Chapter 4

A/N A big Thank You to all you lovely readers and reviewers! This chapter needs a strong fluff warning, I think. Thank you Manygreentrees,

o-o-o-o

Mrs Hughes had spent a few hours in the chair next to Thomas's bed, holding his hand and reading the novel Andy had left behind. One of the first Sherlock Holmes stories, she had read it before but had forgotten the plot. Every hour she'd woke her charge, and made him drink a large glass of water. He was going to be alright, she thought, although so far he hadn't been lucid, he just took the proffered drink, emptied the glass and went back to sleep.

At seven Mrs Patmore had entered the room, bringing her toast and coffee, and she had asked what she could prepare for the patient.

'Mmm, I think broth would be best. A strong one, he needs nutrition.'

As a result, one hour later her husband showed up, carrying a flask and a bowl and spoon with him.

'Good morning love,' he greeted his wife, and bent down to kiss her. 'Mrs Patmore told me to bring you this; it's consommé. That should do your patient good. He looks a little better, I have to say.'

'He does, a little bit,' she smiled at him. 'Thank you Charles and thank Mrs Patmore, I believe it's just what he needs.'

'Miss Baxter said he will take over from you around noon.'

'That's fine. Now, I'll have to wake Thomas again and make him take in some fluid,' she said.

He nodded and left the room, but he left the door ajar and listened.

'Thomas, wake up lad. Time to drink something,' she said gently while stroking his shoulder.

'Mrs Hughes,' the young man said. His eyes were bright and alert.

'That's right Thomas. How do you feel?' She hadn't asked him that before, but this time it looked like he had definitely returned to the real world.

'I don't know….' He mused. 'I am in bed and you are beside me. I feel…oh, my god.' He lifted his hand to cover his eyes and noticed the bandages. 'What….what….oh,no,' he stammered and turned his face to the wall.

'I am not dead…,' he whispered.

Mrs Hughes didn't know what to make of that, so she said nothing.

'But I was in this beautiful place, sunshine, and my mum was there and she was baking apple tart…and my mum is dead. So…'

He frowned and she squeezed his hand.

'…so it could not be right that Andy was there. And….good heavens, Master George and Miss Baxter and you…you were there too. You´re not dead.´

She smiled. 'No Thomas, I am not dead and neither are Miss Baxter and Andy and little Master George. But I believe you met us all there in that beautiful place because we are your friends. Am I right?'

He sighed and a tear ran down his cheek.

'I don't know, Mrs Hughes, I don't have friends. I have made everyone dislike me.'

She wiped his cheek and cupped it.

'I must say you did a very good job at that, Thomas. We almost bought that. But wat about young George? He loves you, unconditionally and with his whole heart.'

'He's just a little boy.'

'That's right, he is a child, and children don't judge by reason or logic. He can see beyond that and he sees a friend, Thomas.'

The young man sighed. ´I like him because he doesn´t judge me.´ he said.

Mrs Hughes smiled. ´No, he doesn't judge. But young children have a way to know who is good to them and who isn´t. And Miss Sybbie and Miss Marigold are equally fond of you, as you know.´

´Because they´re children,´ he repeated.

´Yes, they are. Do you remember Nanny Post, and how the children disliked her? That woman had the warmth of an icebox and they knew it.'

Thomas didn't answer, he seemed to think that over.

Mrs Hughes changed the subject. 'I think you should try to sit up now, and have some broth,' she said. 'I'll pour it in a cup for you, that's easier.' She arranged the pillows, helped him to sit more upright and handed him the broth.

He took little sips and she could see he enjoyed the warm, hearty drink.

'What I mean to say Thomas, is that the children are right. You have friends and you are able to make friends.'

He sighed again.

'What happened that day, Thomas? What made you decide to end your life?' she asked gently when he finished the broth. She took the cup from him and held his hands in hers.

Another deep sigh and then he answered.

'A bit of everything, I suppose…. Being forced to find a new job…not being able to find one...knowing Mr Carson doesn't want me to spend time with Andy when it was all perfectly innocent…knowing I'll probably never find someone to love…being the way I am….Miss Baxter and you fussing over me while I knew there was nothing you could possibly do…being jealous of Mr Bates, because he found love. And of Mr Carson, because he has you… And most of all, I felt so terribly alone. I felt so lonely Mrs Hughes. So terribly lonely and unhappy…. and I thought the best way to deal with that was to disappear from the world, because all it would bring me was more unhappiness. So, that's why….'

Thomas closed his eyes and the room remained silent for many seconds.

Mrs Hughes pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. That poor boy, she understood why he had kept her and Miss Baxter at arm's length. He didn't trust them, didn't feel they could help him.

She reached over and pulled the young man in her arms.

'A, ahem,' sounded from the door and Miss Baxter entered, carrying a tray with more soup, tea and toast.

'I'll take over Mrs Hughes,' she said kindly. The housekeeper smiled, squeezed Thomas's hands once more and stood up. 'Remember what we talked about,' she told Thomas, then gave Miss Baxter a smile and left.

o-o-o-o

At lunchtime she didn't eat much, and after lunch she slipped into Mr Carson's pantry, locked the door and climbed on his lap and into his arms.

'Please Charles, hold me,' she whispered.

He did, he pulled her close to him and he stroked her hair and kissed her temple. 'What's wrong, Elsie?' he asked.

She buried her face in his neck.

'That poor boy, that poor lad,' she said and he felt the tears against his skin.

He wrapped his arms around her more tightly.

'We have been given the afternoon off, and tomorrow morning as well. The family are staying over at the McKellar House and lady Edith is in London. Let's go home, my love.'

o-o-o-o

In their cottage, he went to the kitchen and lighted the fire there. He knew she liked the kitchen with its large wooden table, the stove, the door to their garden, the pots and pans arranged on the shelves much more than their sitting room. He never understood until he visited her home in Scotland, a farm that hadn't had a sitting room at all- just a large kitchen with a fire in the stove, a kitchen table and the feeling of comfort and closeness. She felt at home in their kitchen and when she was upset, he knew he had to bring her there. He put the kettle on and made them both a cup of tea. She smiled at him, and he took her hand and kissed her fingers. 'Thomas will be alright my love, I know you and Miss Baxter will see to that. You two are the weak spot in his harness.'

'I hope so,' she sighed.

'I am sure,' he whispered in her ear and moved behind her. Slowly and carefully, he started to remove the pins from her hair.

Letting her hair down, freeing it from the tight bun had always been the best moment of her day. Her husband knew that and he made use of it. The pins were dropped onto a small, blue china dish that she had owned for decades. He untied the braids and let the long auburn locks fall free over her shoulders. Then he began to massage her scalp.

'Charles! You know I can't resist that,' she growled.

He smiled, shoved her hair aside and began kissing her neck.

'To bed,' she whispered.

He pulled his wife into his arms and dragged her upstairs to their bedroom.

Hours later she was cuddled up in his arms, her head on his shoulder, warm and safe.

o-o-o-o

A/N please leave a review if you can find the time…. x george