Downton Abbey - The Story of Emma Barrow

Emma's Fall (May 1921)

Thomas's heart raced with worry as he hurried to his child. "What's happened?" he asked. A bleeding wound adorned Emma's head. Thomas gently stroked Emma's cold cheek with his uninjured hand. "Emma? Little dwarf, wake up." His little dwarf lay injured and unconscious in the midst of the forest.

"She fell," the boy spoke hesitantly. "We were going home, and then she fell." Thomas saw the boy's eyes focus on the treehouse and looked up again. The railing of the treehouse was missing – as if torn off – or as if someone had fallen with the railing into the depths.

"You should have gotten help," Thomas began with accusations.

"I didn't want to leave her alone, sir," he explained.

Thomas shook his head in disbelief. "So you'd rather let my child bleed out?"

He took another look at Emma's head injury and couldn't help but shudder. The bleeding seemed not to be too strong anymore, but fear still gripped him. He checked her breathing and pulse. Emma seemed to be breathing, albeit shallowly, and her pulse was weak but palpable.

"What's your name?"

"Arthur... Arthur Sinclair."

"Arthur," Thomas addressed him directly, "Run to the Abbey. There's a phone.. Inform Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes – one of them should call Dr. Clarkson. He needs to come to the Abbey, understood? I'll take Emma there."

The boy stared at him with wide eyes.

"Now!" Thomas hissed. "Dr. Clarkson needs to be informed! Immediately!"

Arthur nodded before running off. While the boy was on his way, Thomas improvised a makeshift bandage for the head wound. He took off his white shirt – he had worn a white undershirt beneath – and, like a bandage, wrapped his shirt around and over the bleeding wound. Thomas could hardly bear the fear. "Everything will be fine, my little one," he reassured her. "I'm here. Daddy's here. I'll take care of you." The words seemed to be more for himself than for his child. She looked so fragile, and he felt helpless. Emma's unconsciousness deeply troubled him.

Thomas's heart seemed to pound in his chest as he carried Emma gently in his arms.

"Is Dr. Clarkson here yet?" he called through the corridor. Mrs. Patmore emerged from the kitchen, "Oh my goodness! What on earth happened?"

Simultaneously, Mrs. Hughes came out of Carson's office, "We just contacted him," she swallowed hard as she observed the injured girl in his arms. Though she had already been informed by the boy, she hadn't anticipated an unconscious child. "He's on his way."

Anna held her hand to her face in shock, visibly holding her breath. Behind her, Bates, Alfred, Jimmy, O'Brien, and Daisy gathered.

"I'll get some bandages," Mr. Bates declared.

Mrs. Hughes nodded gratefully, "Anna, would you be so kind as to fetch a blanket?" Anna nodded, and Mrs. Hughes turned to Thomas, "You, Mr. Barrow, lay your daughter down here," gesturing with a hand towards her sitting room. Mrs. Hughes's gaze now turned to the remaining staff, "If you have nothing to do, I suggest you don't get in our way."

"What about our dinner?" O'Brien asked. After all, the meal was already on the table, but when that boy burst into the servants' hall, Mr. Carson stopped placing the meat on the plates. The food was already lukewarm, but if they postponed their dinner, she would have to dress her ladyship on an empty stomach and take a cold meal.

"What about it?" Mr. Carson asked angrily. "The meal can wait."

O'Brien opened her mouth, clearly intending to object, but Mrs. Hughes beat her to it, "Choose your next words carefully," the housekeeper threatened. "I have no problem throwing you out!"