Author's note: Here there be Season 3 spoilers! Story is canon compliant through 3x4, then Parallel Universe from 3x5 onward.
Chapter 1 - The Birthday Party
The dog was only a few steps ahead of her, but Moll Bates, wary of her basket which was fully laden with cake tins, struggled to keep up.
"Athena!" She called out, "slow down girl!" But the labrador paid her no mind, running full tilt across the lawn toward Downton, daring Moll to catch her. The late afternoon sun beamed down, casting the house and grounds in a gold-tinted glow, and the dog's pale coat stood out against the warm yellow-green of the grass.
By the time she reached the servants' entrance, Moll was breathing heavily, and a faint sheen dampened her pale, heart-shaped face. The dog sat expectantly outside the door, panting and wagging her tail, waiting to be let in.
"You silly thing!" Moll shifted the basket to her other door, gave the dog a quick pat, and let them both inside.
She found Anna at the table in the servants' hall, doing some small repairs on an evening gown belonging to her mistress.
"Hello Mum!" Moll said, setting her basket down on the table and bending to kiss her mother.
"Molly! What are you doing here?"
"I've just brought over the cakes Daisy made for his lordship. She hadn't time to bring them herself, so I said I would."
"Farm life keeps her busy, I expect," Anna said. Moll nodded.
"Well, now you're here, why don't you stay for a cup of tea?"
"Can you spare the time?"
"Oh yes, I've only got this mending to finish for Lady Mary, and it won't take long."
Moll seated herself while her mother went to the kitchen to ask Cook for the tea. She looked around her. The room was spotless, as usual, and light filtered in through the windows near the ceiling. Mr. Crawley's valet, Mr. Molesley, was dozing in a corner, but otherwise the room was empty. In fact, there seemed to be little life in the usually bustling downstairs. She could hear clattering in the kitchen, but there were no other signs of the other servants.
Anna returned with a small tray and two cups brimming with tea, as well as a plate of biscuits.
"This is very nice, Mum."
"I needed a break." She sat down next to her daughter.
"Where's Dad?"
"Upstairs helping his lordship. Why?"
"I just wanted to ask him something, that's all."
"Can't you ask me?"
Moll took a long sip of tea, then put her cup down carefully. "I suppose..."
"Well?" Anna prompted. "Out with it."
"I went with Katie and Gwen to the station earlier, to meet Robbie."
"Mr. Robbie," Anna reminded.
"Mr. Robbie," Moll repeated impatiently. "And, well the thing is, he's invited me to join them tonight, after dinner."
"Oh?"
"I said yes."
"I see." Anna said finally. "Do his parents know he's invited you?"
"I'm not sure. I don't think so. Does it matter?"
Anna sighed. She supposed she should think it fortunate that her daughter was such close friends with the Crawley children. Close in age, and more or less the only children on the estate, the four of them had grown up together despite the differences in their social castes. His lordship had even supported Moll at the local grammar, and was still supporting her younger brother Jack. All the family had been equally generous for Christmas and birthdays, and the children had grown up playing together without a thought for the rigid class lines that governed their parents' world. But it had all been easier when they were younger. Now the children were nearly grown, and the friendships that had been excusable when they were little were, in Anna and her husband's eyes at least, beginning to border on inappropriate. Katie and Gwen she supposed she could allow. They were girls, after all, and were unlikely to wield much influence over Moll's future. But Robbie Crawley was different, and the fondness that he and Moll shared for one another was increasingly worrisome.
"Mum?" Moll watched her mother's face closely.
"Your father won't like it. You know he already thinks you see too much of Mr. Robbie."
"But he's been gone for a month! And besides, it's only a party, Mum."
"It's his lordship's seventy-fifth birthday, Mary Bates! I think that amounts to rather more than just a party."
"I only meant, it's not as if we're going to a nightclub. And anyway, all the family will be there so what harm can I come to?"
Anna sighed again. John was going to berate her for this, she knew.
"Alright. But you mustn't be home too late. Offer to help serve if you can. And don't say yes if Robbie offers to walk you home."
Moll jumped up with a smile. "I thought it was Mister Robbie."
"Oh!" Anna gave her daughter a light smack on the arm. "Off with you, you cheeky lass, and be grateful I don't take back my permission!"
Laughing, Moll skipped out of the room, and Anna could hear her footsteps running joyfully up the stairs. She leaned back in her chair and massaged her temples. It had already been a long day, and the evening was still to come...
Mary and Cora were just coming downstairs when the telephone in the foyer began to ring. With the butler no where in sight, Mary had answered it herself and brightened at the sound of her sister's voice on the other end. Everything was coming together.
When the call was over, Mary put down the telephone and turned to her mother.
"They're coming today after all. They'll be on the seven-o-clock train. I gather it's all rather mad in London these days, but she was confident they'd be able to make it."
"So we'll all be here? Michael and the boys too?"
"Yes, God help us."
"Don't worry about them. Maybe they'll run off with Jack again." Mary smirked, remembering the family gathering the year before when Edith's precocious teenage twins had run off with young Jack Bates and no one had seen hide or hair of them all weekend. Poor Anna had worried they'd been kidnapped and provoked an extended search around the estate by torchlight that finally ended when Robbie Crawley found them huddled in an old shed.
"How could I forget. But anyway, you're right, we'll all be together." Mary smiled. "And it will be such a wonderful surprise for Papa."
"I hope so. Though I sometimes think perhaps your father is rather like Carson."
"How do you mean?"
"He regards all surprises with great unease." Mary rolled her eyes, but as they left the room, both she and Cora were laughing.
Mary could hear voices before she pushed open the library door and even before entering she knew what she would find. The image was engrained so deeply in her mind: Matthew and Tom, leaning over the big table, over the maps and drawings and notes and all the accoutrements that meant they were deep in the world of Downton business. Cups of tea sat untouched beside them and both men were in their shirt sleeves and looking rather more rumpled than they had any right to, as if they'd been in an arm wrestling competition rather than a comfortable tete-a-tete about Downton. She should have a statue erected, she thought wryly, depicting them at their blessed table. Then she could show her grandchildren how it had been, how their grandfather and great uncle had slaved away until they became petrified to secure the safety of the estate for the future generations. The two men looked up and straightened automatically as she stepped inside.
"I'm sorry to interrupt..."
"What is it, Darling? Everything going well?" Matthew asked.
He had become rather jowly in the past few years, and it was not lost upon any of the family that he was beginning to bear a rather uncanny resemblance to Robert, as he'd been when Matthew became heir. Still, her husband had retained his youthful energy, and to Mary he would always be the dashing young stranger who had walked into her life and stolen her heart when she wasn't looking.
"Very well, I think, only I wanted to tell you that Edith will be coming this evening. I've just spoken with her."
"Will she be on Robbie's train?"
"Unfortunately not, she couldn't manage it."
"What a pity."
"But it's a good thing she's coming. She's in on the secret, I suppose?" Tom asked.
Tom was still trim, thanks to his daily walks to and from the house as well as his habit of traversing the estate to check up on the tenants when Matthew was busy with his legal practice, but his hair was starting to lose its color and his face had become deeply lined. Mary knew that Europe's troubles wore heavily on him.
"Yes, but she and Michael and the boys will need to be properly caught up before tonight. Actually, I hoped one of you might be able to fetch them from the station."
"Which train did you say it was?"
