Tom's Last Request
As they did each evening, after dinner was over, the Crawleys adjourned to the Drawing Room, where, as usual, Carson awaited to serve them coffee.
What was decidedly unusual this particular evening however, was the marked absence of the earl of Grantham, who had suddenly excused himself from joining the rest of the family. He said he had certain matters to attend to which required his immediate and urgent attention. Not of course, that anyone believed him. Although no one, of course, had the audacity or temerity to question, what Robert Crawley had said by way of explanation to account for his absence from what, somewhat surprisingly, given all that had happened at dinner, would turn out to be a convivial family gathering.
Sybil and Tom were the last of the family to leave the Dining Room and therefore also the last to join the others in the Drawing Room. Arm in arm, they walked slowly across the stone flagged hall reflecting on all that had happened at dinner; what the Dowager Countess had seen fit to describe as a "spirited exchange of views". Arguments had continued the Dowager Countess, were always best avoided, as in the words of that awful Oscar Wilde, "they are always vulgar ... and often convincing".
As for Tom, he would not be at all surprised to learn that the "spirited exchange of views" - had been audible not only in Downton, but also nine miles away in Ripon. In Tom's view, the phrase "blazing row" seemed far more apt to describe what in fact had just taken place and which had openly flared between Sybil's father and himself on matters relating to Ireland. What Tom regretted most of all, was that he had broken his promise to darling Sybil - of keeping his hot Irish temper in check - however much he might be provoked. And, provoked he most undoubtedly had been.
Lord Grantham, for all he was an English earl, perhaps because of the very status he held, was, thought Tom, woefully blinkered, prejudiced, and singularly ill informed as to what was now unfolding across the sea in Ireland. Nevertheless, Tom was a guest in his father-in-law's house, what the others present round the dining table tonight must now think of him for openly questioning the earl, and forcefully correcting certain of his reluctant father-in-law's "ludicrous misapprehensions" on matters appertaining to Ireland, Tom dared not begin to imagine.
Tom wryly remarked to Sybil that presently he felt like a condemned man on his way to execution. That being the case, he wondered if he would be permitted the luxury of one last request, before, no doubt on her father's orders, under the ever watchful eye of Mr. Carson, being marched outside into the stable yard by Matthew Crawley, no doubt with Edith's beau, the Honourable David Sinclair, in attendance, and promptly shot for gross insubordination.
Sybil told Tom not to worry, not to be so melodramatic. Had it escaped Tom's notice that her father, Matthew and David were in evening dress, and not in military uniform?
"... although, I suppose it wouldn't take them long to change".
In any event, as far as Sybil was aware, Papa had not asked Carson to put a telephone call through to the officer commanding the military camp in nearby Ripon to request the immediate despatch of a firing squad to Downton Abbey for the personal use of the earl of Grantham. At least, not yet.
Even if he had, she was reasonably certain that Matthew did not have his service revolver with him. Sybil breezily informed Tom that possession on his person of a firearm was not usually deemed a necessary accoutrement for a gentleman attired in evening dress, although there were, of course, exceptions to every rule. However, if circumstances dictated that Matthew had need of a revolver, then there might be one locked away in one of the cases in the Gun Room, which Matthew could borrow to administer the coup de grâce to Tom, if the firing squad proved less than effective in carrying out its duties.
"Wouldn't take them long to change ... as far as you aware ... reasonably certain ... coup de grâce", echoed Tom and gulped. "Is that supposed to make me feel any better? Any of it?"
Catching sight of his woebegone expression, Sybil could contain herself no longer and burst out laughing.
"It's all right for you", grumbled Tom. Then entering into the spirit of the occasion, he grinned and his grin broadened into a smile.
"As the condemned man, I suppose ... I suppose ... I do get to have one last request?"
"I expect so", said Sybil in what she hoped sounded a suitably serious tone.
"In which case, I will ask your father ..."
Tom paused.
No, on reflection, given what it was that he intended to ask as his last request, to ask that of Robert Crawley earl of Grantham might not be a very good idea, might mean that the amount of time Tom had left on earth was rendered short; exceedingly so.
"I will ask Matthew ... Captain Crawley ... that I be permitted to spend the last hours of my earthly existence in bed with my beautiful wife. Only when she has tired of me, and only then, may I be taken outside and shot. So my love, the firing squad will be in for a very, very long wait!" laughed Tom.
Tom sounded so sure of himself, so utterly confident in his prowess as a lover - her lover - that Sybil could not resist taking the opportunity to deflate completely his ego.
"I do so profoundly regret being responsible for your untimely demise Mr. Branson, I genuinely do, but I cannot possibly accede to your last request. Tonight of all nights I have a head ache", said Sybil archly, and for dramatic effect suddenly leant against a stone pillar in the hall for mock support.
For one brief moment, Tom was not entirely certain that Sybil was still play-acting.
"Are you all right, love", he asked concern etched plainly across the handsome features of his well-loved face.
Before Sybil could reply, at that very moment, behind Tom, a motor crunched to a halt on the gravel outside the front door. Glancing over her husband's shoulder and through the window, Sybil could see that it was only Farrar in the Renault - no doubt summoned by Carson - come to drive Matthew's mother Isobel back to Crawley House.
"I can only assume that Papa did make that telephone call after all. For, if I am not very much mistaken, that, Mr. Branson, is the firing squad!" said Sybil and catching sight of the stricken look on Tom's face, promptly dissolved into helpless laughter.
