Thomas's heart raced with worry as he hurried to his child. "What's happened?" he asked. A bleeding wound adorned Emma's head. Thomas gently stroked Emma's cold cheek with his uninjured hand. "Emma? Little dwarf, wake up." His little dwarf lay injured and unconscious in the midst of the forest.
"She fell," the boy spoke hesitantly. "We were going home, and then she fell." Thomas saw the boy's eyes focus on the treehouse and looked up again. The railing of the treehouse was missing – as if torn off – or as if someone had fallen with the railing into the depths.
"You should have gotten help," Thomas began with accusations.
"I didn't want to leave her alone, sir," he explained.
Thomas shook his head in disbelief. "So you'd rather let my child bleed out?"
He took another look at Emma's head injury and couldn't help but shudder. The bleeding seemed not to be too strong anymore, but fear still gripped him. He checked her breathing and pulse. Emma seemed to be breathing, albeit shallowly, and her pulse was weak but palpable.
"What's your name?"
"Arthur... Arthur Sinclair."
"Arthur," Thomas addressed him directly, "Run to the Abbey. There's a phone.. Inform Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes – one of them should call Dr. Clarkson. He needs to come to the Abbey, understood? I'll take Emma there."
The boy stared at him with wide eyes.
"Now!" Thomas hissed. "Dr. Clarkson needs to be informed! Immediately!"
Arthur nodded before running off. While the boy was on his way, Thomas improvised a makeshift bandage for the head wound. He took off his white shirt – he had worn a white undershirt beneath – and, like a bandage, wrapped his shirt around and over the bleeding wound. Thomas could hardly bear the fear. "Everything will be fine, my little one," he reassured her. "I'm here. Daddy's here. I'll take care of you." The words seemed to be more for himself than for his child. She looked so fragile, and he felt helpless. Emma's unconsciousness deeply troubled him.
Thomas's heart seemed to pound in his chest as he carried Emma gently in his arms.
"Is Dr. Clarkson here yet?" he called through the corridor. Mrs. Patmore emerged from the kitchen, "Oh my goodness! What on earth happened?"
Simultaneously, Mrs. Hughes came out of Carson's office, "We just contacted him," she swallowed hard as she observed the injured girl in his arms. Though she had already been informed by the boy, she hadn't anticipated an unconscious child. "He's on his way."
Anna held her hand to her face in shock, visibly holding her breath. Behind her, Bates, Alfred, Jimmy, O'Brien, and Daisy gathered.
"I'll get some bandages," Mr. Bates declared.
Mrs. Hughes nodded gratefully, "Anna, would you be so kind as to fetch a blanket?" Anna nodded, and Mrs. Hughes turned to Thomas, "You, Mr. Barrow, lay your daughter down here," gesturing with a hand towards her sitting room. Mrs. Hughes's gaze now turned to the remaining staff, "If you have nothing to do, I suggest you don't get in our way."
"What about our dinner?" O'Brien asked. After all, the meal was already on the table, but when that boy burst into the servants' hall, Mr. Carson stopped placing the meat on the plates. The food was already lukewarm, but if they postponed their dinner, she would have to dress her ladyship on an empty stomach and take a cold meal.
"What about it?" Mr. Carson asked angrily. "The meal can wait."
O'Brien opened her mouth, clearly intending to object, but Mrs. Hughes beat her to it, "Choose your next words carefully," the housekeeper threatened. "I have no problem throwing you out!"
"I suppose Mrs. Patmore won't mind reheating the meal later," O'Brien amended her statement.
In all the years Mrs. Hughes had known Thomas Barrow, she had never seen him so fragile and vulnerable as in this moment. The typically aloof man, who often erected a wall of impenetrability around himself, seemed to have dropped all defenses now.
He knelt before the small couch in the sitting room, half-bent over his unconscious daughter, tears streaming from his eyes, his lips forming silent desperate words. In this moment, he felt utterly helpless. He could tend to injured officers in the trenches amidst the great war, but with his own child, he was incapable of doing anything.
