Chapter Text
Thomas walked down the street, head whirling with the events of the past two months. Had it really been such a short period of time during which his life had fallen apart so dramatically? The proverbial rug ripped from under his feet, things that he had taken for granted snatched out of his hands, and him left floundering in uncertainty, unable to comprehend his loss. Lost as he was in his introspection he didn’t notice the footsteps that fell in with his, or the accompanying shadows drawing closer around him until a hand gripped his shoulder tightly, dragging him sideways down an alleyway towards a derelict warehouse. Thomas struggled against the forceful grip, but more appeared to restrain him, and a hand clamped over his mouth as he began to shout. A gravelly voice growled nastily in his ear.
“Now now, less of the noise, we wouldn’t want anyone to interrupt us.”
A few low chuckles emanated from the darkness and Thomas felt his heart sink into his boots. He was pulled along down the dark alley and into an abandoned warehouse. The doors of the warehouse clanged shut noisily as they were pushed closed by those waiting on the inside, the chains rattling against the corrugated metal and left swinging in the faint candle light that burned inside the building. Thomas was pushed forwards and fell to the floor, a ring of hostile bodies forming around him as he attempted to scramble away. He looked around at their faces, half hidden in the darkness, and counted carefully, weighing up the risk of fighting his way out.
Eleven, he thought grimly, not a chance.
“We saw you the other week lavender. Poncing around, making eyes at other blokes. You’re disgusting.” He spat at Thomas, and a few others followed his example. Thomas flinched as he felt spittle hit his cheek, but made no reply other than to rise carefully to his feet.
“So we’ve decided we’re going to give you what you want. Or what you deserve at any rate.”
Thomas fought back as they advanced and lunged at him, but his retaliation only bought sneers of derision from his attackers, “oh what’s this? Like a bit of rough do you?”. Hands groped him roughly and tore at his clothes, grabbed his ankles and raised him into the air, dragged him over to a raised platform in the middle of the floor and slammed him face down onto it, bending him over. Thomas bit his tongue as he felt fingers enter him, refusing to beg.
“Come on now lovely, open up for us. We’ll soon get you going.”
Thomas tried to focus on other things, tried not to feel the pain as they assaulted him, but he was constantly pulled back to the present by the hot, panting breath on the back of his neck, by his aching arms as they were wrenched behind him, by the rough surface of the platform as it dug into his hips and scratched his stomach. One by one they took their fill of him, some leaving after they’d finished, others staying to enjoy his humiliation and add to his suffering, offering snide remarks about whether or not he was enjoying himself. Eventually, after what could have been hours or only the blink of an eye, Thomas realised he was alone.
Darkness proper had fallen. The candle that had burned previously had been blown out, he assumed by one of his attackers as they had left. The sun had set and cold began to seep in steadily from the shadows where it lingered in the old building, the broken windows allowing the September breeze to sail in and usher it along. His coat lay on the floor a few feet away from him; he snagged at the fabric and managed to pull it towards his as he stretched, wrapping it tightly round his shoulders, the warmth of the wool helping to quell his shivers.
He spotted a rusty telephone stood on a desk and dragged himself over to it, grimacing as he felt blood and semen trickling down his legs, praying that it was still connected. He lifted the ear piece off the hook and cried with relief as he heard the operator answer. He managed to stutter out Dr Clarkson’s number before his legs gave out and he slumped onto the floor, the ear piece hanging mockingly just out of reach. Dr Clarkson answered after only a few rings, his voice echoing from the speaker, and Thomas scrabbled to pull the telephone down to him before he could hang up.
“Thomas? What is it, what’s happened?”
“I-” Thomas voice died as he tried to articulate what had just been done to him. The only sounds he could utter were choked sobs.
“Thomas tell me where you are.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to recall the words he’d seen written on the peeling sign above the door. “Brassington’s Tannery.”
“The old factory? Alright. I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Stay where you are until I get there.” The line went dead.
Thomas let go of the phone and left it swinging, the cable pulled taught from its connection in the wall. He wrapped his coat more tightly around himself and attempted to curl his legs up towards his body, but pain radiated from his hips and the tops of his thighs as the muscle stretched and tightened. Thomas forced himself to concentrate on the slow in and out of his breathing until he heard a car pull up outside, the door slamming shut, and the screech of the warehouse doors as they were opened.
