"Alright, alright! There's no need to get so rough!" Branson shouted as Carson dragged him into the kitchen. Emma sat on the kitchen counter, her legs dangling down.
"Oh, but it's very necessary indeed, to prevent a murder!" Carson hissed.
"A murder? What do you mean by murder?"
Emma stared at them with her mouth half open and eyes wide open. It was supposed to be just a harmless prank, but every single adult - Daisy, Mrs. Patmore, Anna, or Mrs. Hughes - they were all beside themselves with anger. Not to mention Mr. Carson, who was on the verge of exploding at any moment.
"You were planning to kill the General!" Anna summed up.
"It's just stinky stuff that was supposed to be poured over his head," Emma chimed in. It turned out to be a big mistake, as until now she hadn't been suspected of having anything to do with it.
"You're telling me you're in cahoots with Branson!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed in shock. "We raised you better!"
Anna opened the lid of the bowl and a disgusting smell wafted up into her nose. Immediately, the adults wrinkled their faces in disgust. "What on earth is this?" Anna wondered, holding her nose with two fingers.
"Oil, ink, and a bit of cow dung. All mixed with sour milk," Tom explained. He had his arms crossed.
"And rotten potatoes," Emma added.
"He needed a bath, but not a coffin!" Tom snapped.
Emma was sent to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room. She had to wait patiently until Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes had completed all their duties. During that time, she was not allowed to play or draw.
"I hope you understand that this is not appropriate behaviour!" Mr. Carson yelled.
Emma nodded, nervously biting her lip. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. I thought it would be a funny prank."
She noticed Thomas had a broad grin on his face. He was standing in the hallway, thoroughly amused, trying to suppress his laughter. He couldn't help but find the situation amusing.
Mr. Carson sighed. "Emma Grace, I understand that you didn't mean any harm, but you need to learn that pranks are not appropriate, especially in a house like Downton Abbey."
"It wasn't my prank, it was Tom's."
"You were aware of his plans and you helped him. That makes you an accomplice," Mrs. Hughes explained.
Thomas entered the room slowly. Of course, he wouldn't just stand in the background and laugh; he would help his daughter get out of the mess. He placed a reassuring hand on Emma's shoulder. "She understands, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes. It won't happen again."
"I certainly hope so!" Carson snapped.
With a nod, Thomas indicated for the child to follow him. They stopped in a quiet corner of the hallway.
"So that's what you meant by helping Tom," Thomas chuckled.
"I'm sorry, Dad."
"For what?" Emma looked at her father confused. She had expected him to at least give her a lecture, but instead, he seemed to take the situation with humour.
The next morning
"William!" Emma called across the corridors of the basement, running straight towards the former servant, her arms wrapped around his torso. "Oi, Emma - you're crushing me!" he laughed. She had built a carefree and lovely friendship with William.
"Don't go," she pleaded, staring at him with a begging puppy-dog look. "Please stay here."
"I have to go," he knelt down to her level, "We can write letters if you'd like."
"No," the young girl cried, tears streaming down her cheeks, "I want you to stay! You can't leave me!" she pleaded between sobs.
"I'm not leaving you. I'm defending our country. We'll see each other again soon, okay?" Emma nodded sadly, "I miss you."
"I'll miss you too, Emmi," William grinned, "One last piggyback ride?"
Emma had a special connection with William. She felt understood and loved by him. She valued his patience and sense of humor. To Emma, William was not just a servant but a loyal friend who made her laugh and with whom she could share her childlike innocence.
Thomas pulled out a new cigarette from his pocket and watched the farewell between Emma and William with mixed feelings. He admired the friendship between Emma and William, but at the same time, he felt a slight jealousy welling up inside him. It pained him that he didn't have the same carefree and playful relationship with his daughter. With great dismay, he realized that his child had a closer bond with William than with himself. And then there was that nickname - Emmi. Who gave William the right to call the child that? Who gave William the right to carry his child through the corridors on his back? While Emma and William laughed loudly and teased each other, Thomas felt a pang in his heart. He longed to feel the same carefree spirit and goof around with Emma.
