AN: Thank you all for reading and for your comments!
She placed a brightly painted stone in front of the headstone before squatting down in the grass in front of it. "Lady Sybil is resting here now too," she reported. With her finger, she pointed to a fresh grave not far from his. "She had a baby, but then she passed away in the night." She began to pluck at the grass in front of the grave. "Sybbie, that's what they named her baby, and Mr. Branson is all alone now, just like Dad is alone with me."
Her gaze drifted upward to the brilliantly blue sky. "I miss you," she confessed. "But somehow, I miss Dad too, you know? Dad only has eyes for the new footman – Jimmy." Looking back at the grave she audibly sighed. She wished so much that he could carry her on his back through the halls, as he did for years before he had to go to the front. If Emma has learned one thing, it's that she hates change. She doesn't like developing new everyday routines or new servants entering her life to replace William. No one can replace William.
"The new footman is kind of odd," she explained. "I don't know if I like him. Alfred was okay at first, but Mrs. O'Brien is his aunt, and the more time he spends with her, the more he becomes like Mrs. O'Brien. And you know how much I dislike O'Brien. She's always so unfriendly, grumpy, and mean. Also, Daisy and Ivy, the new kitchen maid, act extremely strange when Jimmy and Alfred are around."
"Mister Bates is back too, and Mr. Molesley asked Dad if he's already looking for a new job. I realized that Dad is losing his job because Bates is back. And I think that's not fair. Dad does his job well." After all, her father performs his duties conscientiously and carefully.
Emma remained sitting by William's grave for a long time, reflecting on the memories of their time together.
Flashback 1915
"Ah, there's my little sleepy Emmi!" exclaimed William, lifting the small three-year-old girl through the air. "Tell me, did you dress yourself?"
Emma nodded proudly, "I did."
"I see," laughed William, as the little girl had her dress on backward. The servant corrected the mishap and helped the girl put the dress on the right way, "That's it, My Lady."
"William," Carson's voice sounded, "The silver still needs polishing before lunch."
"Yes, Mr. Carson, it'll be done right away."
"No!" Emma's face revealed her famous pouty mouth and the sad puppy eyes. "William, play!" she clapped her hands joyfully. "Play, play!"
"I have to work, Emmi," he tried to explain, but the child wouldn't hear it. Instead, Emma turned to Mr. Carson with her sad puppy eyes, "No work. William play. Please, Mister Caw-son." The butler let out a long sigh, "Very well. You two may play for half an hour, but then the silver will be polished, William," the butler said sternly.
After Mr. Carson had left the servants' hall, William knelt down and opened the toy box. Emma always had a box full of toys that stayed in the servants' hall, so the child could occupy herself during the day while everyone else worked.
"You really have Mr. Carson under control," he chuckled. Emma grinned cheekily, "Grampa Caw-son."
"Better not let him hear that." Together, they played with wooden figures and building blocks before it was time for William to get back to work. But Emma persisted, "Up!" she demanded, and so William lifted the little girl onto his back and began to gallop through the corridors of the lower floor. Emma squealed with delight. Eventually, they returned to the servants' hall, where William gently set her down on one of the chairs. "Now, I really must get back to work, Emmi."
Emma crossed her arms in front of her chest, her head held down, pouting. William couldn't resist Emma's sweet pouty mouth and her sad gaze. He knelt in front of her and said with a wink, "Oh no, not the famous pouty mouth. That's really unfair, Emmi."
"You not unfair. Me playin' with you," she pouted.
"Come on, Emmi, you can't be mad at me. I'd much rather play with you, but I have to work," said William. However, Emma's expression didn't change, and her pouty mouth persisted. William thought for a moment, "How about you help me polish the silver? After that, we can continue playing. What do you think?" Emma's gaze lifted, and her eyes sparkled with joy.
"Deal?" he asked, extending his hand. Emma thought for a moment before nodding and placing her little hand in William's. "Deal!" she said with an enchanting smile. Together, they set to work, polishing the silver. Emma held a cloth eagerly and helped as best she could. Mr. Carson, passing nearby, observed the unusual teamwork with a raised eyebrow. But when he saw Emma's radiant smile, he couldn't resist responding with a small smile of his own.
