A/N: Inspired by the encouraging feedback I received after 'A Mother's Love', I have written this one-shot in the same universe, set a few months later in spring 1924. Recently I re-watched the 2013 Christmas special and was once again struck by what a great addition Madeleine Allsopp was to the cast. Consequently my mind began to explore the potential of her returning and how this could link in with Tom's evolving grief. Since then I have seen some speculation on Tumblr that Madeleine might be brought back as a potential love interest for him. However, I haven't seen any confirmation that the actress has been taken on for S5 so this storyline will probably be blown apart by the first episode. It's a 'what if?' rather than a concrete pairing. I have no objection to Tom finding love again, provided that it's not with Sarah Bunting! (I forward winded through her scenes in the Christmas special!)
NB: Barwick Estate and Lord Tyrell are my own invention. I read that Downton was filming at Alnwick Castle and altered the name to suit my own purposes.
No sooner had he taken two steps into the hallway, Rose appeared from an adjacent doorway, hands clasped before her, her face awash with delight. What mischief is she up to now? Tom wondered as he passed his hat to Jimmy.
"Uncle Robert has agreed to a visitor on Friday!" she declared and lifted the clasped hands to her mouth, as if to try and restrict further over-exuberance from escaping.
Tom nodded at Jimmy and raised a half-hearted smile. It was still difficult to pitch the correct tone with those below stairs with whom he had once eaten beside. Jimmy was one of the easier members of staff to deal with; he was openly curious rather than resentful.
"And who will be gracing us with their presence?" Tom asked and found himself instinctively breaking into a smile. Rose's enthusiasm could be infectious. It was impossible not to feel some zeal towards her plans.
Rose clapped her hands together like an over-eager child. "Madeleine Allsopp!" she declared. "I'm so excited to see her again!"
The name was familiar to him, but he couldn't place it. Some bright young thing from Rose's set he presumed, there were so many of them. In his mind they were mostly interchangeable; outwardly attractive, all bubbly and effervescent, but swiftly forgotten, like second rate champagne. He had learned to recognise the difference.
Rose took another step towards him. "Oh you must remember Tom. I came out with her last summer, she was at my ball."
"There were a lot of young women at your ball, Rose. I can't remember all…"
"That's because you only danced with Aunt Violet, Edith and Mary." Rose wagged her finger with an air of admonishment. "If you had danced with my friends, you would remember them."
"Well I don't really care for…" he began. But Rose held little store by what had already taken place. Her interest was in the future.
"Madeleine is daughter of Lord Aysgarth…" Tom felt his curiosity begin to wane and feeling the first stirrings of hunger, turned his thoughts towards dinner. A day previously Mr Drewe had slaughtered a pig for the house and Tom hoped that it might make its way to the table tonight.
"He made a play for Cousin Martha, don't you remember Tom? And he pushed poor Madeleine towards Uncle Harold. Well, not that he's my uncle, but you know who I mean…"
Tom blinked and forced himself to listen. He did remember her now, although he thought it unlikely that he could pick her out from a crowd.
"But then they became firm friends and now Madeleine has become quite the rebel! She refuses to join in with her father's schemes to find her a rich husband and is determined to be independent."
"So she's left his house?" Tom asked, his curiosity raised by the idea of such a brave and unorthodox move within Rose's circle.
"Oh no, nothing like that…" Rose waved a hand around in front of her face to dismiss the notion. "…but she simply won't be used in that way anymore. She's made it very clear to him."
Tom shook his head and sighed. "So she's defiant rather than independent, you mean?"
He quickly flashed a grin to make it clear that he bore no ill-will towards their visitor, nor Rose's over-embellishment of the facts. In his opinion, she provided a welcome burst of joy in a house which had known too much tragedy in recent years. While respectful of her relatives' grief, Rose was not burdened by it. She had only met Matthew during his visit to Duneagle shortly before his untimely death and her memories of Sybil were hindered by infrequent gatherings and an age difference of more than six years. Rose could be silly at times, not to mention impulsive. Her poor judgement had been called into account on more than one instance, but there were occasions in which Tom felt envious of her youthful naiveté and unwavering optimism. Her brightness of spirit met his dark clouds of grief head on and in doing so provided a vision of clarity and colour which served to remind him that there were still things worth living for and contentment to be had.
