Chapter Text
Thomas's hands are shaking so badly that he's struggling to read what he's holding. He places it in front of himself on the desk and smooths it out repetitively, as if the mild creases were the problem.
He starts again from the top and once he's got to the end, he reaches for a sheet of paper, but he doesn't pen a reply. He writes to Richard.
*
Darling Thomas,
If I may say so, you sound more shocked than pleased in writing. Of course I will gladly accompany you, should my presence in that situation be helpful. Like you said - what have you got to lose? If he turns out to be not what you'd hoped, we can always turn back, enjoy a little sight-seeing and each other's company. I'm touched and pleased as punch you turned to me, truly. I want to be there for you always.
*
Thomas gasps as the house comes into view. It's hardly a mansion, but it is far grander than he was expecting for a member of his class. Maybe he works there? But the directions were clear - come in through the front door.
"This it?" Richard asks next to him doubtfully, peering over Thomas's shoulder at the map.
"Should be."
"Not what I was expecting."
"You and me both," Thomas says. "Let's get this over with."
They walk up to the front door, roses and lilacs lining the path and blooming under the windowsills. The knocker that Thomas grasps is solid brass cast in the shape of a hare mid-jump.
The door opens, and a servant comes into view. Thomas feels bowled over, even though he probably should have expected an upper middle class house to have at least one servant even in this day and age, and all he can do is gape at the man - at the butler. If he'd expected a servant at all, he'd have expected a maid of all work or the person they've come to see, but this man is clearly neither. He's short with thin hair and a big old potato of a nose.
Richard, thankfully, doesn't need time to recover his wits.
"Good afternoon, we're here to see Mr Barrow?"
Bloody hell, that sounds strange coming from Richard's mouth.
"Please come in, Mr Barrow is expecting you in the drawing room," the man says, stepping aside to let them in.
It doesn't feel any less strange coming from him.
The butler takes their coats - Thomas feels like he's about to have a fit - and they follow him to the drawing room, where he announces their presence to the alleged master of the house. Thomas wonders if Richard's also feeling as though he's in a dream.
Then he notices the tall old man rising from an armchair, and sheer nerves have him stopping in his tracks. Thankfully, Richard is there to nudge him along. The warm hand on Thomas's shoulder gives him the necessary fortitude to take the remaining steps across the room.
Probably sensing that Thomas has for the moment parted with his wits and manners, Richard steps in front of him and extends his own hand to the man with a charming smile.
"Richard Ellis. Nice to meet you, Mr Barrow."
"Nice to meet you too, Mr Ellis."
"I believe Thomas wrote you I'd be tagging along? Hope you don’t mind?"
"Not at all, not at all," the old man says kindly, smiling back at Richard. "Glad to see what kind of company my nephew keeps."
"Mr Barrow," Thomas finally manages some words. "I'm - Thomas." What a woefully inadequate introduction.
The old man steps closer and clasps both hands around the one Thomas has extended, looking at him at up and down.
"Thomas! Oh, has it really been this long! Look at you, what a fine man you've grown into!"
Feeling awkward, Thomas glances at Richard, who gives Thomas an encouraging smile.
"I'm sorry, I - I don't remember you," Thomas says, taking half a step back, freeing his hand. The old man's - his uncle's - face falls.
"Of course, you were just a little boy when I left," he says sadly. "But you were always my favourite, and I've wondered for years how you were doing. Please, sit down, tell me everything." He motions to the sofa in front of the small coffee table. Thomas is glad he's sitting down next to Richard, whose presence feels like lifeline. Mr Barrow plops down in an armchair, using his cane as a support. From his seat, Thomas takes him in for the first time: familiar high cheekbones jut out over hollow cheeks, a straight, narrow nose sits in the middle, and plenty of laugh lines run from the corners of his grey eyes.
Over tea and biscuits, Thomas and Richard begin to get to know an uncle Thomas never knew he had. And he is nothing like Thomas's father, it seems. When he excuses himself to go to the loo, Thomas looks at Richard with wide eyes.
"He seems really nice," Richard says.
"So did my father, to everyone who wasn't us," Thomas mutters.
"He seems nice," Richard emphasises warmly. "Doesn’t he?"
"He does," Thomas agrees, hesitant.
He's feeling a bit emotionally frail and frazzled, wondering why he didn't know he had an uncle. A seemingly kind uncle. Reasons obvious yet painful rear their ugly heads, and he turns to Richard for comfort. Richard's arms are solid and strong around him, and Thomas draws in lungfuls of air, breathing in his scent.
"But why did he leave? And never even wrote?" Thomas whispers. He feels stupid, why should he care after all this time?
"You'll have to ask him that, darling," Richard says quietly.
Thomas clings to Richard as long as he dares. When his uncle walks back in after what seems like very long wee, they are back at a respectable distance each with a cup of tea, as if they'd never moved. When the old man is sitting in front of them again, Thomas musters up the courage to approach the topic.
"May I ask you something?" There's a sad, knowing look in the man's eyes before Thomas has even finished the sentence. "Why did you leave? Why didn't you write?"
"You mean why did I leave you when I knew the kind of man my brother was," his uncle says gruffly.
Thomas can only nod - it's not how he'd have phrased it, but it’s precisely what’s been eating at him. The thought of how close he came to having had someone who may have cared about him has shaken him.
"I'm afraid I had no choice."
"What do you mean?" Thomas asks.
"I can’t tell you that, lad," he says, looking sorrowful.
"Why not?"
"I just can’t. I'm sorry," he says. He does sound like he truly means it, too. "As for why I didn't write - I did, but my brother never wrote back. In the end, I simply gave up. It was the departing of a good friend of mine last year that made me want to try and find you again."
It's a disappointing revelation. Perhaps the old man doesn't care as much as he seemed to. Thomas is quite familiar with the type and the inevitable disillusionment they lead to. Perhaps it’s just as well; he can't cry over spilled milk if it never existed.
He wonders why his uncle had no choice, though. An easy explanation pops into Thomas's head, the very same reason that forced him to leave, and he suddenly has to work harder to keep his feelings under wraps. Perhaps his uncle was just running from the police. That must be it - certainly, his being a conman would explain the nice house he lives in. Maybe he and Richard are about to be robbed, for all he knows.
Thomas turns to look at Richard, wishing he could just take Richard's hand. Richard looks back at him, his polite expression faltering upon seeing Thomas's face, and he claps a friendly hand on Thomas's shoulder, gives it a little squeeze. Thomas takes it as it's meant, drawing a deep breath and turning back to his uncle, who seems to have been watching him with an appraising eye.
"Sounds like Dad, alright," Thomas says belatedly, doing his best to sound like this is all business as usual. "Not writing back, I mean."
"Unfortunately," Mr Barrow agrees brusquely, nodding. "But enough of that sordid man. You mentioned Phyllis Baxter in passing, I remember her, how is she doing? And Mr Ellis, my nephew mentioned you work for the King himself? Is that right?"
A jolt of guilt travels through Thomas - he'd only mentioned Richard's position to show he had a friend in a high place, both out of suspicion and to maybe get one over on the man before they'd even met, realising how terribly it could have gone for Richard only some time after he'd already mailed the blasted letter.
However, his mood brightens considerably as he talks about his dear friend Miss Baxter, as it always does, though he stumbles over how and why they came to work in the same house. When he's got the bare bones out and is faltering over the details, Richard jumps in for rescue and explains that he is, indeed, a valet for for the King, and Thomas duly teases him about not actually dressing the man.
Thomas begins to feel more at ease, and decides to take the opportunity to get to know a close relative he never knew he had.
If his uncle never finds out about him, it could work out, right?