"The seven-o-clock."
Matthew and Tom exchanged a look.
"I'm afraid that will be rather difficult, Darling," Matthew said after a pause, "because you see we've arranged a meeting with one of the tenants. It's taken us a while to set up, and missing it now will be very inconvenient."
Mary sighed. "How tiresome."
"Why not just send the car?" her husband wanted to know.
"We can't risk it. If Papa saw it leaving he would know something was up."
"Why don't you ask Sybil?" Tom suggested. "She should be able to go."
Mary brightened. "Good idea. I'll do that." With a smile, she headed for the foyer, but stopped and turned suddenly at the door.
"Tom, should I telephone Sybil at the hospital or at home? I can never seem to remember her hours."
Tom consulted his watch. "Home I think. She's usually back by now."
Mary nodded appreciatively. Then her countenance changed and she pursed her lips and cast a stern look at the men.
"Don't stay too long with the tenant," she ordered, fixing them with her eyebrows. "Remember, we're all to assemble in the dining room at half past eight sharp, so you mustn't be late!" With a final threatening glance, she turned on her heel.
As Lady Mary Crawley left the room, the brothers-in-law rolled their eyes knowingly at one another.
"You'd think it was a big affair of State we were having," Tom said.
"It is an affair of State, to her," Matthew quipped. They both laughed, shook their heads, and returned to their work.
The telephone in the front hall of the Branson household let out a shrill ring that brought the housekeeper running from the kitchen. She was on the point of answering it when suddenly there was a succession of quick, light steps on the stairs and a young woman came barreling down towards her.
"I'll get it, Mrs. F!"
Katie Branson hopped the the last step, sidestepped the housekeeper, and in a moment had lifted the handpiece to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Katie? It's Aunt Mary."
"Oh, hello Auntie. How are you?"
"Well, thank you."
"Are you terribly busy with Grandad's do?"
"Rather, but it'll be worth it."
"I know it will!"
"I was hoping to speak with your mother, actually."
"Mama's still at the hospital, but I expect she'll be back soon. Shall I ask her to ring you?"
"No, but when you see her, could you tell her that your Aunt Edith is coming after all? She'll be on the seven-o-clock train."
"Oh what fun! What about Uncle Michael and the boys?"
"They're coming too. But Katie, tell your mother that we don't dare send the car for them for fear of Papa finding out. I was rather hoping she might go to the station and fetch them. It appears your father can't spare the time."
"I'm sure Mama will be glad to go."
"Thank you. But if she finds she can't, do let me know."
"I will. Oh, Aunt Mary, I wanted to ask you, do you still expect Robbie on the five-o-clock?"
"Yes, why?"
"Because I'd like to meet him myself, if I may. And I thought I'd ask Gwen to come too."
"That's nice of you. I don't see why not, I'm sure Robbie would be delighted."
"Jolly good, that's settled then."
"Well, we'll see you tonight Katie."
"Looking forward to it! Cheerio!"
Katie was just putting down the phone when the front door opened.
"Oh Mama, you've just missed Aunt Mary. She telephoned for you."
"Oh?" Sybil stepped into the foyer, kissed her daughter, and began unpinning her hat.
"She wanted to tell you that Aunt Edith is coming on the seven-o-clock. She's bringing the family."
"Thank you, Mrs. Finnegan." Sybil handed her hat, coat and gloves to the housekeeper and smiled at Katie. "That's wonderful news!"
"And Aunt Mary wants you to collect them from the station."
"Alright. Your father left the car so it shouldn't be any trouble."
"I'll have the tea ready in a moment, milady," the housekeeper said, and bustled off toward the kitchen.
"Very good."
Sybil and Katie walked together to the parlor.
"Mama?"
"Yes?"
"I also said I would take Gwen to meet Robbie, when he comes. You don't mind, do you? I promise I'll have the car back in time."
Sybil eyed her daughter cautiously. "On your own?"
"Of course!"
"Have you mentioned this to Daddy?"
"No, but I know he'd say yes." Sybil looked at her dubiously.
"Oh please Mama!"
"I'm not sure..."
"But Aunt Mary didn't mind," Katie cajoled, assuming the pout that she knew worked like a charm on her father. Her mother, however, remained firm.
"Nevertheless, I think I'll go and have a word with your father." Sybil nodded to herself, and rose.
"But you've only just got back! What about your tea?"
"I can have tea while I'm up at the house, and I can take the opportunity to catch up on the plans for tonight."
"Mama!"
But Sybil had already headed to the hall to gather up her things. A minute later, Katie was left alone, frowning into her tea.
Back on the familiar road to Downton – the long, tree-lined drive extending before her, dappled light flecking her face through the windshield – Sybil found herself musing on old times, on the mysterious nature of fate, which had led them both back to where their life together had begun.
When she and Tom had returned to Downton before Katie's birth, staying on had never been in their plans. Downton was to be a temporary haven, a resting place, a stop on a journey that extended beyond the estate's boundaries. But the birth had changed all that. The operation – still considered experimental treatment by Clarkson – had saved the baby but nearly cost Sybil her life. And during the weeks that followed, while Sybil lay in hospital drifting somewhere between life and death, suffering complication after complication, Tom found himself at the mercy of his in-laws' hospitality and interference. When it became clear that Sybil would indeed recover, but with the understanding that she would never bear another child and would require several months of convalescence before she regained her full strength, the prospect of escaping to Liverpool or anywhere else was not only less attractive, it was out of the question. There was no possibility of Sybil working, or managing a household, or even taking care of the baby in her present state of health, and despite their frugality they lacked the funds to hire a nurse or a workwoman to help. At Downton, they had a support system, if an opinionated, meddling one. With the health of his wife to worry about, Tom found he was less incensed by his father-in-law's disparaging remarks, and was able to let the dowager's barbed quips roll off his back more easily. What did a few blows to his pride matter, after all, compared with Sybil's comfort and welfare? Still, when Robert and Matthew told him their grand plan to set him up as the estate agent, he hesitated to tell her. She had been so eager to get away from her ivory tower of privilege and its disconnect with the real world. Now, her family had conspired to pull them both back into Downton's orbit, and he couldn't help but feel she would be disappointed in him.
She had cried a little when he told her, but it had been for him rather than herself. She knew all too well how he regarded the aristocracy, and how much his independence meant to him. The thought of him taking up the yoke of service again for her sake almost broke her heart.
"Oh Tom, what about all your dreams? Are you sure you've considered this fully?"
"Yes, I have. And as for my dreams, I aspire to nothing beyond making the happiest life I can for you and the baby."
"But aren't you afraid you'll grow to hate it here... among everything you despise? I can bear anything but the thought of you growing bitter and resentful."
Tom had smiled and moved from the chair to the narrow, hospital-order bed. He pulled her gently to lean against him. "Matthew said the same thing to me a few weeks back. But don't worry, as I told him, I don't hate it here. I can't say I feel I belong, but that doesn't matter. I belong with you, and as long as you're here I promise I will feel at home. Because you are my home, Love. My home and my life."