"Well I look forward to meeting Lady Madeleine again" he said before making his way towards the stairs.
Now it was Rose's turn to offer a mischievous grin. "She's the Honourable Madeleine actually, not a Lady. Not that you care for such things, of course!"
"Indeed" He had long held a suspicion that Rose found his indifference to titles rather refreshing.
"I've persuaded Uncle Robert to let us play music after dinner one evening so we can have some dancing. You must dance with us this time, Tom. We're so short of men in this house, you simply have to join in!"
He felt aware of a gnawing sense of discomfort. "Can't you invite some men along for the evening? I'm certain they'll provide you with more entertainment than me."
"I'm sure Mary will invite whichever of her suitors is in favour this month, but we still need you to make up the numbers. Uncle Robert has said it absolutely must not turn into a big party and I don't want to make him cross by asking for anything more."
As if realising that her explanation was unflattering to its recipient, Rose came to a halt and altered her tactics with a heady smile. "You know, you really are far more interesting than you think, Tom."
"I'm quite aware that I have provided drawing rooms with plenty to talk about over the last few years" he said stiffly and nodded in an effort to draw the conversation to a close. But Rose was not one to be so easily deterred and moved to block his path to the staircase.
"Not because of what you've done, silly. Because of what you say! Really Tom, you're always saying that times are changing. Well people my age are interested in what's happening in the world. We're not our parents, there's more to us than the grouse season and goings on at court." She tipped her head to one side and with it came a sly smirk of one who knew how to instigate a reaction. "Besides, you dance very well and all young women enjoy a partner under the age of fifty who can avoid treading on their toes."
Once again, Tom felt a growing sense of unease and scratched awkwardly at the side of his neck.
"As I said before, I don't really care for dancing much if I'm honest, Rose."
"Well that's because your recent experience is with those who are either elderly or in mourning. It must be enough to bring anybody down. I'm sure you'll find dancing with Madeleine far more enjoyable."
"I'll dance with you" he offered, wanting to feel on safer ground. The idea of dancing with a young woman to whom we was not in some way related, felt oddly threatening and disloyal. Even the mention of it conjured up an image of Sybil, her skin warm and soft against his, synchronised steps matching a tune of their making. Sadness seeped through him, as so often happened without warning, and his shoulders sagged.
Whether or not Rose understood his state of mind, he wasn't certain, but she appeared to finally appreciate that he couldn't be persuaded by a simple joke or implication.
"I'll hold you to it" she said gently and took a step back, turning away from him on her heel to signify that the conversation was coming to an end.
Tom nodded. "I'll see you at dinner" he said but as he climbed the stairs, he could hear her singing to herself while she crossed the hallway. It wasn't any tune he knew – perhaps she was simply making it up for her own amusement, she had a decent enough voice.
"It's time to dance again!"
ooOoo
He was placed beside Madeleine at dinner. Isobel sat to his left, which was always a comfort. She could be relied on to provide more stimulating conversation than the latest fashions or idle gossip. He had managed to eschew afternoon tea after their visitor's arrival and his only exchange with Madeleine had been a friendly handshake once the formal welcome came to a close. He enjoyed tea and cake as much as anybody, but the event's usual duration was both restrictive and tedious. As the only salaried member of the family, he was able to excuse himself for a return to work without causing offence.
Everybody enjoyed the diversion of a new visitor and at the beginning of an evening at least, Tom was no exception. Fresh experiences and interests were always welcome, regardless of age or standing. There were times when Tom's curiosity had been known to wane before the end of the first course – the indignant musings of members of the nobility still entrenched in the past, held little appeal. He had heard it all many times before, but had learned to perfect an expression which, to an independent observer, appeared courteous and respectful throughout. Inwardly, however his mind often wandered to more palatable subjects – his daughter, tasks which needed his attention the following day, snippets of news he could include in his next letter home to his mother.
