Emma was finally allowed to be discharged from the hospital – provided she adhered to the agreement and continued to rest – of course, Emma agreed to Dr. Clarkson's proposal. It was boring in the hospital anyway.
"Remember to rest," Dr. Clarkson reminded the girl of the agreement, "No jumping, dancing, or whatever children of your age do when they're bored."
"Promise," said Emma, who couldn't wait to finally go home.
"Do you really think Emma is fit enough?" Thomas doubted.
"Well, from a medical perspective, there's nothing against discharge," Clarkson said.
"And the headaches?"
"Thomas," Clarkson cleared his throat, "Emma had the headaches the day before yesterday. There's really nothing against discharge. Emma is almost recovered. She just needs to rest for another two or three days."
Thomas sighed. Dr. Clarkson was right. Emma couldn't be in the hospital forever, and Lord Grantham no longer tolerated his absence. At least in the Abbey, he had the chance to see his child in between.
"Okay," Thomas conceded, "But you also stick to Dr. Clarkson's instructions."
"Yes," Emma replied, rolling her eyes slightly annoyed.
As they entered the corridors of the servants' quarters through the back door, and Emma caught the familiar scent, a smile formed on her face. She was finally home. From the kitchen, she heard loud swearing. Without a doubt, one of the kitchen maids was receiving a scolding from Mrs. Patmore. Hall boys hurried past her, hands full with their daily tasks.
"Emma Grace," Carson greeted the young girl, "It's lovely to see you hale and hearty again." Carson was among the few who didn't visit Emma in the hospital. But the butler didn't need to. Emma knew that Carson was worried, but most likely kept informed by Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore. The two older ladies regularly visited Emma.
"You've come just in time for lunch," smiled Mrs. Hughes, leading the Barrows straight to the servants' hall. Anna and Bates were sitting at their usual places at the table, offering the girl a friendly smile. Alfred and Jimmy also seemed relieved at first glance to see the girl fit and lively again. Only Mrs. O'Brien couldn't hide her bad mood as usual.
Mrs. Patmore placed the food on the table. There was a stew with fresh bread and pancakes for dessert for Emma.
"One thing can be said about you," O'Brien remarked sarcastically, "You know how to put on a show."
"Mrs. O'Brien," Carson cleared his throat. The butler's angry gaze met the maid's. "It certainly wasn't Emma Grace's intention."
"Of course, it wasn't," replied O'Brien.
Emma ignored Mrs. O'Brien's sharp remarks and instead focused on feeling comfortable in her familiar surroundings. The hearty smell of the food filled her nostrils, and her stomach rumbled with anticipation for the first time, as Mrs. Patmore had prepared her favorite meal.
"Now that Emma Grace is back here, you can continue your work after lunch, Mister Barrow," Carson remarked. He had accepted that Thomas had four days off. After all, it was about Emma Grace's well-being, but the butler wanted to get back to the routine as soon as possible.
"Of course, Mr. Carson," Thomas agreed.
After lunch, Thomas escorted his daughter to their shared bedroom. Emma put on her comfortable nightdress and sat on the bed.
"I'll check in on you from time to time," Thomas promised as he leaned over to tuck her in. Emma sighed softly, a hint of disappointment in her voice. She had hoped to spend a few precious hours with her father, but she knew Carson wouldn't be persuaded.
"Okay," she replied softly, her eyes wandering to the stack of books on the dresser. "Can I at least read a book?"
Thomas nodded in agreement and turned to grab a book. He chose the story of Peter Pan and placed it on Emma's bedside table.
"If you need anything or if you feel worse, let me know," he added lovingly, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently stroking Emma's hair. Emma nodded gratefully and pulled the book closer to her, while Thomas cast one more affectionate glance at her before quietly standing up and closing the door behind him. The room was now quiet, only the soft rustling of pages as Emma opened her book and immersed herself in the captivating world of Peter Pan.
Thomas learned through Mrs. Hughes that Emma's friends had come to visit, and his gut feeling told him he should check on what the children were up to. So, amidst his duties, he carved out some time and made his way towards the master's corridor. From a distance, he heard loud giggling, prompting him to quicken his pace. As he opened the door to the bedroom, the three children - Emma, Ruby, Arthur, and Simon - froze. Emma, who had been bouncing on the bed moments ago, suddenly flopped onto the mattress, followed by her friends, mimicking her actions. Thomas stood in the doorway with arms crossed, his expression darkening.
