented itself; the backup plan had required Daisy to pretend to trip Mrs. Patmore, and neither of them had been keen on the idea. They all gasp in appropriately shocked tones. Mr. Wilson is livid, seething as Mrs. Patmore makes a quiet, halfhearted apology.
Before he can throw a fit, Thomas comes marching back into the kitchen. He stops just in front of the two butlers, looking between them with hard eyes. Finally, he juts his chin out and says, “Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m to be first footman.”
Mr. Wilson heaves a sigh of relief. “Splendid. At least that’s one problem solved. Now, I must go change. I’ll sort this out when I return.” He shoots a glare at Mrs. Patmore before making his way towards the stairs. Thomas stalks out a moment later.
Finally, things are back on track; Anna shoos Andy off to handle the next bit. Mr. Ellis reappears in the doorway, a small smile playing at his face.
“I can’t believe Mr. Barrow agreed to that!” Mr. Molesley notes. “How on earth did you convince him?”
“Oh, I can be quite persuasive, Mr. Molesley,” Mr. Ellis says vaguely. Anna notices his cheeks are distinctly redder than they had been a few minutes ago.
“Well, Mr. Barrow is not a man easily persuaded to do anything,” says Mr. Carson, clearly relieved, “so whatever you did, I applaud you.”
There are a number of stifled coughs—Anna is sure she’s not the only one with a pretty good guess at what Mr. Ellis’s methods were, and she herself has to bite her cheek to hold back a laugh. Mrs. Hughes gives her husband a shocked look, but he has already turned to go.
The rest of them filter out of the kitchen then, the footmen heading upstairs and Miss Baxter wandering off towards the livery closet. Mr. Ellis follows her and John towards the servants' hall. “I’m terribly curious what you’re going to do with Mr. Wilson.”
“It’s probably best you don’t know,” John tells him. “Plausible deniability and all.”
“Fair enough, but can’t you—”
“Mr. Ellis!” They all turn to see the Royal housekeeper coming towards them. “I thought you’d gone already.”
“Gone?” Mr. Ellis asks.
“You said you were going to go out to York this evening.” Mr. Ellis tilts his head a bit, questioning. Mrs. Webb’s face grows pinched. “To visit your family?” she presses.
“Oh!” Mr. Ellis nods in understanding. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Webb, I must’ve misspoke. My family is from York, but they don’t live there anymore. I did think about going up for old time’s sake, but I think I’ll just stay in. Could do with a quiet night.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” says Mrs. Webb, who had clearly stopped listening halfway through Mr. Ellis’s rambling. “Where is Mr. Wilson? I need to speak with him.”
“I’ve afraid I’ve not seen him,” Mr. Ellis says, shaking his head apologetically. Had Anna not known he was lying through his teeth, she’d have not doubted him for a second. Mrs. Webb huffs and strides off, not bothering to ask her or John if they’ve seen the butler—they’re not even good enough for that, apparently. They watch her retreating back until she disappears from sight.
Anna turns to the valet. “I hope you’re not giving up time with your family just to help us, Mr. Ellis.”
“Oh, don't worry, I'm not,” Mr. Ellis says. “I think I did mention something about going up, if I didn’t find anything better to do.” He gives them a wicked grin. “Luckily I have.”
"We're glad you feel that way." John gives Ellis an appraising look, and Anna catches a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "So how did you convince Mr. Barrow? I'd have thought he'd rather quit for good than be a footman again."
Ellis shrugs. "I only asked him if he really wanted to miss out on being a hero of the night. I think he needs the pick-me-up, after the whole…" He waves his hand about to encompass the whole butler situation.
Anna nods in agreement. "Well, we'll all be glad if you've managed to cheer him up."
"Perhaps you'd better check to see he hasn't changed his mind," John says. "He's known to be a bit unpredictable."
Mr. Ellis grins again. "I'll keep that in mind." With that, he strolls out of the servants' hall.
Once he's out of sight, Anna turns to her husband. “Is it just me, or does he…”
"It's not just you," he says, shaking his head. "Great, there's two of them. That's just what we need."
"It is today," she chides. "And I think Thomas could use someone who will keep him on his toes."
“I'm sure you're right." John nods towards the direction Mr. Ellis had gone. “Don’t know what he sees in Mr. Barrow, but to each his own.”
“Don’t joke,” Anna scolds lightly. Then, “Do you think we should tell Thomas? That Mr. Ellis likes him, I mean.”
There is mirth in John's eyes as he answers. “No. I want to see how long it takes him to figure it out.”
“Suppose he doesn’t?” After everything that happened with Jimmy, Anna isn't convinced that Thomas can be trusted to tell these things.
“I shouldn’t worry. Mr. Ellis seems the sort to get what he wants.”
Thomas has only gotten as far as putting on the white knee breeches of the state livery when there are three short knocks at the door. “Thomas?” Phyllis says from outside. When he opens the door, she lets out a little “oh!” and looks away, and Thomas rolls his eyes. As if she's not seen him in a far less decent state than his trousers and vest.
“Peeping in on a man when he’s not dressed. You shock me, Miss Baxter."
Phyllis gives him one of her fondly exasperated looks. "May I come in?"
"Careful, you'll make Mr. Molesley jealous," he says even as he steps back to let her into the livery closet.
She ignores the gibe. “It’s good of you to do this. I know it’s not what you wanted, but we all appreciate it.”
Thomas makes a noncommittal noise and focuses on doing up the buttons on his shirt.
“What made you change your mind?” she asks.
***
Thomas paused at the hurried footsteps following him down the hall. He turned, expecting Phyllis or Anna, but it was Mr. Ellis who’d come after him.