But Madeleine Allsopp provided welcome relief from sentimental recollections of yesteryear. She was bright, engaging and mixed polite questions amongst lively reports of London. The conversation drew contributions from all parties at the table, which included the Dowager Countess and Charles Blake, who Mary continued to hold at a distance, but from time to time teased with an invitation and a tantalising hint of promise. Tom's opinion wavered between comparing the man's situation with his own long and patient courtship with Sybil and wondering how any man could bear to be toyed with in such a manner. He was still contemplating the issue when Madeleine turned to her left and presented him with a dazzling smile.
"I must apologise, I've hardly spoken to you, Mr Branson. I'm a poor dinner companion this evening."
"Not at all" he swiftly replied. "A visitor is always in high demand in this house. I hope you're enjoying your first visit to Downton so far?"
"Oh yes, everyone has been so very welcoming. And it's such a beautiful house, I'm looking forward to exploring the grounds further tomorrow." Her eyes offered such expression of delight that he had no doubt of her sincerity. Her enthusiasm went beyond the polite platitudes usually expressed. Before he could reply, she pressed on further.
"I understand that you're probably the best person to talk to about the Estate, you also work as the Manager here, don't you?"
"I do, yes."
Her smile was unwavering. "It must be wonderful to have a sense of purpose each morning."
Tom instinctively narrowed his eyes; he had previously heard the same phrase laden with condescension. Yet he didn't have the sense that Madeleine was mocking his unconventional relationship with the family in any way. He trusted his instinct and nodded.
"It is, yes. I've had a taste of sitting around with nothing to do in this house and it didn't bode well with me."
"Was that…" Madeleine hesitated and he recognised the usual apprehension at speaking to the bereaved. "…when you first came back here with Lady Sybil?"
He nodded and held her gaze to make it clear that he had no aversion to speaking about her. So often the subject of his late wife was avoided, or her name omitted from conversations in which she should have played a part. His grief was on-going but hearing her name brought a degree of comfort nowadays.
Having presumed that Madeleine's knowledge of Sybil was based solely on hearsay and aristocratic gossip, Tom was then taken by surprise.
"I was so terribly upset by her death. She was such a lovely person."
"You knew her?" he asked with unconcealed eagerness. "I didn't realise there was any family connection before you became friendly with Rose."
Madeleine shook her head and closed her eyes as if in self-admonishment. "Not really, no. I mean, I'm sure she wouldn't have remembered me, but I did meet her once when I was a child."
She paused and Tom waited only a second. "Tell me" he urged and felt a swell of longing for a tale he had never heard.
"Well she came out with my cousin, Eleanor Townsend. I don't know if you know her?"
"I know the name" Tom replied, recalling it as one of many who wrote with their earnest condolences shortly after Sybil had left him.
"I think it must have been 1914…"
"…it was" he interjected and nodded his head eagerly.
"And my parents were invited to Eleanor's ball. It was the year before my mother died and she was already a little weak, but I remember her being adamant that she wanted to go." Madeleine's gaze dropped to her lap. "I suppose she must have realised even then that she might not live to see my own ball."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Tom spoke gently, understanding the rhythm of bereavement; an acknowledgement of the loss, a moment to recollect one's thoughts, the importance of including a loved one in the story.
Within seconds, Madeleine had gathered up her emotions and was ready to continue. "We were staying at the house and I was allowed as a very special treat to sit on the top landing at Eleanor's house and watch all the guests arrive. I was ten or eleven years old, I think and wanted to see all of the pretty dresses. But then I sneaked out again later, when I was supposed to be in bed and while I was watching, Lady Sybil came up the first flight of steps and saw me looking down at her from the floor above."
