Downton Abbey - The Story of Emma Barrow

Father & Daugther (Feb/March 1924)

Thomas raised his hand, only to reconsider his actions at the very last moment and instead pulled his daughter into a peaceful embrace. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her close against his chest, his chin resting atop Emma's head. What had he been thinking? He had once sworn never to raise a hand against his child. And that promise, the one he had made to baby Emma, he intended to keep forever. He loved his child. He loved her so much that he could never have forgiven himself if he had struck her.

Silent tears rolled down Emma's cheeks as father and daughter remained quiet. Neither Thomas nor Emma dared to speak. Instead, Thomas pressed a gentle kiss to her damp cheek, his hand moving in a slow, soothing motion along her back. With his thumb, he wiped away the stray tears trickling down her face. Emma, in turn, buried her face against her father's chest, inhaling his familiar scent—unfortunately mixed with cigarettes. Even without words, she knew she had gone too far. And Thomas knew that he had almost destroyed his bond with Emma. Sometimes, she reminded him too much of himself, and that terrified him. He didn't want her to become like him.

Emma had no idea how long they remained like that, wrapped in each other's arms. At some point, they heard the doors of the other servants opening and closing, likely as they headed to the bathroom or their beds, which suggested that it must have been close to midnight. Meaning they had been sitting like this for over an hour.

"I'm sorry," Thomas finally spoke, his voice quiet. "I couldn't stop myself, you know?" He waited for a small nod from his child before continuing. "What you said hurt me, but that didn't give me the right to scare you like that." He paused briefly, his gaze drifting to the photograph on the dresser—the picture they had taken together just before his medical training.

"I'd understand if you hated me. You wouldn't be the first person. But I want you to know that despite everything... I love you... and I would endure any pain just to see you happy." Thomas took a deep breath. "So please be honest with me. Do you hate me because I'm different?"

"No," Emma shook her head. She bit her lip again—it had already become sore from the habit.

"Did you even understand what you just said? What that word means?"

"I heard it once," Emma admitted briefly, then added in a small voice, "I don't really know what it means."

"It's a mocking, degrading word for..." Thomas hesitated, swallowing hard before finishing his sentence, "for men who are different." He inhaled deeply. "I don't want you to use words like that. I thought I had taught you to respect everyone, no matter how different they are."

"You did," Emma admitted softly. She took a deep breath before explaining, "I couldn't stop myself either."

"You must have gotten that from me," Thomas murmured with a sad smile.

Emma turned her head so she could see her father's face properly. "I'm so sorry, Daddy! I didn't want to disrespect you. I guess I was just really frustrated and angry."

Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, letting her words sink in. He knew Emma hadn't meant it, but it had still cut deep. Still, she was a child—his child—and she was willing to own up to her mistakes. That was more than many adults ever did.

"I love you, Daddy. I just had so much anger inside me because of the whole maths situation, and I didn't know what to do with it," she continued.

Thomas understood that all too well. It was a kind of anger he himself had battled countless times. The kind that boiled inside him whenever he felt treated unfairly. The kind that had led him to make mistakes. But he wanted things to be different for Emma. He never wanted her to be ruled by anger or fear.