AN: Thank you for your comments. I'm always happy to see them. You can share your ideas with me anytime. I'm happy to incorporate your wishes.
After the trip to the cinema, the atmosphere between Thomas and his daughter Emma was noticeably chilled. During the movie, they had laughed and enjoyed their time together, but as soon as they left the cinema and returned home, that joy seemed to have vanished. Thomas' expression darkened as they climbed the steps to the Abbey, and Emma could clearly see his mood shift from cheerful to gloomy.
"Maybe we can visit the cinema again. It was really nice and fun," Emma tried to break the sudden silence and reconnect with her father.
"We'll see," Thomas replied shortly, averting his gaze.
Emma was confused and hurt by her father's cold reaction. She tried to cheer him up with conversations and small gestures, but nothing seemed to work. Thomas remained distant and reserved, and Emma couldn't understand what she had done wrong.
The next day, Emma was sitting in the servants' hall when there was a knock at the door behind her. She looked up and recognized her Dad, who was sitting across from her, scrutinizing someone skeptically.
"I'm looking for a certain Patmore," spoke a male voice. Emma hadn't looked behind her, and the voice didn't sound familiar to her.
"What do you want?" asked Thomas, bringing his cigarette to his mouth. Beside her father sat the housemaid Edna. The housemaid had previously tried to engage in conversation with Thomas - without success - as her father was engrossed in the newspaper and absolutely not in the mood for chitchat.
"I have a delivery for her."
"Really?" said Thomas unimpressed, "And where from?" before taking a long drag of his cigarette.
"You're not particularly curious, are you?" the man said slightly annoyed.
"You're not one of our usual suppliers," Thomas retorted snappishly, exhaling smoke.
"Well, if you must know... I've taken over Mr. Corks' shop in Thirsk. Mrs. Patmore sent him an order."
"What's going on? I heard my name being called," said Mrs. Patmore, entering the servants' hall.
"I just explained it. You sent an order to Mr. Corks. Well, I bought the shop and the goods. I thought I'd take the liberty and deliver the goods myself."
"So, you took the liberty," said Thomas, standing up from his seat, "How do you know she wants to do business with you?" and brought the cigarette to his mouth.
"Alright, Mr. Barrow," said Patmore, "I can fight my own battles. Thank you," and turned to the deliveryman, "Where's the order now?" she asked the cook and trotted off to the kitchen. The deliveryman followed her.
Thomas sat back down and picked up the newspaper, while Emma looked down at her homework. The tension between her and her father was unbearable. He either ignored her or responded curtly to her questions. Sharing a room and not being able to avoid each other made even a few days barely tolerable.
Emma bit her lower lip. "By the way, I didn't think it was that great," she confessed. Thomas showed no reaction. He sat hidden behind the newspaper, so Emma couldn't even see a reaction.
"I thought it would be great to be like them," she explained.
"So, you wouldn't want to move up socially if you had the chance?" doubted Edna, "You wouldn't have to worry about the future. You'd be set and all doors would truly be open to you. Doesn't that sound great?"
"That is great," Emma admitted. Perhaps this was even a mistake, because Edna was steering the conversation in completely the wrong direction.
"So, if you had the choice between a rich family and a servant family, you'd prefer the rich one," she concluded.
Thomas threw the newspaper in front of him on the table. He stood up without comment and left the servants' hall. As he did so, he pulled a new cigarette from his jacket pocket. Without a doubt, he was on his way to the backyard to quietly inhale another cigarette in the fresh air.
"If I had the choice, I would always choose my Dad!" Emma said, jumping up from her seat and rushing to the backyard.
There, her father leaned against the wall with the glowing cigarette between his fingers. Emma bit her lower lip once again as she nervously played with her hands. "You don't have to worry. I don't intend to move up socially."
Thomas snorted, "I certainly don't worry about that," he said, taking a hearty drag of his cigarette.
"But then why are you like this?" Emma asked.
"You really don't understand," Thomas realized incredulously, "You forced me to serve you!"
"We've played such games before, where you played my valet and dressed me," countered Emma.
"That was different," he said, exhaling the smoke from his lungs. "We were among ourselves - just the two of us - but up there in the library, you dined with his Lordship."
"It was your idea! You suggested I should find a new father. That's exactly what I did. Mister Matthew didn't mind!"
"That was meant sarcastically! Absolutely not serious! I'm an under-butler, Emma! I have a certain position here. What will his Lordship think of me if even my own child has no respect for me? You humiliated me! The servants are gossiping about it! I didn't raise you to be so disrespectful."
Emma felt a lump in her throat, and tears welled up in her eyes. She had never considered how her actions might influence her father's perception. Her game, which she had considered harmless, was apparently a serious blow to Thomas' pride as an under-butler.
"I... I didn't think about that," she murmured, fighting back the tears rising in her eyes. She felt guilty and ashamed of how her actions had affected her father.
"That's your problem," Thomas said sharply, "You didn't think about the consequences of your actions for me!"
The tears now rolled unchecked down Emma's cheeks, "I-I respect you, and I didn't mean it like that," she sobbed.
Thomas sighed heavily and tossed his cigarette on the ground before extinguishing it with his foot. He forgot how sensitive Emma could be sometimes. He stepped closer to his daughter and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Look, Emma..."
"I'm so sorry!" she interrupted him, "I would never want to live upstairs. It's lonely. The only person who really cares about you is the nanny, who gets paid for it," and hugged him tightly.
In light of the recent developments in their conversation, he could no longer be angry with her and give her the cold shoulder.
"Don't cry, my little dwarf," he said gently, returning the hug. Comfortingly, he stroked his daughter's back, "Just promise me you'll never do that again."
Emma nodded, "I promise, Daddy."