"Yes" Tom encouraged. He felt like a parched man desperate to ingest further nourishment.
"I remember thinking that I was going to get into terrible trouble but she smiled up at me and said 'hello' so brightly that I knew that I didn't need to be afraid. She asked me my name and then I was so mesmerised that I simply said 'I love your dress' and she laughed and twirled around to show me some more. And then she whispered 'shall I come up so you can see it more closely?' and before I knew how I should respond, she had climbed the second staircase and was in front of me."
"Did she now?" Tom breathed and closed his eyes, trying to visualise the two of them – Sybil resplendent in white silk and lace, a child-like Madeleine watching in awe. He had never had the opportunity to see Sybil's dress in person, but Cora had shown him a photograph taken before their visit to the Palace and with that in mind, he could play out the scene in his head.
"I'm sorry" Madeleine said gently and he swiftly opened his eyes to see her look of concern. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"You didn't upset me, I promise" he said in earnest. "I'm always very happy to hear a new story about Sybil. You see, I won't have any new memories of her now, so one which comes from somebody else feels a little like striking gold."
"Yes" Madeleine said quietly and her face was etched with empathy. "I can understand that. I sometimes think that about my mother too" They sat motionless for a short time, before Tom felt unable to resist a hopeful petition to further quench his thirst.
"And did she stay with you for long?" he asked.
"No, only a minute or two. She told me her name and what they were having to eat downstairs and then she asked what I'd had for tea and when I told her that I'd had bread and jam before bedtime, she laughed and said that it sounded much tastier than all the fancy foods on display and that she was quite jealous. And then she said that her family would be missing her shortly so she had to go, but that I should work hard with my lessons so I would be both beautiful and clever when it was my turn to come out." Madeleine raised her hands in the air. "And then she was gone. But I never forgot her name although it was several years before I heard it again."
"Was that when she died?" he asked and was initially taken aback by Madeleine's expression of unease.
"Oh…" he said slowly as realisation washed over him. "You heard that she had run off to marry the chauffeur, did you?"
Madeleine lifted her chin with defiance. "Yes" she said. "And I thought it was the most romantic thing I'd ever heard!"
The admission brought out an instinctive smile from Tom, who thought back to that heady summer before the advent of war maimed a generation in a myriad of ways, when he first became aware that his feelings towards Sybil stretched further than a detached admiration of her spirit. Denied the opportunity to drive the family to London, he had remained at Downton and wrestled with his emotions; reliving the occasion when, in a moment of exhilaration at Gwen's success, he had found Sybil's hand entwined in his. In the months which followed, he had balanced pragmatism with hope, confident that his growing affection was reciprocated but understanding the improbability of any concrete declaration.
Before working at Downton Abbey, he had little understanding of the practicalities of a first season for a member of the aristocracy. Even if Sybil had not provided him with many of the details herself, the general air of excitement generated by his colleagues below stairs would have been sufficient to force upon him its significance. Throughout the long month in which she had been away, Tom had agonised over the likelihood of, at best a suitor, or at worst an engagement. His jealousy had eaten away at him to such an extent that when she first returned, he had avoided any eye contact for the first two days, for fear that he would betray his strength of feeling. Had he known that she would leave such a lasting impression not only in the ballroom, but on a young female observer, his anxiety may have eased at least in part.
"I have always admired her bravery in following her heart, Mr Branson" Madeleine continued in a softer tone. "The world may be a different place since the war, but it still takes great courage within our circle to truly break free."
When Sybil had first agreed to marry him, Tom's elation had been tempered in part by relief; that his patience had not been in vain. After that they had been swept away by the practicalities of their new life: declaring their engagement, the departure to Ireland tangled up within the aftermath of Spanish flu, finding a home and employment in Dublin, their marriage, pregnancy, the unexpected return to Downton, Sybil's tragic death. It was only subsequently that Tom had fully come to appreciate the extent of his wife's bravery; with its potential fall-out not only for her, but also for her family. Her conviction and trust in their relationship had overcome resistance from friends and foes; those who believed they sought the best for her and others who saw her as an enemy within their midst.