"What happened?" Mrs. Hughes asked, concerned, and for the first time, she took Thomas aside so that Anna, who came with a thick woolen blanket, could cover the girl.
"She fell – the children were playing in the woods," Thomas explained, struggling for breath. "Emma fell from a treehouse," he wiped away tears with his uninjured hand, "She just won't wake up, Mrs. Hughes."
"Children fall, that's not unusual," Mrs. Hughes spoke optimistically.
"I should have looked for her earlier," Thomas realized. If he had searched for his daughter sooner, maybe she wouldn't have fallen in the first place.
Anna turned slowly to Thomas, and as she looked in his direction, she immediately noticed that his eyes were reddened, as if they had weathered a storm of tears. She couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Thomas Barrow. This otherwise bitter and scheming man seemed to have shed all hardness in this moment. His usual pouty mouth and self-satisfied grin were gone, replaced instead by a face reflecting deep concern and despair. Anna had never seen Thomas appear so vulnerable and human – not even when Lady Sybil died, was he as disoriented as he was now. Anna never thought this man would develop genuine feelings for the foundling.
Mrs. Hughes reassuringly placed a hand on Thomas's shoulder. "Mr. Barrow, you couldn't have anticipated something like this. Children can be unpredictable sometimes. There's no reason to blame yourself."
Thomas swallowed hard, "I know, but I feel so helpless, Mrs. Hughes. I can't bear to see her like this... Emma... she's my daughter..."
"We know," Anna quickly cut off the conversation. There was no reason to bring up Emma's orphan status; the child had been living with them for nine years now, and the new staff members didn't know the truth.
The minutes dragged agonizingly long until Dr. Clarkson finally entered the room. Curious glances from the remaining servants, lingering at the doorway, stared into the room as Dr. Clarkson began to carefully examine the girl. He gently removed the blood-soaked shirt to palpate the wound.
"I need water and soap," he requested. Daisy immediately rushed off and returned with a bowl of lukewarm water and a piece of soap. Dr. Clarkson began to clean the wound carefully.
"Emma will recover, won't she?" Thomas asked.
"I will monitor her progress," Dr. Clarkson said, taking a short pause. He now reached for the bandaging material and dressed the wound. "I would recommend that Emma be taken to the hospital to ensure that no further complications arise. We can provide good care for her here at the Abbey, but at the hospital, I have more resources."
"What does she have? Why won't she wake up?" Thomas inquired.
"Emma has a concussion. The head wound needs to be disinfected with iodine and then stitched up, but I can only do that at the hospital," Dr. Clarkson turned to them and, for the first time, looked at the concerned faces of the servants. "Ideally, Emma will wake up in the next few hours. Fortunately, the head injury is not very deep."
A relieved sigh swept through the room, and Thomas felt the tension inside him slowly easing. However, his gaze remained fixed on Emma, who still lay unconscious.
"We saw that Dr. Clarkson arrived," Lord Grantham's voice now echoed in the hallway. "Besides, no one came when we rang. Is everything alright?"
"I am sincerely sorry, My Lord," Carson spoke, "I'm afraid in the shock, we overheard the bell. I apologize profusely."
"What happened, Mr. Carson?" Lady Grantham inquired. "Why does the entire staff seem incapable of serving us tonight?"
"There was an accident," Carson hesitated, grappling with the thought of forgetting his lordship. This had never happened to him before. "It's about Emma Grace Barrow," he added.
At that moment, Dr. Clarkson emerged from the sitting room with Mrs. Hughes, Anna, and Thomas. Thomas once again carried his unconscious daughter, now wrapped in a thick woolen blanket, in his arms.
"Lord Grantham, Lady Grantham," the doctor greeted with a slight nod, "We're taking Emma Barrow to the hospital for further treatment."
