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Language:
English
Series:
Part 2 of following the fire
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Published:
2023-07-14
Words:
1,597
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1/1
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28
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184
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Don’t Go to Bed (I’ll Make a Cup of Coffee For Your Head)

Summary:

After Lord Grantham’s ulcer bursts, the servants gather, waiting for news. George Crawley comes downstairs seeking the comfort of his favourite under butler - and hot cocoa, warm blankets, and faerie stories are shared.

Set during episode 6x05. Canon divergence in which Jimmy was never fired, everyone is happy, and nothing hurts (except Robert’s stomach ig).

Notes:

the downstairs evening scenes have the potential for such cosiness you know what i mean?

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

There was a stricken, muted feeling of apprehension in the servant’s hall the evening that Robert Crawley spilt out his guts.

The family had cleared off to the hospital a few hours ago, and everybody had stayed up waiting for news. Thankfully, they had already had a telephone call letting them know that it wasn’t fatal, but Jimmy was buzzing with too much nervous energy to go to bed just yet. He didn’t appear to be the only one.

There were plenty of things that needed doing elsewhere, but the servants had gathered together in the hall. It was what they always did when something horrid and unexpected happened. Human instinct, Jimmy supposed.

For now, he was grateful even for the chatter or the maids as they huddled in the corners and whispered about what would happen next. It was better than being alone, recalling the memory of Lord Grantham vomiting what seemed like gallons of blood out onto the white tablecloth, again and again.

Jimmy looked down at the extra pudding Mrs Patmore had dished out to fortify them – a gooseberry cobbler – and pushed his plate away. The pulpy red filling looked disturbingly like something he was trying his hardest to forget.

He shuddered, before glancing around to make sure no one had caught his reaction. After all, it wasn’t as though he had never seen gore before – but this was something else entirely. The austere beauty of the dining hall had always seemed so untouchable – so distant, where the worst thing that had ever happened amounted to slightly raised voices. And now Lord Grantham had torn through that illusion in the most dramatic way possible. Jimmy almost had to hand it to the man.

He craned around to rely his thoughts to Thomas, but when he caught sight of the under butler, he stopped.

Thomas was almost frozen in his chair, his eyes distant even as they watched the dancing flames in the hearth. The cigarette in his hand had smouldered down to a stub. Jimmy reached over to pluck it out from between his fingers before it could singe him, dropping it into the ashtray.

Thomas blinked up at him in surprise. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I’m all out of sorts.’

Jimmy grimaced sympathetically. He may have caught an unsavoury eyeful, but Thomas had been the one standing behind Lord Grantham – the one who’d had to jump to attention at Dr Clarkson’s shout, old training bursting back to the forefront.

‘I don’t blame you,’ he replied. ‘Why don’t you head to bed?’

Thomas shook his head. ‘I will in a bit. Not just yet. I wouldn’t be able to sleep.’

There was an uneasy silence between them. Thomas pointed to Jimmy’s abandoned plate. ‘You not having that?’

Jimmy shook his head, picking it up. ‘Nah. You finish it for me, or Mrs Patmore will be offended.’

‘Why not,’ Thomas replied, taking the plate off him and tucking in. ‘Not often we get extra pudding.’

Thomas was right – it wasn’t. In addition to Mrs Patmore’s sudden generosity, Mr Carson had even allowed a small brandy to fortify the nerves of the servants that had witnessed the whole affair. What with the fire crackling away, and everyone filling their bellies as they waited up for news, it was almost cosy. That was – if one could forget exactly why they had all gathered in the first place.

Jimmy turned back to Thomas. He was making his way through the pudding with a single-minded attentiveness that spoke of trying to put something else from his mind. Jimmy had a feeling he knew what it was.

‘You thinking of the front?’ Jimmy asked in a low voice.

Thomas swallowed, before nodding. ‘Hard not to.’

Jimmy opened his mouth, and shut it again. He felt as though there was something else he ought to say, but he didn’t know how to.

Thankfully, he was saved by an intrusion. The tiny patter of feet sounded in the hallway, followed by a shocked hush that descended on the other side of the servant’s hall.

‘Master George!’ Mr Carson exclaimed in surprise. ‘What are you –,’

The tiny, pyjama-clad figure darted straight past the butler. He was deaf to all the other servants that moved in around him making noises of concern, coming to a halt in front of Thomas.

‘Is it true?’ George asked. ‘Is Donk really hurt?’ He was breathing hard, and his blue eyes were shining.

Thomas crouched on his knees to be level with the boy. ‘It’s true that he’s at the hospital right now,’ he said softly. ‘But he’s going to be alright. The Doctor is taking care of him.’

‘Oh,’ George replied. ‘So he’s going to come home?’

‘Yes, Master George. We’re still waiting up for news about the details, but he is going to come home.’