End of Flashback
"You miss him a lot, huh?" Emma looked around in surprise. Mr. Matthew stood behind her, slowly kneeling down to her level. "I come here occasionally too. After all, I owe him my life."
"I miss a lot of people lately," the girl confided softly. Mr. Matthew smiled gently and sat down beside Emma.
The two sat together at William's grave. "William always played with me. He was always there for me," Emma said quietly.
Mr. Matthew nodded understandingly. "William was a good and brave man."
They lingered in silence for a moment. The sun slowly descended toward the horizon as Emma and Mr. Matthew continued to sit at William's grave. Emma sighed and ran her fingers over the inscription on the headstone. "Sometimes I wonder why the best people have to go. It's unfair," she whispered.
Mr. Matthew gently placed a hand on Emma's shoulder. "Life is sometimes hard to understand, especially when we lose loved ones. But their traces remain in our hearts and remind us that they are still with us, albeit in a different way."
Matthew stood up and offered Emma his hand. "Let's go," he said in a gentle voice, "I'll take you home." Emma grabbed his hand and let Mr. Matthew help her up. "You're only taking me home because you live there too," Emma remarked.
"I'm taking you home because I'm a responsible man and wouldn't be able to leave a young girl alone in the darkness," Mr. Matthew replied.
Emma considered whether she should bring up the topic, but her dad seemed unconcerned about a possible dismissal or perhaps forgot that a potential move would also affect her. And she was certainly not a little child to be simply dragged along; she was an 8-year-old who wanted to have a say in where life would go.
"How did he arrange the silverware on the plate?" O'Brien asked curiously. Emma was sure that when it came to Alfred, the maid had developed a true protective instinct, similar to the bond between her and her father.
"He placed it on the edge," explained Alfred, "I didn't say it was intentional."
"I hope not, because I was trying to help him," Jimmy added.
"I believe Alfred will manage without your help in the future, James. And next time, please wait until you're asked before intervening," Carson huffed.
"Why are you still here?" Patmore wondered, eyeing her kitchen assistant Ivy.
"Maybe Alfred doesn't want to go to the cinema anymore and wants to reflect on his mistake," Carson stated firmly. "After all, some children can already serve better," his gaze subtly shifted to Emma, who patiently waited for permission to leave the table.
"Only because you taught her, Mister Carson," Mrs. Hughes remarked. "And, of course, Alfred will go to the cinema tonight."
"Well, I love you," she heard her dad say as she returned to the servants' hall. Jimmy stood facing her Dad, sipping tea, while her Dad sat at the table, lighting a cigarette.
Jimmy laughed, "Yes, but you're the only one."
"Certainly not," doubted Thomas and asked curiously, "What about your family? Where are you from?"
"I don't have a family. Not really. Well, cousins, yes. But other than that, no," Jimmy revealed with a hint of sadness in his voice.
"But your parents..."
"Dead. My father fell in the war, and my mother from the flu. And unfortunately, I don't have any siblings. So here I am, all alone."
"Great loneliness," observed Thomas, taking a hearty drag of his cigarette.
"What does that mean?"
"I know what it's like, that's all," Thomas commented before spotting his daughter in the doorway. He quickly corrected his statement, "Apart from my child, of course... Shouldn't you be in bed already?"
"I can't sleep."
"And why can't you sleep?" asked Thomas.
"There's a spider..."
"And?" Thomas probed further, not recognizing the problem.
"It's staring at me very meanly."
"I doubt a little spider will eat you..."
"You can't know that."
Thomas sighed. This behavior was typical of girls. He wasn't allowed to kill the spider, and the spider couldn't stay in the room. According to Emma, the best solution was to release the spider outdoors, but since Emma didn't want to come anywhere near a spider, Thomas always had to handle this task for her. At least, over the past two years, Emma had stopped screaming in panic when she saw a spider.
"Go to bed, Emma," Thomas instructed the girl. "I'll take care of the spider later."
Emma nodded slightly. She didn't like the answer at all. Why couldn't he remove the spider immediately? The stern look from her father indicated that it was better to go to bed immediately rather than start a discussion.
Loud shouting in the corridor woke Emma in the middle of the night. She tiptoed over to her father's bed, but he wasn't there. Peeking through the crack in the door, she saw Carson slamming his door shut. Thomas stood alone in the corridor. He looked sad, desperate, as if all his dreams and hopes had been shattered in a second.
