Billiards
It was but a matter of days after Tom and Sybil had arrived at Downton from Dublin, their journey across the Irish Sea over to England paid for by a mystery benefactor, that Sybil's grandmother, the Dowager Countess, issued an unexpected dinner invitation to all the family, to be held at the Dower House where she had resided ever since the death of her husband and Robert and Cora had taken up residence in Downton Abbey. The invitation was extended to all, and the Dowager Countess expected that everyone would attend.
However, given the continuing unpleasantness displayed to her husband by her father - there had been yet another scene at dinner this evening, let alone Mary's studied rudeness to Tom, Sybil told him that she had absolutely no intention of accepting the invitation and, despite her mother's, then Edith's entreaty, and thereafter Tom's best efforts, to try and prevail upon Sybil to change her mind - Tom really did not care, or so he said, what Mary or Sybil's father thought of him, Sybil was adamant; they would not be going. Not until Mary accepted Tom as her brother-in-law, and their father changed his attitude. He could be stubborn. Well, so could she!
However, so as to avoid upsetting granny, and to avoid any unpleasantness, Sybil duly let it be known that she was unwell, blamed her indisposition on her pregnancy - something else which Papa seemed unable or unwilling, perhaps both, to accept. Tom, she announced, perforce, would therefore be staying behind as well, so as to be with her, and apologies on their behalves were duly despatched to the Dower House.
Later that evening after everyone else had left to attend granny's dinner, having eaten supper in their room - well, to be truthful in Sybil's old room - another bone of contention with her father who had expected, despite them being married, that they would have separate rooms. "Of course what would really please Papa would be if I slept here and you were down at the Grantham Arms in the village!" said Sybil with a giggle.
So with the rest of the family over at the Dower House, with the exception of the servants, Tom and Sybil had the run of the entire house to themselves and Sybil decided on a whim - or was it Tom wondered afterwards - to take him on a tour of some of the downstairs rooms in which he had not, as yet, set foot.
So, having duly trooped down the Main Staircase together, they set off on what Sybil laughingly chose to call Tom's Grand Tour. First port of call was the Blue Parlour: "although it's actually painted green and has been since 1820, perhaps no-one noticed the change in the colour" said Sybil tartly: the Japanese Room: "absolutely ghastly - it could double as a stage set for an amateur production of Gilbert and Sullivan's "The Mikado" was Sybil's equally damning verdict: the Small Library - Tom hadn't known it existed, and which with its 5,000 or so volumes looked, at least to him, only slightly less imposing than Lord Grantham's Library which, of course, Tom had visited on many previous occasions. Then there was the Morning Room: "a really stupid name for it - after all, it only gets the sun in the afternoon, so we don't use it"; the Tapestry Room: "dark, dingy, dismal - full of moths", the Trophy Room:" I don't suppose you're interested one iota in seeing the rows of stags' heads and those of other more exotic species mounted on the walls?" - Tom dutifully shook his head. "Not while there's the distinct possibility I might be ending up joining them - at least while your father still hates my guts for marrying his youngest daughter!" Sybil laughed.
"Glad you find it so amusing" said Tom miserably.
"And next we have the Gun Room. Its name does rather tell you what to expect. Do you want to see inside, see the shotgun Papa has singled out to despatch you? No, thought not" said Sybil breezily, "which brings us, last of all, but by no means least, to the Billiards Room".
They were now on the far side of the house, in a wing situated well away from the main rooms which the family frequented on a daily basis, and, equally out of ear shot of the servants - who would only attend if summoned here by anyone in need of their assistance, by making use of the bell pushes on hand in each of the various rooms.
Sybil opened the door to the Billiards Room - a dark oak panelled room, the walls lined with portraits of, Tom assumed, past male members of the Crawleys, gazing down at him from their heavy gilded frames. He could almost sense their displeasure, their disapproval of him. In the centre of the room was a truly enormous billiards table. Despite the fact that the room was not used that often, and would not be tonight, a cheerful fire burned in the polished grate. Apart from the flickering light cast by the fire, the room was in complete darkness.