The answer seemed like enough to George. He nodded, and lifted up his arms, letting Thomas scoop him up. Thomas held both of George’s feet in one hand, wincing. ‘Your feet are like ice!’

‘You shouldn’t have come all the way downstairs barefoot, Master George,’ Mrs Hughes said, her voice softly admonishing.

‘And in the dark as well,’ Mr Bates added quietly.

‘Though it was very brave,’ Anna said kindly.

‘I had to,’ George replied defiantly. ‘I went to look for mama and grandmamma first, but they weren’t there. So then I needed to see Mr Barrow.’

He pronounced it in the way he always did, unable yet to shape the R. Jimmy knew just how endearing the women downstairs thought it was. Sure enough, Anna and Mrs Baxter exchanged a look, hands over their hearts.

Even Jimmy had to admit it was slightly adorable.

‘Well,’ Anna said brightly. ‘Next time you really need to see Mr Barrow; you can ring the bell in the nursery.’

‘That’s right,’ Thomas nodded. ‘You tell whoever comes up to fetch me, and I’ll come straight to you.’

‘Even if you’re having your tea?’ George inquired.

‘Yes,’ Thomas replied gravely. ‘Even if I’m having my tea.’

‘But only if it’s important, mind,’ Mrs Hughes reminded softly.

‘So that means no summoning Mr Barrow just for piggybacks,’ Jimmy teased.

George giggled. ‘I wouldn’t!’ he protested.

‘No,’ Thomas said, tapping his nose. ‘Of course you wouldn’t.’

He lowered himself back into his seat by the fire, George nestled into his side. He kept his gloved hand over George’s feet.

There was a soft woollen blanket tossed over the bench by the wall. Jimmy picked it up and draped it over the little boy, helping Thomas tuck it over his frozen toes.

‘There,’ Jimmy said. ‘That ought to keep you from getting a cold, Master George.’

‘Put it on Mr Barrow too!’ George demanded, squirming free and grabbing one tasselled corner, dragging it over Thomas’s shoulder.

‘Right you are, Master George.’ Jimmy grinned, rearranged the blanket so that it cocooned both of them.

‘Thank you, James,’ Thomas said seriously.

‘Yes, thank you, James,’ George added, clearly trying to emulate Thomas’s tone.

‘No problem, sirs,’ Jimmy sketched a low bow.

Mr Carson appeared at Jimmy’s shoulder. He made a stifled noise of discontent at seeing the heir of the Abbey enveloped in the old bobbled blanket, but held his tongue.

‘Shouldn’t we be getting you back up to bed, Master George?’ Mr Carson said.

‘But I won’t be able to sleep,’ George protested. ‘Not until I find out how Donk is doing.’

‘Well, Nanny can stay up with you in the nursery –,’

‘Now, Mr Carson,’ Mrs Hughes interrupted. ‘Surely Master George can stay down here if he likes?’

‘It must be awfully lonely in the nursery at this time of night,’ Daisy said, appearing at the other side of the table.

‘It is,’ George sighed. ‘And Marigold says there’s a lubberkin under the writing desk that comes out when the moon is full.’

‘What’s a lubberkin?’ Jimmy asked.

‘A sort of brownie that haunts abbey’s,’ George replied knowledgably. ‘Marigold learnt about all sorts of faerie creatures when she lived on the farm.’

‘Did she indeed,’ Mr Carson said under his breath. ‘Well, Master George, I suppose you can stay down here. Let’s get you a chair.’

‘That’s alright Mr Carson,’ George said sweetly. ‘I’d prefer to stay with Mr Barrow if I can.’

Thomas smiled fondly and smoothed down George’s blonde hair. ‘Of course you can. How about Daisy fetches you some cocoa, and you can tell us all about this lubberkin, eh?’

Jimmy settled back in his chair, warmth washing over him. He could tell that Thomas was just trying to take George’s mind off whatever was happening to Lord Grantham, but it was working for him too. Jimmy felt far more at ease than he had been since the horror that had been dinner.

Mrs Hughes, Mrs Baxter, Molesley, and the Bates’s all settled down to hear George relay his story of the lubberkin, which he seemed very eager to share. True to her word, Daisy came through with a tray full of fat mugs brimming with hot cocoa. Jimmy took one, wrapping his hands around the ceramic, and carefully setting aside another to cool for George.

It was quite cosy, this – sitting by the fire with Thomas and Master George, and the rest of the servants buzzing around them, trying to make sure the young heir was as at-ease as possible.

He caught Thomas’s eye, and they traded a warm smile. Jimmy had a feeling Thomas was thinking the same thing he was – and it was nice to see him so content, Jimmy wasn’t ashamed to admit.

Notes:

hmm... what if... thomas was happy and loved....

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