Emma went to her father. The old floorboards were quite rough and cold beneath her bare feet. She grasped Thomas's upper arm. "Dad," she whispered, "come with me," and led the man into their shared bedroom. A glance back revealed an angry Alfred. Emma was all too familiar with that look from O'Brien—a look that seemed like this was just the beginning of what was to come.
After the door closed, Thomas ran his hands desperately through his hair, and tears began to snake down his cheeks. "I'm such a fool. Why did I do that? I thought he would be like me. He would feel the same way I do. I just want to feel a little love," he cried, plopping down on his bed.
"But I love you!" Emma spoke up. From behind, she nestled against her father, wrapping an arm around him while her head rested on his shoulder. "I love you, Dad," she repeated her words. "Really, I love you a lot!"
"I know, my little dwarf," he smiled sadly. His injured hand touched hers. "Your love means a lot to me. I'm very grateful for it."
Silently, she just nestled against her dad. Since he didn't object, the girl was pretty sure he enjoyed their current hug. They sat like that for a while, with Emma's head resting on his shoulder.
"Emma," Thomas began with a quivering voice, "I'm not normal. I'm different, you understand?"
Emma looked up, pulling her head back slightly to look at her father. His face was marked by worries and self-doubt. Her forehead furrowed in confusion as she asked, "Different? What do you mean, Dad?"
Thomas sighed deeply and struggled with his own thoughts. This was a moment he had avoided for years, fearing the consequences. But he could no longer hide it, not after what happened a few minutes ago. It was only a matter of time before Emma learned the truth, and perhaps it was best if Emma heard it from him instead of being manipulated by Mrs. O'Brien and Mr. Carson.
"What I'm about to tell you, Emma Grace Barrow, you mustn't tell anyone," he began quietly. Emma swallowed hard as she nodded slightly. Emma Grace Barrow. Her full name was only used by her dad when it was something extremely important or when she was being scolded. However, his voice didn't sound strict and commanding but rather reflected despair and fear.
"Actually, I didn't intend to burden you with this, but I guess it's better if you hear it from me," he continued. With his uninjured hand, he desperately ran it across his face, wiping away tears from his cheeks. What if his little dwarf would hate him? Would Emma treat him like everyone else in his life who found out about his differences?
"I'm different because..." Thomas halted his sentence. Suddenly, he felt a certain lightness and coldness on his shoulders. Emma had already pulled away from him. Apparently, no further explanation was needed. Why had he even felt the need to enlighten his child? He should have kept quiet and shown Emma a perfect world.
Thomas took a deep breath, still trying to find the right words. "I like the same type."
Confusion deepened in Emma's eyes. "I don't understand. What does that mean, Dad?"
"I kissed him!" it burst out of him, and after a short pause to catch his breath, he added, "Jimmy."
"Different means... you love men?" she concluded hesitantly.
Her father quickly formed a hushing gesture with his finger in front of his mouth. Emma perked up her ears. There was nothing to hear outside. They were probably the only ones still awake at such a late—or rather early—hour. "You must never speak of this, Emma Grace."
The girl swallowed hard. She sat about an arm's length away from him.
"Nobody. Really nobody must know about my differences—not even Ruby," he explained with a pleading undertone. "There's a law that says people like me should be locked up in prisons."
A moment of silence followed his words. Emma stared at him as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard. Then, as if she couldn't grasp it, she asked a question that might have sounded a bit silly: "But you still like pancakes, right?"
Thomas was surprised by this question, and despite his own inner turmoil, he couldn't help but smile slightly. "Yes, I still like pancakes. My food preferences haven't changed."
"And you still like smoking?" she inquired.
Thomas nodded a bit uncertainly, wondering where Emma was going with these seemingly trivial questions.
"And you still read me a bedtime story every night, right?"
"If you still want that, then yes," Thomas took a deep breath. "Emma, I can understand if you don't want to have any contact with me anymore. It would be okay if you wished to move in with Anna. It wouldn't be fair for me to force you to stay here. You wouldn't be the first one to hate me and it's okay. I'm used to it."
An uncomfortable silence followed. Emma's thoughts began to churn. She tried to grasp what her dad had just revealed to her...
AN: The secret is out. How will Emma react? What will she do next?