To Robert's surprise, Tom had flourished in his new role. He poured all his passion for social justice into his work and took a leaf from his father-in-law's book, scrupulously considering the tenants in every stage of the estate plans. He discovered it was possible to reconcile working for a great estate with his Socialist philosophies, and as a result, he helped ensure not only Downton's prosperity but the prosperity of every farmer, every laborer that earned his bread from Downton's soil. Every tenant left his door open to Tom, and in return he welcomed them at any time of day or night, whether they came with questions or concerns, or just for a cup of tea and a chat. And though Tom may have failed to take Sybil away from Downton land, he succeeded in securing them their own house in the village, close enough that he could walk up to the big house whenever he needed to confer with Matthew and Robert, but far enough away that they could pretend, when they wanted to, that they lived outside of Downton's shadow.
As for Sybil, her health did come back, and with it a renewed determination to make something of her life. She could not immediately return to work as a nurse, nor did she want to, with the baby to mind and lavish with the love and attention she'd not been able to give her during her first months of life. But she decided that she needed to do something for the hospital that had given her a second chance. She subscribed to medical journals which she read over the breakfast table with every bit as much zeal as Tom with his political newspapers. She became a fixture in Cousin Isobel's drawing room as they discussed ideas for improving the hospital's facilities and treatment regimens. And when Granny, who began ailing only a few short years later, announced that she would leave her position as co-chairwoman of the hospital board, Sybil stepped in eagerly. As the hospital's reputation grew, so did its staff, and Sybil managed them all. Even the doctor who eventually replaced Clarkson listened to her and respected her, and the nurses were happy to let her lead by example, deferring to the knowledge she had acquired during the Great War. In short, Sybil was content in her work and her situation. The tension between Tom and her father had miraculously eased while she was still recuperating – a circumstance that popular opinion put down to Tom's now legendary catch during the annual cricket match – and in the welcome calm that followed, she discovered that a busy, working life with her husband and a life lived near to her family were not necessarily mutually exclusive.
Downton had ceased to be her home many years ago – perhaps from the moment she first kissed Tom in the garage – but on days like today, pulling up along the half-circle of drive, stepping out onto the gravel, looking up at the massive stone walls, honey-colored in the afternoon light, she felt transported back to the days when it had been, when she would enter through the huge doors, pass through the foyer, and run giggling up the stairs after her sisters, never imagining what greater destiny was in store for her not too far away, waiting unseen in the humble chauffeur's cottage.
Sybil found him in the library. Perhaps found was not the right word. Like Mary, she had not needed to think very hard about where to look. Her father's old desk, covered in papers, had long since proved to have inadequate surface area for the schemes and ambitions of his sons-in-law, and was now dwarfed by a behemoth table that for several years had been the center of all the planning for the estate. It was over this very table that Tom now leaned, with Matthew at his side, both deep in discussion over the latest brainwave for sustaining Downton's self-sufficiency. So engrossed were they in their work that they didn't look up until she was just a few feet away from the table.
"Hello, Love." Tom smiled warmly at her and she returned the expression. It was as deliberate as it was involuntary. She wanted to smile at him, and yet she would smile even if she didn't want or mean to. It was inevitable. And most irritating when she had come with a serious question to put to him.
"Hello Sybil."
"Hello Matthew. I don't mean to interrupt..."
"Have we missed something? It's only that we're working out this new strategy for the western corner, and..."
"No, you've not missed anything."
"Mary's about, somewhere. She was trying to reach you earlier. Shall I find her for you?" Matthew gestured to the door, indicating his willingness to go through it. Sybil smiled to herself, thinking how different Matthew was from her father. It wouldn't occur to Matthew to ring for someone else to do it when he was able to himself.
"Oh no, you're alright. I did speak with Mary, and I think I might go in search of her in a minute or two, but I wanted a word with Tom first."
"Yes?" Her husband looked at her, expectant, curious.
"You know Robbie's coming on the five-o-clock train."
"Of course." She glanced at Matthew, who couldn't help but show his pleasure at his son's return.
"Well, she wants to go and meet him. She and Gwen."
"Why shouldn't they?"
"She wants to take Gwen in the car."
"Ah, she wants to drive down herself?"
"Yes." Sybil looked hard at her husband. "Tom, is she ready? Truly?"
Tom mimicked offense. "Don't you trust my instruction? I taught you, didn't I? And your sister."
"It's not your teaching I don't trust, it's our daughter. You know how feather-headed she can be when she's excited, and she's been talking about Robbie's homecoming for days now."
Katie and her eldest cousin were very close, and not only because they were a mere year apart in age. They shared common interests, a passion for politics, a love of music and dancing, and an uncanny ability to light up a room simply by walking into it.
As the eldest Crawley grandchild and the only child of Lord and Lady Grantham's youngest daughter, their "baby," Katie enjoyed a very special position in all of the family's hearts but none more so than her grandparents'. She had been Christened Sybil Kathleen, after her mother and paternal grandmother, but from her infancy, when it became clear that Sybil would indeed pull through, she was called Katie. Katie was the light of her parents' life and the apple of her grandfather's eye. Robert might never admit it, but she was his favorite and he doted on her with a fervor that rarely extended to his other grandchildren, though he loved them all dearly. Mary and Matthew's beautiful blonde son and daughter and Edith's immensely likeable twin boys all secured their grandfather's deep affection, but nothing and no one could eclipse his first grandchild. As for Cora, though she would have frowned on favoritism if asked, she welcomed the vivacity of her eldest granddaughter and often imagined she could see in her both of her parents' best qualities. Katie had the determination of both Sybil and Tom, as well as their fortitude. She also had inherited Sybil's kind nature and egalitarianism, while she shared Tom's passion for social justice and belief in individual freedoms. But Katie also had qualities all her own. She was a great lover of fun and merriment for its own sake and saw no reason why she couldn't acknowledge and fight against the world's sufferings and injustices as well as enjoy herself and the blessed life she'd been given.
Robbie, just a year younger than Katie, had grown up knowing he was destined to be Downton's heir, knowing he was the answer to his parents' and grandparents' hopes. In him, the future of Downton was secured. While some boys might have become priggish and entitled under the weight of such expectations, Robbie followed in his father's footsteps in that he regarded the responsibility with due gravity while maintaining a healthy grounded attitude about the whole business. Nobility did not confer happiness, and Robbie prized the love and respect of his family and friends far above the high social position he was privileged to hold. Far from possessing the lethargy of the titled classes – a lethargy that more and more seemed to belong to the bygone Gilded Age – Matthew and Mary's son exhibited energy and a hands-on approach to life that promised to serve him well as he grew to manhood. Curious, eager, never afraid of an argument, Robbie counted among his friends and acquaintances nearly every person on the estate, and was greeted in the village just as fondly. Away now for nearly a month, his return would surely be welcomed as warmly by the villagers, tenants and staff as by his family.
To Katie, though, Robbie and Gwen were more siblings than cousins, and they never went a day without seeing each other if they could help it. Robbie's month-long absence was therefore more like a year, and his return as anticipated an event as a visit from the king.
Tom was assuming as solemn an expression as he could, looking deeply into his wife's eyes to signal his earnestness.
"All I know is Katie understands how to operate a car, she knows the rules of the road and she knows the way to and from the station by heart. She'll be fine."
Sybil sighed and eventually nodded. "Very well."
"She's 19 years old. We have to let her grow up sooner or later."
"I know." Sybil smiled wearily at Tom.
"Well, I won't keep you any longer. I think I'll go and find Mary and Mama. Hopefully they're not too frantic!"
"I'll be home in time to change," Tom promised.
Sybil nodded and left the room as quietly as she'd entered.