"I truly believe that we are witnessing only the beginning of change" he said slowly, taking care to temper the emotion which threatened to destabilise their conversation. "Opportunities will rise both for women and the common man. The time is fast approaching in which women will not be beholden to their fathers, nor indeed their husbands. They will have independence beyond the vote."
"Freedom" Madeleine whispered and Tom witnessed her clasp her hands together under the table as if in prayer.
"As free as any man, yes. Although freedom often brings its own set of rules. We're all bound to convention in some way."
"But for the time being, I remain beholden to my father. How I long to turn twenty-one!"
With a chuckle borne out of amusement at the conversation's turn, he remembered his own similar sentiment at the same age. His youthful longing for liberation had given scant consideration towards the additional responsibilities which unavoidably come with age. "It'll come soon enough and then you'll want it all to slow down a little, believe me."
"I'm sure you're right, but for the time being I'm looking forward to being allowed to make some decisions for myself, Mr Branson.
"Tom, please." He was keen to dispense with the formality and grateful for the opportunity.
She gave another smile of such genuine delight that he couldn't help but reciprocate.
"Oh good, then please call me Madeleine and I shall consider us friends."
Tom felt surprisingly pleased by the suggestion. It had been some time since he had found a guest so refreshingly unpretentious and honest.
He tipped his head towards her. "Madeleine, I believe we already are."
ooOoo
With one hand on his pocket watch and his mind already firmly fixed upon his daughter, Tom didn't anticipate anybody appearing from around the corner into the corridor and visibly started when Madeleine came to a halt before him.
"I'm sorry" they said simultaneously while friendly smiles mirrored one another in greeting.
"I was just on my way to the nursery" he explained.
"Is there anything wrong?" Madeleine looked visibly alarmed.
"No, not at all. I like to try and spend a bit of time with Sybbie when I first get in. Before the formality of Nanny bringing her and George downstairs to see everyone."
Her smile of approval was evident. "How lovely for you both!" she declared. "My mother would do that whenever she could, it was the highlight of my day."
"But not your father?" Tom asked the question before he considered that it could give the impression of being a slight against Lord Aysgarth.
"No. He's more of a stickler for protocol. He didn't feel at home in the nursery."
Tom smiled. "Well I've never been one to worry about protocol. Besides, I want to spend as much time with my daughter as time allows."
"May I come with you?"
For the first time, Tom witnessed her unease. The request had been impulsive and now she was wondering if she had overstepped the mark. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
"I'd be delighted. And so would Sybbie."
At nearly four years of age, Sybbie Branson was in possession of a wilful nature and an often grievous sense of injustice, particularly against her younger cousin against whom she frequently competed for a relative's or Nanny's attention.
"George took my spoon!" she declared on first sight of her father.
"And I gave you another one" came Nanny's gentle reminder.
She decided to change tactics. "And then he spilt milk on the table."
"He's only two" Tom reminded as he scooped her up into his arms. "You're nearly four now, you have to be the big girl and show him how to behave." Before Sybbie could think of further causes of complaint, he blew a raspberry on to her cheek, a move guaranteed to elicit giggles and squeals of pleasure.
Once she was back on the ground, she turned to face the newcomer to the nursery. "You brought the pretty lady, Da"
Tom glanced to the side to ensure that Madeleine was not embarrassed and watching her smile, gave a grin of his own. "I did indeed. She wanted to come up and see you and George. Is that alright, pickle?" Domestic nicknames are rarely unique and more often than not are established without any conscious decision. It rhymed nicely with tickle and made Sybbie smile almost without fail. Each provided sufficient grounds for it to endure.
He took a look around him to see which toys were in favour that afternoon. Before he could initiate a game which might include them all, Madeleine had taken matters into her own hands, walking across to the small bookcase against the far wall.