"I've heard that you're widowed and have to take care of your child all alone. I imagine that must be quite difficult, which is why I envy you for how you manage all this," Ethel smiled.
"It's all just a matter of organization."
"If you ever wish to have a woman by your side, I would be available."
Thomas choked on his cigarette smoke. "What do you mean?"
"I wouldn't mind getting married," she explained.
"I'm afraid I have to disappoint you, but I'm not available," Thomas quickly considered his justification. He couldn't exactly admit that he doesn't find women attractive. "The only woman in my life will be my daughter's mother. And I won't replace her with a new woman."
The new routine with the convalescent home had settled in well after some difficulties. Thomas made sure to take the time every evening to tuck his child into bed, just like the old times.
One day, when nobody was in the kitchen, Emma took the opportunity to secretly grab a biscuit from the jar. Her love for sweet treats was clearly inherited from her father. Her hand sank into the jar, reaching for several chocolate biscuits when suddenly a sharp pain shot through her hand. The kitchen maid, whom Emma didn't know, slammed the lid of the jar shut while Emma's hand was still inside. The stranger must have been one of the additional staff hired for Mrs. Patmore. Emma quickly pulled her hand back and cried out in pain, tears welling up in her eyes as she held her injured hand close to her.
"Keep your hands off!" the woman snapped. "That's what happens to little unruly girls who think they can do whatever they want here!"
Emma felt anger and fear welling up inside her. She didn't know this person and felt threatened by her. Her hand continued to throb with pain, but her determination grew. She decided to find her father. With trembling hands, she wiped away her tears and got off her chair.
"Dad, I want to find my Daddy," she whispered. Emma used her uninjured hand to hold her aching wrist.
Emma was confused and desperate. She knew Thomas would be upstairs. With a pounding heart and her wrist still throbbing with pain, Emma looked for the famous green door that separated the upstairs and downstairs. She hurried through the grand hall, past patients who gave her curious looks. Her uncertainty grew as she saw the many men in their pajamas leaning against the walls or sitting in the corridors playing chess.
Emma tried to ignore her fears and focus on finding her father. She felt her way from room to room, looking inside, hoping to find him. But each room was like a labyrinth full of unfamiliar faces and strange voices. As she passed an open door, she heard a familiar voice. She stopped and listened. It was her father's voice. She breathed a sigh of relief and entered the room.
"Emma?" Thomas called out in surprise, turning to face her. His gaze fell on her injured hand and her tear-filled eyes. He immediately approached her and gently took her into his arms. "What are you doing here? What happened?" he asked, concerned.
Emma sobbed softly. "I was looking for you. It hurts so much."
Thomas gently stroked her head. "Now you've found me, my little dwarf. Come, I'll take you back, and then I'll take care of your hand." Emma finally felt safe and secure in her father's arms.
Thomas carefully examined her hand and determined that she had suffered a bruise but nothing serious. Anna brought some ice to cool the hand.
"You still haven't told me how this happened," Thomas said with concern. "You know you can tell me anything. I'm on your side."
After careful consideration, the child gave in and whispered the answer in his ear. With Emma in his arms, the soldier stood up and made his way to the kitchen, where Daisy and the additional kitchen staff were preparing the next meal.
"Show me who," Thomas demanded, and the child pointed a finger at a blond-haired woman peeling potatoes.
Thomas swiftly snatched the potato from under her peeler. "What's the meaning of this?" she complained before looking up at Thomas in full realization. "Sergeant Barrow," she said, putting on a sweet smile.
"Who do you think you are? I have no patience when the staff thinks they can mistreat my daughter."
"I didn't know it was your child. I thought it was a stranger trying to steal from us."
"Save your lies. You've been here longer than yesterday. I suggest you leave Downton immediately."
"You don't have the authority to dismiss me. I'm not part of the medical staff. Besides, a little punishment is part of disciplining a disobedient child. It was just a little slap."
"Unfortunately, I don't believe in using violent measures for child rearing."