From an upstairs window, Mary watched her father and daughter strolling arm in arm past the garden folly. Even at this distance it was clear how Robert had aged in recent years, how he held his granddaughter's arm as much out of affection as for support. He had suffered a stroke the previous winter, and though he had made a fair recovery, it had slowed him down, made him more frail. It was hard to think of him as anything other than the immovable pillar of strength and authority that he'd been during her youth, and which he'd represented, if not embodied, in the years since. Nevertheless, the signs of his fallibility were before her eyes, and the sight of her father, determinedly making his rounds, as he'd done without fail all his life, only strengthened her resolve to make this evening the greatest occasion – the best possible gift – that she could pull off.
A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts.
"Come in."
"You rang, milady?"
"Ah, Anna." Mary went to her bed and picked up the red evening gown she'd draped over the back. "I'd like to wear this tonight and there are a few buttons on the left sleeve that have come loose. Can you see that they're mended in time?"
"Certainly."
"Thank you."
"Will that be all, milady?"
"Yes, I think so. How is everything downstairs?"
"Coming along nicely. Cook seems to have everything under control. You know she's bought out half the village's supplies. She's convinced there will be rationing and so she's stockpiling. We've enough to see us through the next Flood, you should see the larders!"
Mary smiled. "Well, at least someone's thinking of these things."
"Was that Lady Sybil I saw earlier?"
"Yes, she dropped in to see how the party arrangements were progressing. I told her all was in hand and that we wouldn't need her help until this evening. I'm afraid there will be quite a crowd invading the servants' stair, but if anyone can manage them it's Sybil."
"That's alright, milady, we're all rather excited about it downstairs."
"Hopefully it'll be worth it."
"I'm sure it will."
Mary smiled again, but Anna could see a vagueness in her manner, a faraway look in her mistress' eyes that she knew from experience did not bode well.
"Is anything wrong milady?"
"No. Yes." Mary sat down heavily on the bed. "All this talk of war... every time I hear it mentioned, every time a plane flies over the house I feel it, here." She pressed her hand over her chest. "A sort of cold, squeezing dread. I can't explain it, but it's as though I can see the world going dark before my eyes."
"You needn't explain it to me, milady. I know just what you mean."
"I think about the last war, the state of some of the soldiers that stayed here, the state of the ones in the hospital. I don't think I can bear that. Not again."
What she was really seeing of course was Matthew's prone form in the hospital bed, the bloodlessness of his face, and the vivid cuts from the bomb blast standing out bright on his skin. She had never seen his back, the site of the horrible injury inflicted on him – Sybil had warned her away and though she was on the verge of protesting, she'd discovered that she could not bear it after all, in spite of her stoicism – but she remembered how devastation had felt. She remembered all to well the moment she'd learned that the man she loved with all her heart would never walk again, would be doomed to a pitiful half-life, forever dependent on others for his every need. The sun had shone that day – she recalled that detail with strange clarity – but in her heart the light had gone, the last rays of hope were quite blotted out. It was this darkness, this sense of utter doom and despair that she equated with war. In the time since then, by the grace of God, or whatever power decided the fates of human beings, Matthew had been miraculously restored to her. But one could not count on miracles, and if this war came to pass as every indication suggested it would, how many other women would suffer as she had, how many men have their lives or hopes snatched from them this time?
"None of us want to bear it milady, but we may have no choice. And if the worst happens, we will bear it. We will stay strong because our families and our country need us to."
"Oh, Anna." Mary put her hand on her maid's arm. So much more than a maid, Anna and she had shared secrets, gossip, and over the years, as young wives and mothers together, an understanding that went beyond class boundaries. Anna sat down next to her, and after a moment's glance, they embraced each other hard.
Finally, Mary rose and returned to the window. Robert and Gwen were still in her sights, and she knew that whatever she had said to Anna, she would stay strong, she would bear anything for them. For them, and for Matthew, and Robbie, and her mother and sisters and brothers-in-law, nieces and nephews. For all of her family, she would brave the fury of the Third Reich and all its fiercest warriors.
"I was a girl before the last war," she said at last. "When it was over I was a woman grown. War makes adults of all children." Out on the lawn, Gwen had broken from her grandfather and was running ahead, tossing a stick for Athena. Mary watched the dog bound forward to catch it and return, ecstatic, to drop it at Gwen's feet.
"She hasn't got much longer, has she? None of them do. In a few months, childhood will feel like something from a dream."
"Then we must be sure to let them enjoy it, while they can."
Mary smiled. Thus spoke the voice of wisdom. Anna had had her share of trials in life, and they had given her more perspective than one might expect from her unassuming appearance.
"Yes. Yes, that's just what we must do." She brushed some invisible wrinkles from her skirt and straightened her shoulders. "And now I really ought to go and find Mama."
"I'll have the dress ready, milady. And I'll be in at half-past seven."
"Thank you, Anna."
Mary and her maid left the room together, fortified, resolved to meet what they must.
"Aunt Sybil!" Sybil, walking toward the car, looked behind her and saw her niece coming around the side of the house.
"Hello Gwen!"
All of the Crawley girls had produced good-looking children, but Gwendolyn Crawley had a rare beauty that was only enhanced by her kind and thoughtful nature. With her blonde hair, pale, almost translucent complexion, bright blue eyes and naturally cheerful disposition, sweet, guileless Gwendolyn was the family darling, and at 17 she had all the charm and naivete that Sybil had possessed at that age. She hurried toward her aunt with a genuine pleasure that belied the fact that they saw one another most days of the week.
"What a nice surprise!" Aunt and niece kissed each other fondly. "Have you come to help with the planning? I've just been walking with Grandad and he doesn't suspect a thing!"
"That is good news." Sybil looked relieved. "It's not easy to keep things from Papa. Sometimes I think this family is as good at extracting secrets as keeping them." Gwen laughed in agreement.
"Well, come inside! I think Uncle Tom is in the library with Dad."
"I know, I've just seen him. I'm on my way home, actually."
"Oh."
"Don't worry, I'll be back before tonight. I'm bringing Edith and Michael and the boys from the station in a few hours, and I gather your mother wants my help herding everyone down the back stairs before dinner."
"It's quite an enterprise, isn't it, this business of keeping secrets!"
"Oh, I meant to tell you, Katie wants to pick up Robbie when he comes, and she intends to take you along."
"I know, we planned it all yesterday. It's terribly sporting of her."
"You know Katie, any excuse to get behind the wheel." Sybil smiled at her niece. "You must be looking forward to having your brother home."
"I am, though it's a pity he's only home for a short time. He's going up to Oxford in a few weeks."
"You can always visit him, can't you?"
"I suppose. I really ought to learn how to drive myself, then I could pop over whenever I liked. Maybe Katie can teach me."
Sybil opened her mouth to discourage this idea, but Gwen, seeming to notice for the first time the car Sybil had driven up in, added, "Or you! I don't know why I always forget that you drive as well."
Sybil gave Gwen a wry look. "Yes, as I said I'm off to the station just a couple hours after Katie. Your mother has frighteningly good powers of persuasion."
"What a capable family yours is. You could start a taxi service!"
"Your uncle did used to be a chauffeur, so the Branson women were bound to be drivers. We didn't have much choice in the matter!"
"Well I think it's splendid."
"Just promise me you'll talk to your parents first, before getting into the driver's seat."