"What a lovely lot of books you have here, Sybbie" she said cheerfully and bent towards the top shelf, her arms crossed behind her back. "Do you have a favourite?"
His daughter needed no further prompt and scampered across to join her, pulling out her dog-eared but well-loved copy of Old Mother West Wind and handing it over with an expectant flourish.
"May I read some of it to you?" Madeleine asked. Sybbie began to pull her towards an adjacent armchair before the sentence concluded. Like her parents and grandmother before her, she already possessed a love of books and any opportunity to read was eagerly grasped.
Tom sat on the nearby bed and watched Madeleine read the first story with innate ability – the words carefully spoken, the rise and fall of her pitch carefully matching the story's gentle course. It was clear that Sybbie was enraptured by the tale, despite having heard it many times before. Her eyes scoured the pencil drawings on the pages while Madeleine spoke, the corners of her mouth twitching with delight as her imagination ran wild alongside woodland creatures and their adventures. To begin with she sat carefully beside her storyteller, elbows tucked neatly in as Nanny had taught her, only the turn of her head betraying an instinctive enthusiasm. But it wasn't long before she began to lean gently into Madeleine and one hand soon made its way onto her lap.
Throughout the recital, George stood cautiously by the bookcase, two fingers pressed into his mouth, motionless and silent. Tom tried to catch his attention and considered crossing the room to lift him onto the bed, but could see how mesmerised his daughter was and felt unwilling to break the spell. Once Madeleine came to a close, she turned her head towards George before Tom could rise to his feet.
"Do you have a favourite book that I could read, George?" she asked and he needed no further encouragement, reaching out and pulling at the first one within his grasp.
Sybbie's features switched to a frown. She had enjoyed being the focus of their guest's attention and was unwilling to share.
"But I want to read another of mine!" she declared. Tom anticipated the familiar pout before it even appeared and braced himself for the possibility of a tantrum. Madeleine seemed unruffled by the potential conflict. She raised a hand in the air and turned towards Sybbie with an expression to imply that she was going to let her into a coveted secret.
"Let's take it in turns, shall we? It will make it more fun." Then before Sybbie could protest any further, she swept George onto her lap and began to read the first page of his chosen book. Sybbie opened her mouth, but any further protest was eliminated by the story's delivery and she remained quiet, her lips forming a perfect O as she listened and any further thoughts of injustice quietly slipped away.
Tom heard a rustle of skirts to his right and met Nanny's startled expression head on. Her eyebrows had arched so acutely that for a moment he wondered if their ends might meet. His lips twitched with amusement. Nanny was not accustomed to competition in her ability to soothe Sybbie's sometimes volatile disposition.
It took some time for the two children's enthusiastic demands to be satisfied, but after three stories each, Nanny stepped in citing time for a snack. Tom suspected that she was unnerved by their visitor's aptitude and was keen to reassert her governance.
"You're a natural with young children" he told Madeleine while she tidied the books away on the shelf. "You've a real gift with them."
She tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind her ears and a hint of pink spread across her cheeks. "Thank you. I sometimes tell Papa that if all the money runs out, I could happily work as a governess. I'm certain that I would enjoy it."
"Or a school teacher." Tom suggested. "A good teacher is always in demand, from whatever background."
She looked suddenly wistful. "He would never allow it, I'm sure. But in truth, I would love to be a teacher, Tom."
"I thought that once you were twenty-one, you were no longer beholden to your father?" He said it mischievously, but by doing so, unveiled the truth.
Madeleine lifted her hands as if in petition. "I have no idea how one would even train to be a teacher. Or even if they would accept somebody like me, someone who hasn't been to school herself."
"I could find out for you if you like?" he suggested gently. "I know the teacher at the village school here. I'm sure she could tell me how best to go about it." He hesitated, uncertain whether he was pressing a point which may only have been raised in jest.
"Would you really?" she replied and placed a hand against her heart.
"Of course. I'd be delighted to help you if I can."