"Carson, send a footman. Tom or Matthew, should drive the car," Lord Grantham instructed. On foot, Barrow would undoubtedly take three-quarters of an hour, while the car ride would only take a few minutes. It was Alfred who immediately responded and hurried up the stairs.
Matthew Crawley drove them to the hospital. Barely arrived, and with Emma placed in the hospital bed, Dr. Clarkson began cleaning the wound again, this time with iodine. Several stitches were then needed to close the wound.
"Now, all we can do is wait," the doctor explained as he put away his medical instruments. "Chin up, Mr. Barrow. I've seen patients recover who were far more severely injured. All Emma needs now is rest."
Thomas sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Emma's peaceful face as she slept. He took her hand and spoke softly to her, hoping that his words would somehow reach her, "Don't be afraid, my little dwarf. You're in the hospital, and I'll stay by your side, alright?"
Mrs. Hughes returned to the hospital in the middle of the night. "Mrs. Patmore has prepared some sandwiches for you, Mr. Barrow," she said, placing the lunch bag on the nightstand. "You should have something to eat."
"I'm not hungry, Mrs. Hughes," he replied. His thoughts were solely focused on his daughter. He couldn't choke down a bite.
The housekeeper placed her hand on his shoulder. "Please, don't blame yourself. No one could have predicted that Emma would get hurt."
"Of course, I blame myself... I care deeply for my child, even if everyone sees it differently."
"I know, Mr. Barrow."
"You don't understand, Mrs. Hughes. Emma is my biological daughter. I know you believe I adopted her, but that's not the case..." Thomas took a deep breath, unable to look the housekeeper in the eyes.
"Emma has your eyes," the housekeeper smiled. "Mr. Barrow, did you really think you could deceive me?" she spoke incredulously. "I found and read the letter..."
Flashback Autumn 1915
Emma screamed as loudly as her small lungs would allow, her eyes swollen from crying and her hands pressed against her ears. Mrs. Hughes, William, and Anna had already searched every corner of the downstairs, from the kitchen to the servants' hall, from Carson's office to the sitting room, and even to the laundry room. Yet, Emma's beloved stuffed rabbit, affectionately named 'A-bit,' remained missing.
The patience of the staff was being severely tested, and Mrs. O'Brien's words, hissing with anger, didn't improve the situation. "Stop screaming!"
Anna tried to find a solution to calm Emma. "We can buy you a new stuffed rabbit," she suggested, and Mrs. Hughes nodded in agreement. But Emma stubbornly refused, "No!" she screamed through tears. "I wan-na A-bit!"
Mrs. O'Brien couldn't resist a sarcastic comment. "Then you shouldn't have lost it."
"This is not helpful, Mrs. O'Brien," Mrs. Hughes admonished.
William also tried to calm the desperate child. "We can buy you an entirely new stuffed animal. I had a pony when I was your age."
"Or a doll," Anna smiled.
But Emma's response was always the same, accompanied by piercing screams. "I wanna A-bit!"
The little Emma was utterly exhausted. For three days, she had misplaced her stuffed rabbit, and without it, she couldn't fall asleep. The staff was also plagued by exhaustion after enduring two restless nights. The nights that were usually spent in peaceful sleep were instead filled with Emma's shrill cries and tears.
Mr. Carson had long retreated to his office to escape the noise. He had tried in vain to pacify the child with a new toy, but Emma had angrily thrown the toy against the wall.
"I can't take it anymore," confessed Mrs. Hughes, exhausted. "Emma, please stop screaming. We'll find your stuffed rabbit, but I'm getting a headache."
"It's Thomas's job to take care of Emma Grace," Mister Carson said, who emerged from his office, "Why did she stay here?" Apparently, the butler had used his quiet moments to come to the realization that getting rid of the child was much easier than searching for a stuffed rabbit.
"Thomas couldn't take the child to war," remarked the housekeeper, rolling her eyes at Mister Carson's comment.