Gwen laughed in a way that made Sybil think her niece didn't know just how serious she was being. The roads were different now than they'd been when Tom used to drive them around before the Great War. In the country people drove like maniacs simply because they could, and in the cities things were even worse. Even the traffic in Ripon seemed unduly frantic these days, thought Sybil supposed that could be put down to the general anxiety about Europe. In any case, it was clearly a sign she was getting old. She was sure she hadn't been such a worrier when she was younger.
She shook her head as if to clear it, then smiled again at her niece.
"Well, I'd best be off. I've a few things to see to at home before this evening."
"Bye, then."
"Goodbye, Gwen dear. See you soon."
Sybil was just about to get into the car when she had a thought and called after Gwen, who had made it nearly through the front door.
"Gwen! Mind you tell Katie to slow down if you need to. I'm afraid she takes after her aunt."
Gwen turned, confused. "But Mummy doesn't drive."
"It wasn't your mother I was referring to. I meant your Aunt Edith."
Gwen laughed aloud, blew Sybil a kiss, and escaped into the shadow of the house and out of view.
With her sons-in-law busy in the library, Cora had taken her flower arrangements to the morning room, hoping Robert was preoccupied and would not come in search of her. She was filling several vases with his favorite flowers, allowing herself to be as exuberant in her arrangements as she wanted. She smiled to herself, thinking what Violet would say at the bold, contrasting colors. Sybil had come and gone, and Mary too in her turn, so Cora was alone, contemplating the task at hand and the delightful surprise that awaited her husband that evening, when the butler entered with the afternoon post. She was startled to see a letter from the specialist Robert had visited some weeks before, addressed to her. Cora's mind was still half on the flower arranging as she opened the letter, and hence had trouble immediately processing the words that leapt out at her from the page.
The test revealed some concerning irregularities. I beg you to urge your husband to return for a second consultation, but whatever you do, do not let him become unduly stressed or upset. Such emotional strain could have catastrophic consequences.
Cora stared at the letter, trying to make sense of it, taking deep breaths and trying to clear her mind before reading it properly, start to finish. When at last she grasped the full import of its contents, she rose slowly and walked out of the room. In the hall she stood completely still for a few moments, her mind a whirl but unable to settle on the next step, the proper course of action. She felt a sudden longing for O'Brien, who had retired the previous year and whom Cora still missed despite the rest of her family's relief to see the back of her. Her new maid was able enough, but not the sort she felt she could unburden herself to. Cora had to tell someone, but who?
She was still standing in the hall, folding and unfolding the letter, when Tom and Matthew emerged from the library in obvious high spirits. They stopped short at the sight of her.
"Cora? Are you quite well?" Matthew looked at her concerned, and in that moment she saw how she must appear to them: an old woman, standing alone, fussing with a piece of paper with a vague, undetermined look in her eyes. They must both think she was dotty. She glanced from one man to the other, her dear, steadfast sons-in-law. They had greater things on their minds than the party, she knew, like the workings of the estate that occupied them both, but it still meant a lot to them, as did Robert. They would be looking forward to the evening as much as their wives were, as much as their children were looking forward to it. What right did she have to take that anticipation, that joy away with her gloomy pronouncement?
"Cora?"
She smiled, rather more broadly than was necessary, and said, "I'm very well!" She crumpled the letter in her fist. She would simply stay close to Robert. She would stay close, and watch him, and everything would be fine. "The thing is I've just thought of something. If you'll excuse me." Before either of the men could get a word in, Cora turned and hurried back to the morning room. She was going to make the bouquets the most flamboyant ones that Downton Abbey had ever seen.
Katie and Gwen had just pulled onto the long drive when Gwen exclaimed,
"Wait! Isn't that Moll?"
Katie brought the car to a quick stop and the brakes squealed in protest as both girls lurched forward and were just as quickly thrown back against their seats.
"Oops!" Katie looked sheepishly at her cousin, then followed Gwen's pointing hand. Moll was coming across the fields toward them, and seemed to pick up her pace when she saw who it was.
"Moll!" Katie called when the girl was in earshot.
"Hello!"
"We're on our way to collect Robbie from the station. Want to come?"
"Oh, can I?"
"Of course! Unless you've something better to do?"
"I'm meant to help with dinner later on, but as long as we're not out too late..."
"Jump in, then!"
Moll opened the door and climbed into the back seat behind Gwen. Gwen turned around the looked back at her friend.
"This is rather jolly, isn't it? Just us girls."
"And think of the look on Robbie's face when he sees his welcoming committee!" Katie grinned into the rearview mirror, meeting Moll's eye. "Right. Everyone ready? Hold on to your hats." She let out the clutch and accelerated down the drive at a speed that would have put her aunt Edith to shame.
The three young women were seated together on a bench like a form of schoolgirls when the train pulled in. They rose as the passengers began alighting onto the platform, looking up and down as they tried to catch sight of the arrival.
"Isn't that him?" Moll asked as Katie and Gwen were looking in the opposite direction. Moll pointed at a tall, slim figure in a summer suit. The three of them moved toward him in a group, and then Gwen broke away, approaching her brother in a very unladylike run.
"Robbie!"
Robbie Crawley turned around just in time to open his arms before his sister flung herself into them. "Gwen, my little sis!" He lifted her off the ground for a few moments, eliciting a burst of giggling. "Have you missed me?"
"Of course!"
"How is Aunt Rosamond?"
"As indomitable as ever!" Resisting the urge to pull Gwen's hair, Robbie moved on to hug Katie.
"Hello Coz!"
"Don't you dare lift me up!" Katie warned, then laughed as he did it anyway. She gave him a playful smack on the shoulder as he set her down.
"I say, what splendid trousers!"
"Do you like them?" Katie asked, coyly extending one leg. "I got them in Ripon."
"I'm glad to hear Yorkshire hasn't fallen too far behind. Loads of girls are wearing trousers in London."
"Ooh, have you been meeting loads of girls then?" Katie teased.
"I won't dignify that with an answer," Robbie said, sticking his nose in the air theatrically.
"Well, they're very nice, Katie, but I wouldn't wear them tonight if I were you," Gwen cautioned.
"Don't worry, I know Grandad would have a fit if I did," Katie assured her.
Robbie laughed, then turned at last to the final member of his welcome party.
"Hello Moll, what a lovely surprise."
"Welcome back Robbie." Moll extended her hand and after a pause Robbie shook it awkwardly. Both Gwen and Katie exchanged a knowing look. A year ago Robbie wouldn't have hesitated about hugging Moll as well, but things had clearly changed since then. They stared shyly at each other until Katie said, rather loudly,
"So Robbie, have you asked a porter to help with your luggage?"
"Oh no, I can manage alone. I only have this one case."
"Jolly good, let's go to the car then, shall we?"
"We've got so much to fill you in on for this evening."
"I'm sure you do. I want to hear all the gossip, and not just about Grandad's party."
"And we want to hear all about London," Moll added, surprising herself with her boldness.
"Well, if Katie promises to reduce her speed by a few miles, we might just have time to hear everything!" Gwen quipped. Robbie laughed again, put his arm around his sister, and said contentedly,
"God, but it's good to be back!"