"You probably think I'm being terribly naïve…."
Tom cut in firmly. "Not at all. You said yourself that you envy a sense of purpose each day. What could be more fitting than helping to educate the next generation?"
She glanced bashfully down at the floor. "I truly don't need the kind of lifestyle my father yearns to keep, no matter how pleasurable it might be at times. A life of pure leisure seems often to breed indifference to progress, don't you think? I would prefer to live far more modestly if it gave me the opportunity to be useful in some way."
He found himself smiling. Her sentiment was refreshing, regardless of its ingenuous origins.
"I suspect that your definition of modest may differ a little from mine, but I'm pleased to hear you say it regardless. You know, your father's not alone in fearing the loss of financial security." He took a pause and waited for a sign that she wanted to him to proceed. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd irked a guest with his progressive views after they had conceded to polite interest. Madeleine nodded her head, encouraging him to elaborate.
Tom cleared his throat. "Lives are altering, whether we like it or not, and soon people will need to face the prospect of having to take employment for the first time. If you can do it willingly and without resentment, then you'll be leading the way for women of your generation. It would be a courageous and worthy move."
He was rewarded by a shy smile and a most fitting accolade.
"I will think about your wife's courage in training to be a nurse, Tom. Perhaps she can inspire me once again."
ooOoo
At the final evening's dinner, discussion centred on the family's summer visit to Barwick, the ancestral seat of Robert's school friend Lord Tyrell, who through a combination of shrewd financial investment and an opportune second marriage, had managed to secure the long-term future of his Estate. His youngest daughter, Margaret had come out in society alongside Rose and Madeleine the previous year and the three had since corresponded frequently.
"Why don't you come with us, Madeleine?" Rose asked with a gleeful expression, knowing full well that a public suggestion would be difficult to then withdraw. Cora gave her most benevolent smile and Robert embraced the idea as enthusiastically as if it had been his own.
"What a splendid idea! Why don't you write to ask your father, Madeleine? You will be made most welcome, I'm sure."
Madeleine's delight was evident while Rose beamed triumphantly across the table. "It'll be such fun!" she declared.
"Will you all be coming?" Madeleine's eyes circled the table and came finally to rest on Tom.
Edith emitted an audible sigh. "Oh there's no point in asking him. Tom never comes anywhere with us if he can help it! He's always far too busy."
"Work, work…" Mary said and threw a sardonic smile his way. "All work and no play. You know what that makes you, don't you?"
Tom's change of heart took him by surprise as much as anyone else. "Actually, perhaps I will come along this time" he said and spotted the array of raised eyebrows. He felt a wave of satisfaction at wrong-footing them all. "I could do with a break and Sybbie would enjoy a trip. If that suits everyone, of course?"
"I'd say!" said Rose loudly while Tom caught sight of Madeleine's smile of pleasure and matched it with one of his own.
"But who will look after Isis?" Robert interjected sternly, before being swiftly admonished by his wife.
"Robert! Tom is not your dog keeper! We have plenty of people working here who are perfectly capable of looking after her."
Edith leant towards Tom and her demeanour seemed lighter than of late. "I'm glad" she said. "We'll find plenty to do. You don't need to ride or hunt or fish. Don't let Mary bully you into anything."
Her sister responded with a sweet smile, laced with veiled antagonism. "You may do whatever you wish, Tom."
"Except talk politics at the dinner table" interrupted the Dowager Countess. "Please spare us from that."
"Oh what a pity" Madeleine said quietly, taking a mouthful from her plate and avoiding anybody's gaze. Tom heard a muffled guffaw from Isobel's direction and felt the corners of his mouth twitch.
"Anyway, I can hunt and fish" he said.
Mary's eyebrows gave their customary arch of incredulity. "Since when?" she asked.
"I did have a life before I came to Downton, Mary!" Tom's eyes were drawn towards Madeleine who was watching him intently. He smiled.