Dr Clarkson approached slowly, face blank as he surveyed the scene, pieces slotting into place as the evidence told its tale. He crouched down next to Thomas and placed his hand gently on his shoulder.
“Thomas I’m going to lift up your coat and have a quick look at you, then I’m going to take you back to Downton, alright?”
Thomas sniffed through his tears and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Dr Clarkson moved as quickly as he dared, hoping to avoid spooking Thomas, who was rapidly descending into a state of mute shock. He supported Thomas as best he was able in walking back to the car, taking as much of his weight as he could, cursing that he was no longer a young man and able to carry him properly. Fortunately he had already begun to stock the car in preparation for the return of winter, pulling a woollen blanket out of the boot and draping it over the shaking man’s legs. Before long they had arrived back at Downton and Dr Clarkson was banging on the back door, rousing the hall-boy on night-duty, who blinked owlishly in the candlelight as he opened the door and stared sleepily at him.
“Albert, go and wake Mr Carson, tell him it’s urgent, I’ll wait for him here”
Albert disappeared and came back a few minutes later with that gentleman in tow.
“I apologise for the lateness of the hour Mr Carson, but this cannot wait.”
He took Mr Carson out to the car with him, to where Thomas lay shivering, curled up under the meagre blanket. After the shock of the discovery had worn off, a brief discussion ensued about the best way to get the injured man inside and warm, and it was decided that one other person should be involved to assist in carrying Thomas so as to avoid causing additional damage. Alfred was picked to be this person, being the strongest of those left in the house, and Albert was presently dispatched to bring him down. The young man soon stood before them, dazed at being so abruptly awoken.
“Do not stand there lollygagging, help Dr Clarkson carry Mr Barrow upstairs.”
“Yes Mr Carson.”
“Thank you Alfred, Mr Carson if you could please notify his Lordship that I am here, I want to speak to him. Better ask her Ladyship to be present as well.”
“Do you really think that necessary Dr Clarkson?”
“I think it necessary to involve as many people as possible to support Thomas, whilst also involving as few as possible to respect his privacy. This affair has already been discovered to Alfred and Albert, and in my opinion the only other member of staff who should be informed is Mrs Hughes. His Lordship and her Ladyship are Thomas’ employers, it would be wrong to inform one and not the other. Do you disagree Mr Carson?”
Mr Carson grumbled. “In point of logic, no, however I disagree on principle with involving ladies in such matters as this.”
“Sadly that cannot be avoided, so if you would be pleased to oblige me, I will be finished with Thomas in 30 minutes.”
“Very well. We will convene in his Lordship’s study.”
And so Lord and Lady Grantham, Mr Carson, and Mrs Hughes were assembled in the study, where in due course they were attended by Dr Clarkson.
“Well Dr Clarkson, what is it we are summoned here to witness?”
“Mr Barrow has been attacked my Lord. The attack was of a violent and indecent nature-“
“Do speak plainly Dr Clarkson, Mrs Hughes and I will not faint.”
“Of course my Lady.” He shifted and drew himself up to his full height. “Mr Barrow has been raped, by more than one person. Luckily, if that is the right word, despite the brutality of this attack, Mr Barrow’s injuries are not too severe, and he will make a full recovery.”
A shocked silence fell as the inhabitants tried to compute the meaning of the words uttered by Dr Clarkson. A flurry of questions were directed at him as each reached comprehension.
“Raped? Are you sure?”
“Yes my Lord. His injuries indicate no other possible conclusion.”
“You said more than one person, is it known how many exactly?”
“Thomas tells me that he counted eleven my Lady.”
“How is he, the poor dear?”
“He is sleeping at moment Mrs Hughes, I gave him a mild sedative.”
“How long will it take him to recover?”
“That, Mr Carson, is something I cannot tell you. Physically, it will perhaps be a week for his wounds to heal properly, but mentally? Emotionally? This will affect every aspect of Mr Barrow’s life, for the rest of his life.” A heavy silence fell as the weight of his words was felt by all those present.
Shut away in his room Thomas slept the deep, unrefreshing sleep of a drug-induced stupor, heart, body, and soul torn to shreds, unaware that his true test of spirit was still awaiting him, hidden and sheltered deep inside him. Dr Clarkson’s words were to prove truer than he could ever have imagined.