Two hours later, the stationmaster, making his hourly rounds up and down the platform, was certainly surprised to find himself tipping his cap to yet another Crawley – by his count the fourth to set foot in the station that day – as Sybil entered from the station house. He didn't have long to wait until still more members of the clan upped the numbers. Edith, Michael, and their boys alighted from the first class carriage only a few minutes later, and two porters hurried to help with the luggage while the second Crawley daughter headed straight for her sister's arms.
"Hello Sybil dear."
Sybil kissed Edith's cheek. "Hello Edith. I hope your journey wasn't too frightful."
"Apart from having to squeeze past all the soldiers and sit like sardines, no, it wasn't too bad!"
Sybil smiled sympathetically, then turned to her brother-in-law.
"Hello Michael, how nice to see you."
"Sybil, a pleasure as always. Thank you so much for coming to fetch us."
"We're just all so pleased you could make it." She looked around at the twins, standing a little apart from their father.
"And how are my favorite boys?"
"Rather fishy, I should say," Frederick remarked, shaking Sybil's hand with absurd formality.
"Rather tinned," Francis added, following suit.
Sybil smiled at them, but cast a puzzled look at Edith. Edith shrugged.
"That'll be more commentary on the conditions in the train," Michael said wryly.
"Ah, I see." Sybil raised her eyebrows in understanding. "Well, I know for a fact that Aunt Mary has chosen some particularly large rooms for you up at the house, so you should be right as rain in no time." She gave the boys a conspiratorial wink.
As they walked to the car, sharing all the news and gossip that family who see each other far more seldomly than they would wish to do, Sybil was reminded how much she liked Edith's husband. Warm, friendly, amusing, and far less exacting than one would expect a newspaper editor to be, Michael Gregson was without a doubt one of the nicest men she knew, and the best thing that could have happened to her sister. She knew there had been some disagreement in the past as to the purity of his intentions, but his irreproachable behavior prior to his first wife's death, and scrupulous attention to proprieties following it, made clear the earnestness and true-hearted nature of his courtship of Edith. Seeing her sister so happy, so fulfilled after all her romantic travails, made Sybil all the more pleased to have Michael as her brother-in-law.
Mary met them all at the back of the house. As everyone got out of the car and the twins ran up to her like two eager puppies, having forgotten completely their solemnity of earlier, Mary had to remind herself to keep her joy constrained to a series of low exclamations and muffled laughs. It felt like the hardest thing she'd ever done, but she knew how well sound carried from the courtyard.
After the kisses and embraces were over, she was left feeling quite giddy with the prospect of the evening ahead and the treasured company of her sisters.
"I'm sorry we couldn't give you a proper welcome, but we're keeping this all very hush-hush at the moment. We don't want Papa to have any inkling."
Michael grinned. "How marvelous!"
"The thing is, you'll have to go in through the back door. Mama has promised faithfully that she'll keep Papa distracted until you're all upstairs, but you must be very quiet. He still has the ears of a fox, bless him."
"Golly!" Edith laughed. "I feel rather old for such subterfuge."
"Not as old as Mama, and she's being a terrific sport about the whole affair."
"Don't worry," Michael said as he took his wife's hand. "We'll all be sports."
"Good. Now we haven't much time, so you'll need to be quick and quiet." Mary put a finger to her lips and, feeling more as if she was leading a band of burglars than guests, ushered them all through the door.
A few minutes after 8 that evening, Cora and Robert descended the grand staircase slowly but regally, dressed in their very finest. Cora clung to Robert's arm and pretended to herself it was because he was sometimes unsteady on his feet these days and needed a firm support. How many times had they descended these very stairs together over the years, and why had she not held him close to her every time, as she did now?
They sat alone in the drawing room at first, but in a few minutes they were joined by Isobel, marching up to them as though the years had forgotten her and allowed her to retain the stamina they had drained from everyone else. Cora couldn't help wishing she knew Isobel's secret. Soon after, Mary and Matthew entered, looking uncharacteristically flustered but staunchly cheerful. Mary straightened her necklace and Matthew fiddled with his cufflinks as they approached Robert to offer their birthday congratulations. Cora guessed they had probably been more than unusually rushed by all the last-minute arrivals.
As the footman made the rounds with drinks, Robert looked around at the meager party, unable to hide his bewilderment.
"Is this everyone?"
"I'm afraid so, Darling," Cora said. "Sybil and Tom intended to be here, but Sybil telephoned earlier and told me they're running late and that we aren't to wait for them."
"But what about the children?"
"Robbie's still in London, Papa, and Gwen is off with Katie." Mary touched her father's arm. "I am sorry."
"Ah, well, I'm sure they're all having more fun, wherever they are. I wouldn't want to be a nuisance."
"Come on, Robert. Aren't we enough fun for you?" Matthew joked.
His father-in-law gave a big sigh and inadvertently made everyone laugh.
"Dinner is served, my lady."
"We'd better go in." Cora took her husband's arm, and Mary, Matthew and Isobel gathered behind them, surreptitiously meeting each others' eyes with gleeful knowing.
When the doors to the dining room swung open, all Robert saw at first was darkness. Then all at once the lights blazed to life and there they all were, gathered around the table: his family. Edith, Michael and the twins, Sybil, Tom and Katie, and Robbie and Gwen closest to the door. Every last one of them was beaming at him, and Robert found himself frozen in place, seized by a surge of love so strong it paralyzed him. As everyone struck up with "For he's a jolly good fellow" Robert felt tears stream from his eyes and Cora's arms tighten around his. He had been caught so completely by surprise it was as if he was seeing them all for the first time. He drank in the sight and the great joy that accompanied it, and felt completed by it, his life made round by the rightness of it. When the song ended they all burst into applause, punctuated with shouts of happy birthday.
Katie was the first to come forward. She ran up to Robert and kissed him, her red lipstick leaving a bright mark on his cheek. "Happy Birthday Grandad!" In a moment he was surrounded, all of them kissing him, embracing him, wishing him many happy returns.
"Edith!" he exclaimed as his second daughter kissed him. "You came all this way?"
"Of course, Papa. We couldn't very well miss your birthday, could we?"
"Michael!" He greeted his son-in-law, but was interrupted by Fred and Frank who embraced him together and threatened to smother him. Tall for their age, the boys already came up to his shoulders.
Overwhelmed and overjoyed, Robert Crawley laughed until he cried all over again, and Cora once more had to support him. Finally they all took their seats. As Robert sat down, he turned to Mary next to him.
"But who has planned all of this?"
"We all helped, but it was Sybil's idea."
He looked across the table at his youngest daughter, so precious to him, once so nearly snatched away. She was whispering something to Frank, who was seated next to her, and she laughed at the boy's dubious expression. The sound was like chimes, like the clink of glasses, like a song in his heart. Marriage to Tom had not changed her as he had once feared it would. If anything, it had made her more herself. It was the rest of them who had been altered, made kinder, their hearts made more open, and he knew they had Sybil to thank for that. Of all his children, and out of all proportion to her suffering, Sybil had aged the least. Her hair was still black, and though she wore it in the latest fashion, rolled behind her and curled, he could still picture how it had been when she was a girl and it hung down her back in a long cascade of ebony. Her eyes twinkled in the light from the chandelier, and the gems in her earrings gleamed and glimmered like little stars, bobbing and swinging as she threw back her head to laugh again. She took his breath away.