"I used to hunt and fish from time to time with my father and brother when we were in Galway. It may not have been what you're used to, but I can handle a gun and a rod."
"Splendid" said Robert, who appeared to be coming around to the idea of Tom's participation.
"But we always ate what we took. It was never just sport."
Robert's expression switched instantly to a frown. "We've always passed everything to Mrs Patmore, Tom. You know that. Nothing goes to waste if we can help it at Downton."
"Is it the same at Barwick?"
"I'm sure it is. I'll find out." Robert nodded before his mother added to the conversation.
"And the condition of the servants' quarters or the wellbeing of the horses? Perhaps you could enquire about the division of labour amongst the gardeners, Robert? No doubt Tom has some suggestions for improvement in all areas."
"Mama…" Robert gave a gentle hint of warning and Mary effortlessly diverted to a less contentious topic.
"Well Tom, there appears to be no end to your list of talents! What else have you kept hidden from us? Can we expect to see you on horseback too?"
He thought back to childhood summers in the countryside and felt a sudden surge of pleasure at the memory. "If you ever need someone to ride a cart horse bareback across a muddy field, then I'm the right man" he replied with a grin.
The dancing proved less disturbing than he had anticipated. Within their small party, there was little opportunity for diversion and the mood was light-hearted. The three men – Tom, Robert and Charles Blake, who had stayed at the house throughout Madeleine's visit – rotated between the younger women. Cora took one turn with each, but neither Isobel nor the Dowager could be persuaded from their preferred role as spectators. By the time Tom took to the floor with Madeleine, he felt sufficiently relaxed through a combination of wine and good humour, that holding her no longer felt like the betrayal he had feared. They had got to know one another now and his earlier caution now felt superfluous. It wasn't comparable to having Mary, Edith or Rose in his arms; there was a feeling of security in being physically close to a family member which was absent with anybody else. But he felt none of the awkwardness he habitually experienced when obliged to dance with other family guests, even after he accidently clipped her ankle with his heel. He apologised, she laughed, he jested and pretended to do it again. They were sufficiently relaxed with one another not to worry about formality. He was glad.
The following morning he stood in line with the others as Madeleine prepared to leave and felt curiously light-headed. Rose fussed and fluttered around her friend, enthusing about their summer visit to Barwick and requesting one favour or another during her time in London. Tom wondered if he had drunk too much wine the previous evening, or whether he was coming down with a cold. A glance to his right met the scrutiny of the Dowager who wore a smile to imply that she held a secret from which he was excluded. He frowned which seemed to only add to her amusement.
Standing before him, Madeleine held out her hand and he took it.
"It was a pleasure to have you here at Downton" he said and meant it sincerely.
"Thank you so much for your friendship these past few days. If you ever have an opportunity to speak to your friend, the school teacher…"
"I'll seek her out tomorrow" he said and silently cursed his unsteady feet while she beamed at him in gratitude. He might have to lie down for a short while later if he was feeling no better after luncheon.
"You could write to me if you have any time.." Madeleine shook her head with vigour so that her curls bobbed around the frame of her face. "I mean, of course it can wait until we meet at Barwick, there's really no hurry."
"I'll write this week" he replied. "It's no bother at all. I'm very pleased to have an opportunity to help you with your ambitions."
She tipped her head to one side. "Well, goodbye then. Until the summer."
"I'll look forward to it" He smiled again and tried to ignore the peculiar feeling inching its way across his stomach. He hoped that he hadn't caught the bug which had laid George down the previous week.
Robert cleared his throat and brought Tom abruptly back to the present. "Goodbye" he said and released her hand.
The uneasy sensation remained with him throughout the day, but he didn't feel unwell enough to rest, nor was he able to identify his symptoms. He tried his best to push them to one side and concentrated on his work, his daughter, the more subdued conversation at dinner amongst a family already missing the cheerful diversion of their guests.
It was only as he retired to bed that evening that he finally recognised the unfamiliar sensation which had afflicted him over the course of so many hours.
He felt happy.