"That's evident, Sergeant."
Mrs. Patmore marched into the kitchen, having been informed of the incident by Anna.
"I think I've heard enough," said the small cook. "You better leave, Clara."
Thomas grinned triumphantly.
At the evening
"Thank you, Daisy, for telling Mr. Carson everything from my private letter."
Emma looked up from her picture book. Her dad was confronting Daisy with anger. The young kitchen assistant almost pitied her, but she was most surprised by the tone her father was using. She never remembered him being 'mean.'
"I didn't know it was a secret. If it was wrong, I'm sorry," she stammered.
"There's no question of 'if'", Thomas hissed.
Daisy scurried away.
"Why did you even respond to His Lordship?" O'Brien asked.
"And what was I supposed to do?" he asked, taking his cigarette case out of his pocket and sitting next to O'Brien. "Tell him to shove off?"
"He's not paying your wages anymore," O'Brien shrugged. Her handiwork rested on the table before her.
"I see... well, I wouldn't recommend a career in the diplomatic service for you."
Emma listened to the conversation of the three adults—O'Brien, Ethel, and her dad. She already knew that O'Brien was a nasty, evil witch, and she had little contact with Ethel. But the fact that her father had such an impolite side was unfamiliar to her. Apparently, he didn't even notice her because he never glanced over at her sitting at the other end of the table. Her picture book lay forgotten in her lap. Confusion, disappointment, and a hint of sadness settled in her young heart. She couldn't understand why her father was behaving this way, engaging in a heated argument with O'Brien and disregarding her presence. She had always seen her father as a kind and gentle man, someone she could rely on for support and love. Seeing this new side of him unsettled her, and she struggled to comprehend the argument that had unfolded before her.
He turned his gaze towards Emma, finally acknowledging her, "Does your hand still hurt?," he asked and took a drag on his cigarette.
Emma looked at her father, "No, I just wanna go to bed."
Thomas nodded and put out his cigarette He stood up and walked over to Emma. She stood up from her chair, holding her father's hand tightly as they made their way towards their bedroom.
Emma climbed into bed, snuggling under the covers, "Daddy," Emma began, her voice tinged with concern, "why were you so mean to Daisy?"
Thomas turned to his daughter, a perplexed expression crossing his face. He wasn't aware that his actions had left such an impression on Emma. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding.
"I don't believe I was mean to Daisy," Thomas replied, his voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "After all I got in trouble because of her. But that's adult stuff. You shouldn't bother with that."
Emma's brow furrowed as she looked up at her father, her concern evident in her innocent eyes. She had hoped that her father would understand and reflect on his actions, but it seemed that he was unable or unwilling to see his mistake.
"Okay, Daddy," Emma said softly, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "If you say so."
Thomas noticed the heaviness in Emma's voice and the dejected look on her face. He gently brushed his fingers through her hair, a pang of guilt tugging at his heart. He didn't want his daughter to feel discouraged or unheard, but he couldn't bring himself to admit his wrongdoing.
"I'm sorry if I upset you, Emma," he said, his voice softened. "But Daisy had had no right to tell anyone."
"You said to treat everyone with respect, why can't you do the same?" she replied, her voice gentle.
Thomas gazed at his daughter, his heart filled with a complex blend of emotions. He saw the innocence and wisdom in her young eyes, and a part of him yearned to embrace her perspective. But stubbornness and pride held him back, preventing him from acknowledging his mistake.
"It's bedtime now."
She settled deeper into her bed, pulling the covers snugly around her small frame, "Goodnight, Daddy," she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of love and disappointment.
"Goodnight, little dwarf," Thomas replied, his voice laden with a tinge of remorse. He pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead before turning off the bedroom light.
In the darkness of the room, Thomas sat alone on his bed with his thoughts, grappling with his own internal struggle. The words of his daughter echoed in his mind, a persistent reminder of the importance of kindness. Perhaps, deep down, he knew that he had been wrong, but it would take time to break down the walls that shielded him from admitting his mistake.