Robert looked to his right, where Edith sat two places down from him talking with Gwen. She wore a deep turquoise dress that lent extra brightness to the red hair she'd inherited from both her grandmothers, and with her elegant coif she looked quite the London sophisticate. Marriage and motherhood had softened her, his sharp, clever girl, to his and everyone else's great relief. He had not approved of her writing for a newspaper, and he had approved even less when she announced she planned to marry her editor. He had been determined to dislike the fellow when Edith brought him home to meet the family, not least because he was a recent widower – a circumstance that was bound to encourage gossip even were it not an Earl's daughter he was engaged to. Yet try as he might, Robert had soon found it quite impossible to dislike Michael Gregson, whose pleasantness, perfect manners, and undeniable devotion to Edith quickly won over the rest of the family. Looking at them now, his gaze darting back and forth from Edith to Michael, and to the two charming young scamps they'd brought into the world, Robert knew he'd made the right decision in giving them his blessing.
And Mary. Mary, his strong, stubborn, wonderful first child. She had more than made up for the trouble and hand-wringing she'd caused all those years ago. Like Edith, she too had been made kinder by married life, and gentler by motherhood. And by marrying Matthew she'd not only done her duty in joining the two branches of the Crawley family, she had also given Robert a grandson he was proud to have as his heir and namesake, and a granddaughter who was sweetness itself. The dynasty was secure, and Robert felt safe knowing that Mary and Matthew would one day be at the helm of the Crawley clan. In their 19 years together they had already helped guide the ship through some turbulent waters, and Robert felt sure that their mutual trust and support would fortify them against any calamity that might come their way in the years ahead.
"Papa?"
"Yes, my darling?"
"Are you alright?" Startled out of his meditations, Robert saw that Mary was watching him closely, and in the lamplight he could see a streak or two of gray in her dark hair, and the deep lines of her worried frown. He reached over and patted her hand.
"Quite alright."
"Are you happy?"
He smiled at her. "Very happy." His gaze wandered around the table, taking in the bright faces, the shining eyes. "Very, very happy."
The evening progressed in a sort of haze of happy chatter, with enough jokes and laughter to convince even the most well-informed onlooker that this family was one untouched by the sorrows of the past or the gathering darkness of the future. When the meal seemed to be ending and the conversations waning, Robert whispered something in Mary's ear and she half-rose in her chair to address the assembled company.
"Listen everyone, Papa has something he'd like to say." Voices fell away, and all eyes turned on the master of the house.
Robert rose slowly, leaning on the table, but his gaze, as he looked around at all of them, was steady, and his voice clear.
"In 75 years I have spent many dinners in this dining room, some certainly more eventful than others. But I can safely say that none has given me more joy than this one. My dear wife, my lovely daughters, my wonderful sons-in-law, my darling grandchildren... I cannot imagine a greater gift than to be here among you tonight. I love you, I thank you, and I drink your health." Robert raised his glass. "To family."
"To family," came the echo.
When the ladies had adjourned to the drawing room and Fred and Frank been excused to play outside with Jack, Robbie found himself alone with his grandfather, father, and his two uncles, feeling quite impatient. He swallowed his port in one go, puffed furiously at his cigar, and tried not to drum his fingers on the table. The talk tip-toed around mentions of war, and when Tom tried to bring up Germany, Robert cleared his throat loudly and Matthew made a subtle slicing motion to signal the topic was taboo. Normally the trouble in Europe was a topic that Robbie would have been eager to discuss, but somehow he could not give it his full attention at the moment, and when Michael deftly brought the conversation around to a safer topic, Robbie gave not a second's lament to his missed chance. Just when it seemed the conversation was coming to a close and they could leave, the men refilled their glasses and Robert and Matthew helped themselves to more cigars. It was all Robbie could do to keep himself from snatching the thing from his father's hand and hauling them all physically out of their chairs.
When at last Matthew suggested they rejoin the ladies and they all rose, Robbie had to stop himself from running to the drawing room. As he entered, he saw Moll was already there, standing by the gramophone with his sister and cousin, laughing softly at something Katie had said. She was wearing a blue dress that he dimly recalled had been a gift from Gwen, and the fabric clung to her upper body and then fell away in soft folds from her waist. She had never looked more beautiful, and Robbie did his best not to stare.
The women turned and smiled as the men entered. Robert sat down stiffly next to Cora, and Matthew, Michael and Tom all joined their wives as well. Robbie paused to light a cigarette, then approached his cousin, sister, and Moll, sauntering over in as casual a manner as he could assume.
"What's that you're looking at?"
"Mummy and Dad's record collection," Gwen said. "Did you know they had so many? Some are really ancient."
Katie picked one up. "Like this one: Zip Goes a Million! What a funny title. Ever heard of it?"
"Never."
"Why don't we play some of them?"
"Now?"
"Why not? Anyway, I'm longing for a dance. Robbie will partner me, won't you Robbie?"
"Alright." He smiled at Katie and stubbed out his cigarette.
"You don't mind, do you Grandad?" Katie went over to Robert took her grandfather's hand.
"What's that?"
"Robbie and I are going to dance."
Robert pretended for a moment to be stern. "I suppose it will be some horrid new jazz tune."
"Oh Papa, don't pretend you didn't have fun at Lady Sedgwick's garden party last month, and she had a full jazz band from Manchester." Mary exchanged a look with Matthew. Her father was nothing if not consistently rigid in the face of anything new.
"Come on Robert," Cora said, "let the children have their fun. It's been far too long since we had any dancing in this room."
Lord Grantham sighed, then smiled indulgently at his granddaughter. "Well, go on then Katie."
Gwen made a selection, put the record in place and set the needle as Robbie and Katie moved to the center of the room.
Katie laughed aloud as her cousin presented her with a very solemn bow and then took her in his arms and began twirling her with vigorous enthusiasm as the beginnings of Let's face the music and dance echoed from the old gramophone. Never ones to shy away from attention, Katie and Robbie danced with big smiles on their faces, giddy from the wine and champagne and the love they could feel from their family, the goodwill surrounding them, almost tangible. Katie could feel a flush rising in her face as her cousin looked directly into her eyes, and knew it had nothing to do with the exercise or the warmth of the evening. Her hand in Robbie's pulsed and tingled, and she had to force herself to think of something else – anything else – instead of how right it felt, their hands clasping, their arms around one another. When the song ended she felt lightheaded, and the applause from the family sounded strangely far away.
"Another!" Robbie called to Gwen, and there were only a few moments' pause before the next song started up, this time Cheek to cheek.
Robbie turned from his cousin and walked over to Moll, who was standing a little removed from the family gathering.
"Would you do me the honor, Miss Bates?"
Moll giggled and took his hand. "I'd be very glad to, Mr. Crawley."
Katie, determined to appear unfazed, looked around her in search of another partner, until her eyes lighted on Tom.
"Daddy, be a darling and dance with me."
Tom groaned, but allowed himself to be pulled from the sofa by his daughter. Similarly inspired, Gwen went over to Matthew and they took their place next to the others. The twins descended on Mary, and before long the rest of the party was humming along and laughing at the various skill levels displayed by the dancers. At the end of each number came enthusiastic applause, and Robert's amused cries of "bravo!" would be remembered long after the evening ended.