"But Emma Grace is not our child either," he countered.
"But it doesn't change the current situation, Mister Carson," Mrs. Hughes whispered, "I doubt Thomas will be excused from the front lines to soothe his child... It's up to us to find Emma's rabbit."
Mrs. Hughes glanced over at Daisy. The kitchen maid stood nervously, playing with her dishcloth in the corner. "Is something wrong, Daisy?" she inquired.
Daisy initially shook her head. "Well, I don't know if it helps," she began, "But I saw Emma coming out of the men quarters."
"When?" Anna asked curiously.
"Well, about three or four days ago."
"And you're telling us now?" Mister Carson spoke indignantly.
Mrs. Hughes stood up tiredly. "I'll see if Emma left the rabbit there."
She entered Thomas's former bedroom. Since he went to war, they hadn't made any changes to it. Two beds still stood in the room, and Emma's drawings adorned the walls. For a year, the room had remained unoccupied, with Emma moving to Anna's bedroom. Nevertheless, the toddler occasionally found her way into the men quarters. Sometimes, it was easier to let the child fall asleep in Thomas's bed. She missed her father, and the room, especially the bed, was the only thing that still strongly smelled of Thomas. And for some reason, on some days, it seemed to be the only thing that calmed the child.
At first glance, she didn't see the stuffed rabbit, so she began to search. Apparently, the child had played in the room. The lower drawers were emptied. Mrs. Hughes didn't have to dig for long before she had the small stuffed rabbit in her hand. Beside it lay a letter that caught her attention. She could read Emma's birthdate from it. For all these years, she had wondered why Thomas celebrated Emma's birthday on March 15th instead of March 22nd – the day the little foundling was left at their doorstep. At that time, Thomas had simply said that Dr. Clarkson had estimated she was about a week old, and he had counted back the days, choosing March 15th. But here it was in black and white. The foundling was never a foundling but had always been Thomas's daughter.
End of Flashback
„You knew all these years?" Thomas exclaimed in shock.
Mrs. Hughes nodded and gave him a small smile. "Even if I didn't, would it make a difference? You made the choice to be a father to the child. Even though I was initially skeptical, you've shown that you are more than capable of raising a child."
"You're not angry that I lied to you?"
"No, Mister Barrow. I understand why you did it. I believe Mister Carson would not accept the truth about an illegitimate child of one of his servants. The story of the foundling, whose origin we didn't know and therefore made up, he accepted."
"So, you won't tell anyone?"
"Your secret is safe with me, Mister Barrow," she smiled.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," Thomas glanced at his peacefully sleeping daughter for a brief moment. "She really cried for days over a stuffed animal?"
"Those were terrible days, Mister Barrow," said Mrs. Hughes, who still smiled. "I gave her the stuffed rabbit. She was so happy and tired. She went to William, asked him to take her to bed, and as soon as he lifted her into his arms, the toddler was already fast asleep."
"William took care of her a lot in my absence," Thomas noted.
"They were like siblings." Mrs. Hughes sighed and took a seat beside him, and the room fell into a comfortable silence.
"You know, Mister Barrow, you've done well by her," Mrs. Hughes remarked softly, breaking the quietude, "I never would have thought, but you are a great father, Mr. Barrow."
"I did what I could," Thomas replied, his gaze fixed on Emma. "But she deserves better than the life I can give her," Thomas sighed, a mixture of weariness and vulnerability evident in his expression.
Mrs. Hughes placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "And you can provide that for her. You've already proven you can be a loving father and Emma adores you so much."
A hesitant smile played on Thomas' lips. "Sometimes, I fear I can't give her the life she deserves. The world can be a harsh place, and I don't want her to face the struggles I did."
"I understand but you're not alone in this," Mrs. Hughes said, her voice gentle. "Everyone downstairs will support you."
Thomas nodded, grateful for Mrs. Hughes' comforting words.