"May I give you some fatherly advice?"
Emma looked curiously up at him as he continued, "Don't listen to others. You have to be happy, not Katherine. And if you like your clothes, don't throw them away just because some spoiled rich kid thinks differently. She's not worth your friendship."
The next day, Alfred, Jimmy, and Thomas set off for Thirsk. Mister Tufton had delivered the wrong ginger, and they wanted to exchange the goods. Alfred was quite fascinated by the variety of spices and food in the shop. Jimmy, on the other hand, reluctantly came along, because Mrs. Hughes had a great idea to send the three men together.
"What market exactly?" Thomas asked with interest.
"Well, the usual fair," Mr. Tufton replied. "There's food, games," he listed.
"Could we get time off?" Alfred pleaded with the under-butler.
"I don't see why not," Thomas said, turning to Jimmy. "Jimmy?"
"I'd come if many of us are going, but otherwise no," he said. Even a year later, he still felt uncomfortable in Thomas's presence.
"Do you have a moment? I'd like to write a note for Mrs. Patmore."
"Please, go ahead," said Thomas, watching as Mr. Tufton went into his shop. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of another shop. "I'll be right back," he said.
Jimmy and Alfred looked at each other, initially puzzled.
"Seriously, what does he want to buy?" Jimmy grumbled, wishing he could return to the Abbey.
"He's not buying anything... not for himself anyway... it's a children's shop, Jimmy," Alfred explained with a roll of his eyes. He was starting to lose patience with the younger servant's anger.
"He can do that on his day off as well," grumbled Jimmy.
"I understand you're not fond of Mister Barrow, but don't take your anger out on Emma. She's just a young girl. She hasn't done anything to you - to us," Alfred remarked. After all the incidents surrounding the kiss, the police, and the fact that they had cornered Emma in the stairwell that day, he had sincerely apologized to the girl. Emma reluctantly accepted his apology.
Thomas returned to Downton Abbey with a small flat box. In this box was a new outfit – a checked skirt, a white long-sleeved shirt, a matching scarf for the skirt, and an elegant hat to complete the outfit. "This is for you, Emma," he said. "It might not be the latest fashion from Paris, but I was assured that girls your age like to wear something like this."
Emma could hardly believe what she was hearing, and her eyes lit up with joy. She almost jumped with excitement and hurried to her father to open the box. When she saw the outfit, she couldn't help but smile.
"Oh, Dad, this is beautiful!" Emma beamed as she felt the fabric of the skirt between her fingers and admired the hat. "Thank you so much!"
Emma immediately put on her new outfit and admired herself in the mirror, while Thomas took the hat and lovingly placed it on her head. "You're beautiful, Emma, always" Thomas said softly.
Emma enjoyed helping Mrs. Patmore with dessert preparations. Most of the time, she got to taste the batter. So, when Mrs. Patmore asked her on monday afternoon if she wanted to help with a chocolate pudding, Emma couldn't say no.
"What do you think about going to the fair?" her dad asked, beaming as he entered the kitchen.
"Yesss!" cheered Emma. A wide grin adorned the young child's face as Thomas swept her up into his arms. "I want to ride the carousel! And eat candy. And go duck fishing..." She loved the fair so much. The carousels, the pirate ship swing, the fairground music, the smell of roasted almonds and liquorice.
"Are you going, Daisy?" Alfred asked curiously as Jimmy stood by the kitchen table, glancing at the cheerful child in the arms of the under-butler.
"I'm not sure if I'll go to the fair. It's such a waste of money," Daisy said.
"Oh come on, you'll surely have enough for a few rounds on the carousel and a beef sandwich," Mrs. Patmore said.
"I can treat everyone to a bottle of pop if you'd like," Thomas smiled. He still held the smiling child in his arms, one of her arms around his neck.
"What a temptation. Let's hold him to it before he changes his mind!" Mrs. Patmore exclaimed.
"Thank you, Mr. Barrow, but I can buy my own pop," Jimmy said.
"Don't act like you've got money to burn," Daisy retorted.
"I can always get money," Jimmy stated as he left the kitchen.
They didn't let this dampen the mood. Instead, Mrs. Patmore finished preparing the dessert, "Chocolate Mousse," she beamed. It wasn't a new invention, but the head cook rarely had time to try new dishes or variations of existing ones. She spooned a little mousse onto a spoon. Thomas gently lowered his daughter to the ground. Of course, the little long-time kitchen assistant Emma got to taste.
"I hope it's without alcohol," Alfred remarked.
"Just a tiny splash of orange liqueur. With all that chocolate, you can barely taste it," Mrs. Patmore defended. But when the adults saw Emma grimace and even spit out the chocolate cream, they had their confirmation of just how much of a splash must have been in there.
"It tastes yucky," the young girl declared. Thomas chuckled. Was he really letting his child taste orange liqueur? But Thomas would be a bad father if he didn't offer his child water to rinse with afterward. Emma accepted the glass gratefully.
Alfred was next to test. It was delicious, but the aftertaste was indeed not suitable for a child's palate.
At the same time, Mrs. Hughes arrived, and both older ladies left the kitchen with a large mysterious box.
"Did you see the lid? Ms. Curley's dress shop in Ripon. She definitely has an admirer," Ivy speculated.
"Mrs. Patmore?" Alfred doubted.
"Why not? She's a woman, isn't she?" Daisy remarked.
"But only theoretically," Thomas said, now holding a cup of tea in his hands and sipping it. Emma looked up at her father, puzzled, but he turned around and headed to the servants' hall. What exactly did he mean by that? Mrs. Patmore is just an old woman, after all.
AN: We're approaching the end of the third season. You know what that means. I'd also like to hear your opinion/idea on how the season finale could affect Emma.