Robert and Cora had gone to bed, amid many kisses and fond goodnights. Isobel had gone home, and Michael had gone upstairs with the boys to see them to bed with a minimum of mischief. The other children had ambled outside with talk of a game of moonlight croquet, while the rest of the party lounged in the drawing room over cups of coffee, enjoying the sudden peace after the haste and bustle of the day. Billy Holiday crooned from the radio, and the cries of the night birds, when they came, did not disturb the comfortable lull in the room.
"Poor Papa. He's so distressed by the news in Europe he won't let us have the wireless on at all, so we have to listen to it in secret after he's gone to bed. He's so afraid he'll hear bad news." Mary sighed. "He never dreamed there would be another war."
"None of us did," Matthew said, shaking his head, "or at least we hoped there wouldn't be."
"There's no point in denying what's ahead," Tom said grimly.
"The war to end all wars," Matthew scoffed. "What bloody rubbish."
"You should see what it's like in London," Edith said. "Soldiers everywhere, blockades, people handing out gas masks. We have sand bags by the front door! I trip over them every day. Sometimes I think I'm living in a Dalí painting."
"The army is maneuvering," Matthew replied. "They want to be ready when the declaration comes. You know they're already recruiting boys? Even here. I saw a poster in the village."
"Well, the army won't be getting any Gregsons," Edith declared matter-of-factly. "Michael is too old now, and the boys are still too young, thank heaven."
"And no Bransons," Tom added, "or Crawleys either, I should think. Matthew's got his old injury and I have my heart murmur to keep me out of trouble." He eyed Sybil, who pursed her lips in an attempt to hide her smile. Neither of them could help remembering his disappointment 22 years ago when the condition had prevented him from achieving his dream to humiliate the British army.
"Then I'd say we've all been lucky," Mary said, looking fondly around at all of them.
"Not as lucky as you might think, Darling." Matthew's tone was darkly wry. "Gwen told me Robbie plans to join up."
"What?" Mary was shocked. "Have you said anything to him?"
"What could I say, without sounding like a hypocrite?"
"But what about university?"
"Apparently he says all his chums are joining up as well. I doubt there will be many students left at Oxford by the end of term."
"I know what you mean, Matthew," Sybil said. "Katie is quite determined to go as a nurse, and God help anyone who tries to stop her."
"Oh really? I'll have a talk with her," Tom said firmly.
"She won't listen," his wife told him. "And besides, you can hardly tell her you disapprove, when I did the same thing at her age." Sybil sighed. "We all try to set a good example for our children, but we never think about where it might lead them."
"To war, apparently." Mary's voice was tight, and she nearly choked as she swallowed her coffee. It had gone cold anyway.
"The burdens of parenthood," Matthew said. Everyone braced themselves for one of his habitual bouts of philosophising, but thankfully Sybil prevented that by reaching over and taking Mary's hand.
"At least you'll still have Gwen with you. That will be a comfort, won't it?"
Mary smiled brightly, as she often did in the face of trouble, and gave her sister's hand a squeeze.
"Yes. Yes of course, you're right." She looked around at them all again, trying to recapture the warm contentment of earlier. "Anyway, we're together now, aren't we?"
Edith nodded. "And we'll stick together, as Granny would say. We Crawleys always do."
Outside, where the light from the drawing room spilled onto the lawn, the young people stood together in the languid warmth of the evening. Katie and Robbie smoked cigarettes, blowing soft tendrils of smoke into the clear, star-marked sky, and all three girls had taken their shoes off, relishing the feel of the cool grass under their feet. The music from inside drifted out to them through the open windows, and the murmured highs and lows of the adults' conversation ran under it, indecipherable but comforting. It seemed impossible that the world could be on the brink of war, that there could be places where people were lying down in fear and misery, and not rejoicing in the peace of this beautiful, perfect night.
"What will you do, if there's a war?"
"I'll enlist, of course. King and country and all that. I rather fancy being an airman."
"Robbie just wants to have better war stories than Dad," Gwen teased.
"Does your father talk often about the first war?"
"No, not really, except when a situation is vexing him. Then he always says, well at least we're not in the trenches." Robbie and Gwen quoted their father in unison and laughed.
"Does yours?"
"Does Daddy talk about the war? No, not really. He didn't fight, you know. He was found unfit."
"Lucky devil. I suppose Aunt Sybil must have been pleased. Or were they not courting then?"
"I'm not sure. I think so."
"It's funny to think of our parents during the first war, isn't it? How young they were. They weren't even married."
"What about your parents, Moll?"
"They married after the war too. Apparently it was a secret for a while."
"Did your father fight?"
"No. But he fought with his lordship against the Boers. That's how he hurt his leg."
Robbie nodded. "I think Grandad might have told me that, once." He smiled briefly at Moll, a flitting, uncertain expression. War was easier to contemplate without the reminders of what it did to men. His family had been lucky to escape the last one so unscathed. Others were less fortunate. He cleared his throat.
"What do you think you'll do? Will you stay here, and look after everyone?"
"Actually, I was thinking I might go to London. I've taken a typing course and I'm actually rather good at shorthand. There must be offices that will need secretaries, or at least I reckon there will."
"I'm sure you're right. And especially during wartime, I should think there'll be loads of secretaries wanted."
"But I haven't told Mum or Dad yet, so please don't mention it. I wouldn't want them to hear about it until I've had a chance to talk them round."
"We won't breathe a word. And I hope you'll keep your lips sealed on my news as well. I went for a health inspection while I was in London, and wouldn't you know it I'm fighting fit. But I want to tell the parents in my own good time."
"You never said it was a secret," Gwen said, looking aghast.
"Gwen?"
"I'm sorry, I'd no idea how you felt. I'm afraid I've already told Dad your plans."
Robbie sighed. "And he will have told Mother, and she'll be upset."
"I'm awfully sorry!"
"Never mind. I suppose they had to find out sooner or later." Robbie patted his sister's arm, and took her hand when she offered it, squeezing it tight. It would be hard to leave her, when the time came.
"What about you, Gwen?" Katie asked. "What will you do?"
"I hadn't really thought. I suppose I've been hoping there wasn't going to be a war."
"Too late for that now," Robbie said. "The writing's on the wall."
"You'll think of something," Katie assured her. "You know you could always train as a nurse, with me. You could even work here, at the hospital."
Gwen abhorred the sight of blood, which made her sick to her stomach and light-headed, but she smiled vaguely at Katie. "Maybe. I promise to consider it." She shivered. In the past few minutes the night air seemed to have turned cooler, a harbinger of autumn, fast approaching.
"You know, I'm feeling rather tired. I think I'll go in."
"I'll follow you in in a few moments," Robbie promised. He addressed Moll. "Can I walk you home?"
"Oh no, I'm perfectly alright on my own." The firmness of her words were betrayed by the upward tone at the end of her answer, suggesting a question rather than a statement. But before Robbie had a chance to ponder what it might mean, Katie said,
"I'll go with you, Moll. It's more or less on my way and I'll just run the rest of the way home. I'm sure Mama and Daddy are wondering where I am."
After their goodnights, the three girls went their separate ways and Robbie was left alone on the lawn with his thoughts. He lay down on the grass and lit another cigarette, watching the smoke slowly dissipate to reveal the starry firmament before his eyes. He imagined himself a year from now, a month from now, up there, flying above a night-darkened England in his plane, free but forever searching, looking and watching for the lights of Downton, so impossibly small and far away below him.
That night, Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, lay down beside his beloved wife with a full heart and fell asleep. He never woke up. The next day, Britain declared war on Germany.