"What the hell is going on here?" he asked with clear displeasure.
Emma exchanged a nervous glance with her friends before sitting up and attempting to explain the situation, "They were just helping me fluff my pillow."
Thomas raised a skeptical eyebrow. "That didn't look like pillow-fluffing."
"It was just a bit of fun, Mr. Barrow," Arthur said nonchalantly, as if nothing was amiss.
"Fun?" Thomas repeated with a skeptical gaze. "After everything that's happened, fun shouldn't be in your vocabulary right now, Emma."
"Mr. Barrow, we're sorry, we didn't mean to..." Ruby began to explain.
Thomas interrupted her with an exasperated gesture. "You didn't mean to what? Emma has a concussion, for heaven's sake!" he exclaimed, trying to rein in his burgeoning anger. "You shouldn't be encouraging her to jump on a bed, Ruby!" Thomas's gaze now shifted to the second boy, whom he hadn't encountered before. "And who are you, anyway?" Thomas inquired.
"S-Simon, Sir," he stammered nervously. Thomas nodded briskly. Simon Stewart. He remembered. Emma had often talked about him.
Emma had lowered her head by now. "It was my idea, Dad."
Thomas sighed, his anger morphing into concern. "You know exactly what Dr. Clarkson said. You're supposed to rest."
Emma looked ashamed, avoiding eye contact with her father.
Ruby looked uncertainly between Thomas and Emma. "We're sorry, Mister Barrow. We were just bored."
Thomas took a deep breath and forced himself to adopt a calmer tone, this time with a hint of understanding, "I understand that resting can be boring. But Emma had an accident. She has a concussion. The last thing she should be doing is jumping on the bed. Another accident could have serious consequences."
Emma nodded meekly. Simon, Arthur, and Ruby also looked remorseful. Thomas would never forgive himself if Emma got hurt again, especially after narrowly escaping a severe injury. He sighed and rubbed his temple. "Alright, you've had enough roughhousing. Ruby, Arthur, Simon, thank you for your company, but I think it's best if Emma gets some rest now."
The three friends nodded understandingly and quietly left the room, while Thomas stood with arms crossed in front of his daughter. "Do you care so little about your health?"
"No, I just..."
"Wanted to have fun?" Thomas interrupted her.
She nodded slowly, "I'm sorry, Dad."
Thomas sighed again and sat down beside her on the bed. "You promised me and Dr. Clarkson," he reminded her gently. Emma nodded silently and sank into her father's embrace.
"You're welcome to punish me and reset curfew," Emma suggested. Thomas raised a curious eyebrow and looked at his child in disbelief. Emma had fought so hard for her later curfew; she would never simply suggest resetting it.
"Why curfew?" Thomas asked curiously.
Emma shrugged. "Curfew is to blame for everything."
"It was an accident. It could have happened at any time," Thomas said.
"But it didn't happen at any time," Emma pointed out.
"Okay."
"Okay?" Emma looked puzzled up at her dad.
"We can go back to the old time if you'd like," Thomas explained with a smirk. "I thought the new time was too late anyway."
Emma looked at him with wide eyes. She had hoped her father would come up with a different punishment, but would take note of her cooperation and expect the punishment to be lenient. But it was clear that her dad would go along with her suggestion of curfew.
"But a punishment is supposed to teach me a lesson. If I suggested it myself, then it's not really a punishment anymore," Emma reasoned.
Thomas could barely conceal a grin. "You're my child," he stated the obvious. "Do you really think I don't know the tricks?"
Emma smiled slightly embarrassed. She had hoped her father would see her willingness to cooperate as a sign of her understanding. But Thomas wasn't so easily fooled.
"Maybe not all, Dad," Emma replied. Thomas raised an eyebrow in surprise and looked at his child amusedly. "Are you sure?" he teased. Emma strongly reminded him of himself. And that's exactly what Thomas feared the most. That Emma would pick up on his tricks. And not all of his tricks or actions were successful. They often brought him dangerously close to losing his job.
"You know me," Emma shrugged, "I'm a smart girl."
Thomas couldn't help but smile at Emma's response. She really was a smart girl, and her quick wit reminded him of Martha.
"Yes, you are," Thomas agreed.
The routine as Emma knew it caught up with her a week after the accident. Finally allowed to return to school, romp around, and play, Emma soon realized that an important event was approaching, and she wanted to make it something very special.
