Downton Abbey - The Story of Emma Barrow

It's School Time (September 1918)

"You're old enough now to help with clearing the table," Carson's voice echoed in her ears. Was her 'puppy protection' really over? Emma looked at the piles of dishes belonging to the servants. She started stacking the plates on top of each other.

"The seriousness of life has begun," O'Brien smirked. Thomas glanced at the maid. An unnecessary comment. Tomorrow, his 6-year-old dwarf would start school. She had been nervous for days, even clingy, because if he knew one thing about his child, it was that she was skeptical of change and had a hard time accepting new daily routines.

"Don't underestimate the weight," he said as he put a cigarette between his lips. Emma looked at him confused. They were just a few plates, cups, and cutlery. They wouldn't weigh much, would they?

"If I were you, I'd rather make multiple trips," her dad added as he exhaled smoke from his lungs.

The girl lightly bit her lip, considering whether she should talk to her not-so-communicative dad, but instead, she just nodded in gratitude for the information. Instead of planning to carry all the plates at once, she decided to safely take four plates in her hands. She would have to make multiple trips, then.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash. The plates shattered into many pieces as the girl lay on the floor. "Be more careful, you stupid brat," Miss O'Brien grinned maliciously. Emma heard her words, but none of the other adults did.

"What happened here!" Mr. Carson yelled angrily. "I told you from the beginning! Having a child among the servants only causes trouble! Look at the plates!"

Emma desperately hoped that the housekeeper, Anna, or even her dad would come to her rescue, but no one came.

"She'd be much better off in an orphanage or a workhouse," O'Brien confirmed the butler's opinion.

"S-s-s... o...rry," the girl sniffled incoherently. Emma was now kneeling on the floor, looking at Carson with big, teary puppy eyes. She must have tripped, but she couldn't see any unevenness or thresholds in the floor.

"Clean it up immediately!" Mister Carson said.

Emma nodded mechanically as Carson disappeared into his office. Carefully, she gathered shard by shard. She didn't want to cut herself, but then it happened once more—a bump. The shard slipped from her hand, leaving a bleeding and painful cut. Reflexively, she reached for her bleeding wound with her uninjured hand. It hurt so much! In the corner of her eye, she saw Miss O'Brien grinning as she went up the stairs.

Barrow observed the spectacle from a safe and hidden distance. With the glowing cigarette between his fingers, he watched the utterly distraught child. Only Daisy came by and helped pick up the remaining shards. Barrow groaned in annoyance and extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Come on, get up," Barrow said, leading the child back to the now empty servants' hall. He fetched some bandages and examined the fortunately not deep wound on the child's right hand. There were no glass fragments visible in the wound either.

"Dad?" Emma asked, but the dark-haired man didn't look up; instead, he stared fixedly at the small bleeding wound, gently dabbing it with a cloth. "Are you angry at me?"

"I'm angry," he confirmed, "but not at you," he quickly added. Thomas finally looked into his child's face. Sometimes, he really wondered why he had agreed to take on the fatherhood of a child. Back then, he had only taken her in as a guarantee for a secure job at Downton. Lord and Lady Grantham would never turn away a single father and, on top of that, the child left on their doorstep. But now, every time he looked at his child, he felt pure love.