"This is Papa's inner sanctum - where he and any male guests staying - along with Matthew, and I suppose now you - might sometimes choose to come after dinner" said Sybil shutting the door firmly behind her. There was the faintest of clicks.
"What was that?" asked Tom.
"What was what?" asked Sybil.
"I thought I heard … sounded like the lock. Oh, it doesn't matter" said Tom.
"It's an old house" said Sybil sidling up to him. "It makes all kinds of noises".
"Do you know how to play billiards?" asked Tom idly spinning a ball across the baize.
Sybil shook her head sadly.
"No. Well not really; I've an idea of the general broadest principles of the game; you have to get the balls in these things?" She pointed to one of the pockets at the corner of the table. "What about you?"
Tom nodded.
"I was taught how to play, when I was working for the Tremaynes over in Dublin. You remember, Sybil, the place I was at before I landed the chauffeur's job here? Well, when their house in Dublin was shut up, and the family was away in London, one of the footmen showed me how to play on the billiards table there".
"And no doubt, like with everything else, you were very good at it?" grinned Sybil.
"But of course" said Tom nonchantly, himself grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat. "I was an absolute natural!"
"Would you … would you show me?" Sybil asked hesitantly.
"If you like" said Tom.
A short while later, after Sybil had been given a crash course in the rudimentaries of billiards, and which she seemed to pick up very quickly, Tom suggested that they play a game for real.
"Do we place bets on billiards? Or is that just cards?" asked Sybil idly.
"Well, you can place bets" said Tom. "But I don't have any money".
"Me neither" said Sybil. "Is there anything else we could bet instead?"
Tom grinned.
"Well …
Sometime later …
"Are you sure you haven't played this before, Sybil?
"Well, no. Not really".
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Tom aghast.
"Well, in a funny old sort of a way, Tom … I … er lied. You see, during the war, I prevailed upon a couple of the officers who were convalescing here to give me a small amount of tuition; nothing more than that I assure you. Obviously it seems to have paid off! Perhaps … perhaps I'm just like you. How did you describe yourself? Oh yes, a natural. And, just in case you think I've forgotten …" Sybil pointed at Tom's underpants with her billiard cue. "You've now just lost those as well".
"Sybil" pleaded Tom, "surely you don't mean to make me …"
"All's fair in love and war Mr Branson! Don't worry about anyone coming in!" She waved the key of the room at Tom. "And" said Sybil, who was still fully clothed, "I have an idea what we might use this for, now that the game of billiards is … er … over!" She patted the green baize surface of the billiards table provocatively. "Come here Tom …"
Tom gulped.
"Sybil, surely you don't mean that we … On your father's billiards table?"
"Why ever not?" asked Sybil. "It doesn't get much use and there's certainly room to spread out …"
The following evening after dinner, Robert and Matthew adjourned to the Billiards Room to play a game or two. It was while Matthew was chalking his cue that Robert noticed the brown tie lying on the floor. He poked at it with the end of his cue, then bent down and picked it up.
"What on earth is this ghastly thing doing in here?"
"God knows, sir" said Matthew respectfully. "It certainly doesn't look like the kind of tie a gentleman would be seen dead in, either during the week or at the week-end!"
"I have to agree with you there" said Robert. "Looks like the kind of thing a travelling salesman might wear. Or …"
"What is it?" asked Matthew.
"Oh, nothing" said Robert absentmindedly, "I've seen a tie like that recently. But that … that was on Branson, and he's never set foot in here. Why, I shouldn't think he even knows what a billiards table looks like. Or what to use it for".
But, then, as with so many other things concerning his youngest daughter's handsome Irish husband, Robert Crawley 7th Earl of Grantham, was somewhat wide of the mark!