"Mrs. Patmore," Emma asked in a cute voice, giving her an endearing wink, "Can you help me bake a cake?"
"You can see what's going on here," the cook gestured to the countless plates of food that were about to be carried upstairs by Alfred and Jimmy.
"I need your help in a few days," Emma corrected her question, "Dad's birthday is next week, and I want to bake his favorite cake."
Mrs. Patmore paused for a moment. "Alright then. I'll help you. We'll bake a day earlier. Better make sure we use a kitchen where he won't find us."
Thankfully, Mrs. Patmore got a half day off – the Crawleys were dining out at an opera gala – so she could help Emma prepare the perfect birthday cake. They baked in the kitchen of the Harris Farm.
"Where did you put the sugar now?" Mrs. Patmore sighed. Three children also meant triple the chaos in a kitchen unfamiliar to her.
"Here!" Simon called out and handed her a tin. Mrs. Patmore tasted with her fingertip, "That's salt," she explained with a sigh.
"I've got the sugar," Ruby said, handing over the correct tin this time. Mrs. Patmore sighed with relief as she finally held the sugar in her hands.
"Thank you, Ruby." She turned back to the recipe. The Harris Farm kitchen was small and spacious but organized differently from what Mrs. Patmore was used to. She had to orient herself to where everything was.
Simon, stumbling around the kitchen, nearly tripped over a bag of flour. "Watch out, Simon!" Ruby called out and caught the bag just in time. "You're so clumsy, sometimes I forget how you manage not to trip over your feet."
Ruby handed Simon the bag of flour. The 9-year-old boy poured a large amount of it into the bowl.
"Oh no!" Mrs. Patmore exclaimed, "That's way too much!"
Simon scratched his head, looking embarrassed. "But you said flour."
"But not the whole package," Mrs. Patmore sighed, starting to spoon the excess flour back into the package.
"Emma, you can mix the batter," the cook said, handing the girl a whisk. Emma began to blend the sugar and butter before slowly adding the flour.
Once the batter was ready, they poured it into a greased baking tin and placed it in the oven. Finally, when the cake was baked and fragrant as it came out of the oven, they beamed with pride.
"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. You're the best cook in the world!" Emma exclaimed joyfully, wrapping her arms around the cook. Mrs. Patmore smiled and returned the hug, "It was my pleasure, Emma."
Emma knew how difficult it was to celebrate a birthday when you worked as a servant. The few half days off her dad had in a year, he used for his daughter. Consequently, Thomas never or rarely had his birthday off. And since it also fell on a school day, it was even harder to celebrate together. Nevertheless, Emma hid the cake in the bedroom. There were only the morning hours left until breakfast before the duties of the day would begin.
"Six o'clock!" There was a knock on the door, like every morning. Normally, Emma would turn around and go back to sleep until Thomas dragged her out of bed, but this morning she hopped out of bed immediately with a joyful smile on her face.
"Happy birthday, Daddy!" Emma smiled and wrapped her arms around her still sleepy father. Thomas opened his eyes sleepily and saw his daughter. A warm feeling of love and gratitude flooded his heart. "Thank you, my little dwarf," he replied gently, hugging her tightly.
Emma stepped back and proudly presented the gift. The homemade cake was on a tray, next to it was a wrapped gift. "Look, Dad. I baked your favorite cake!"
"Chocolate cake?" Thomas asked curiously. Emma nodded, grinning. "You have to light the candle, then blow it out and make a wish."
Thomas chuckled. Emma's cakes always had candles corresponding to her age, which obviously wasn't the case for him. Only one single candle was placed in the center.
Emma noticed his gaze, "I know how old you are – very old – that's why Mrs. Patmore didn't have so many candles."
"You're as charming as ever," Thomas remarked, adding with a radiant smile, "The cake looks delicious."
Thomas snapped his lighter and lit the candle. He didn't believe in wishes coming true, but to keep the magic alive for his daughter, he was happy to do it. He blew out the candle.
"Did you make a wish?" Emma asked curiously.
"Of course, but I can't tell you what it is," he chuckled.
Emma handed her father the other gift. Thomas unwrapped it and held a homemade picture frame in his hands. How many times had he intended to buy a picture frame for the photo with his daughter taken at Lady Mary's wedding? Thomas hadn't managed to frame the picture after a whole year.
"Come here, my little dwarf," Thomas said, hugging his daughter. He planted a kiss on her forehead, "This is a wonderful start to the day."