"Come on, you don't want to?"
"I certainly don't."
"They're all but begging you to step up and save the night. I'd have thought you'd like that."
"I already did my bit to save the night. They're on their own for the rest." Never mind that Mr. Ellis had done all the work with the phone call, and all Thomas had done was shown him to the post office. Ellis kindly did not point this out. He stayed quiet for a minute, clearly thinking of a new tactic.
"It might get you back in Lady Mary's good graces. Not that you've done anything wrong," Ellis quickly added when Thomas opened his mouth to protest. "But you know how the upstairs sort is. It couldn't possibly hurt."
This gave Thomas pause. For days now he'd been thinking he'd eventually have to make some sort of apology to Lady Mary and Lord Grantham for the scene he'd made, and he dreaded the very idea. This could be a decent workaround.
***
"Oh," he says to Phyllis, focusing intently on putting in his cufflinks. "I figure if I do this, Lady Mary can't harp on me later for shirking my duties."
She doesn't seem convinced. "That's all?"
"That's all."
"It was nothing Mr. Ellis said?" she asks, and Thomas finally looks up at her.
"Why should anything he says matter?" He tries to say it nonchalantly but Phyllis clearly doesn't buy it.
"Because I think he's keen on you," she says, completely earnest, and Thomas can't stop the smile that tugs at his face.
***
"Besides," Ellis continued, "it'd be fun."
Thomas scoffed. "You're daft if you think being a footman is fun."
"It can be, with the right mix of people, and you've definitely got that."
“Why don’t you do it, then?” he challenged.
“Oh, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t look half as good in the livery.”
Thomas's eyebrows shot up. "What?" he said dumbly.
Ellis shrugged. "Not everyone can pull it off, but…" He quickly raked his eyes up and down Thomas's body before giving him another sly smile. "You would."
Well, there it was, the answer to his endless wondering—he couldn't think of a single conceivable reason a man would say that to another man if he were normal, nor how to mistake the salacious way Ellis had looked at him. And how about that? A man flirting with him—a man he quite liked, to boot. This disaster of a visit was finally turning around.
As he wrapped his head around this, he watched Ellis's shoulders slowly go rigid, and the smile on his face fall, and Thomas realized he was still just staring wide-eyed at the man, had waited too long to respond—Ellis was thinking he'd gotten it wrong. Couldn't be having that.
Thomas took a few steps forward until he was right next to Ellis, their shoulders nearly touching. "Not sure I agree with that," he said lowly. He was close enough to see and hear Ellis's breathing grow faster. "But if it's that important to you…"
"Oh, it is," Ellis nodded, smile back on his face.
"Then I hope you're planning to make this worth my while." Thomas moved past Ellis to return to the kitchen, and made sure their shoulders brushed as he went.
***
Thomas returns his attention to Phyllis, who is watching him expectantly. I think he's keen on you, she'd said; he can't think of anyone else who would just come out and say something like that so genuinely. He certainly doesn't go around discussing his love live with anyone—even if it were safe to, he doubts he would—but if he's going to tell anyone, it's going to be her.
He buttons up his waistcoat and finally answers her. "I think you're right."
Phyllis gives him a soft smile. "Then I'm glad you've found a bright side to all this." She picks up the embroidered livery jacket and holds it out for him to slip in to. Then she reaches up to straighten his bow tie—not that it needs straightening, but Thomas lets her do it anyway.
Phyllis won't stop looking at him all soppy-like, and Thomas feels a sudden need to break the demonstrative mood. "Would you do me a favor?"
"Of course, if I can."
"Tell Mr. Molesley that he's not allowed to faint in the dining room if the Queen happens to look in his direction."
Phyllis gives him an unamused glance. "Don't be so harsh. Of course he's not going to faint."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
She shakes her head at him in disbelief. "I'm not going to tell him that!" The dressing gong goes then, and she turns to open the door.
"Well, somebody needs to. It's either you or me, and you'll be nicer about it."
Phyllis turns around, only to give him another warm look. "You don't fool me, Mr. Barrow. You've gotten plenty good at being nice." She walks off before he can come up with a response.
Not a moment later, Mr. Ellis appears from down the passage and leans himself against the wall. Thomas stands up a little straighter. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"You said I would pull this off." Thomas gestures down at his livery. "Were you correct?"
Ellis grins, giving him another once-over. "Oh, I certainly was. You didn't doubt me, did you?"
"I don't know, I think it's a bit much." He could do without the knee breeches, for one.
"I think you look perfect." Ellis tilts his head, studying him. "Almost perfect… your tie is just a bit crooked."
It wasn't crooked when Phyllis fixed and it still isn't crooked now, but Thomas is all too willing to take the bait. "Oh, we can't be having that. Surely the King's valet isn't going to let me go out to serve His Majesty looking like this?"
"Might get sacked if I do that," Ellis says, far from concerned. He waltzes over to Thomas and starts fussing with the tie. His hands stay perfectly professional, as a proper valet's ought to, but still Thomas's breath catches in his throat at his touch.
"Sorry if I frightened you, earlier," Thomas says quietly. "You just surprised me a bit."
Ellis glances up at him before returning his attention to his work. "Oh, that's alright. Not like I was flirting all day."
He says it lightly, clearly joking, but Thomas winces a bit anyway. "I've been wrong before. I had to be sure."
"I see," Ellis nods. He finishes with the tie and moves on to straightening Thomas's jacket; here, his hands do linger a bit. "And are you sure now, Mr. Barrow?"
Thomas pretends to think about it. "I don't know that I am. You might have to keep convincing me."
Ellis beams at him. "I think I'm up for the challenge."