38
One week later
When Lady Rose MacClare stepped out of the cab in front of Wightstead, she looked up at the two-storey red brick residence. A picket fence surrounded a neat but small lawn, and a gate opened on to a short flagstone path. Three steps led up to a dark green door, which, like all the windows, was surrounded by white trim. The house was something of a letdown, after all that Rose remembered of her cousin Mary. Mary had always seemed so tall and elegant, so clever, and Rose had been sure she would one day become a Countess or even a Duchess.
But when Rose had learned that Mary was to spend the rest of her life married to a middle-class lawyer, the whole thing had seemed a laugh. What a coup! Mary had found a way to escape the suffocation of upper-class life, for love, without ever once going against her parents' wishes. The whole affair had made Rose want to giggle.
It was something different, however, to actually see Mary's house now; the plainness of it, the sense of stability and, well, boredom. Rose frowned.
"Please wait here. We'll be back out in a short while," Cousin Robert said to the cab driver.
"Come along, Edward," Cora said, helping her son step down on to the pavement.
"We'll see Georgie?" Edward asked.
"Yes, he's inside," Robert answered, grinning as he turned away from paying the cab driver. "Let's go in!"
Rose gave Matthew a polite smile as she sipped her tea, but she couldn't help glancing at the clock above the mantelpiece. Across the room, Cousin Cora and Mary were talking of the children, while on the sofa to Rose's right, Matthew spoke quietly with Cousin Robert and held the sleeping baby Charlie. All the initial greetings and cooing excitement over the new grandchild had passed. Now Edward played with George on the floor before the fireplace, arranging and rearranging a set of wooden blocks while George babbled happily. The whole scene was quite idyllic and charming, but Rose could only fidget. To be so close to him and yet so unable to do a single thing about it! She looked towards the door again. The butler, Bates, was standing beside it. He glanced at her in question, but she only looked away and took another sip of her tea. How much longer were they to stay here?
Rose looked at the sleeping baby. He had a soft dusting of brown hair and an adorably tiny face, cradled there in his father's arms. Rose's gaze lifted to Matthew. He was nice-looking enough, but a rather boring chap. Rose had imagined someone a bit more dashing, for him to have prompted Mary to accept him before being sure he would remain Cousin Robert's heir, but aside from a pair of striking light blue eyes, Matthew was a bit bland. He was tall, to be sure, and his smile was open and friendly, but where was the spark?
That wasn't to say that Rose disliked him, but just that she wondered what Mary had seen in him. Mary remained as elegant and poised as ever—although perhaps softened slightly by motherhood, with a freer smile—but in these surroundings, there was something missing, and Rose frowned.
"I'm just struggling to put together a good house team," Cousin Robert was saying, gesturing in frustration. "We've so few men in the house now. The village thrashed us last year, so we've got to give it back as good we got."
"Cricket," Mrs Crawley murmured with a wry smile, sitting beside Rose on the sofa. "I'll never understand the men's obsession with it." Rose chuckled as Mrs Crawley set down her teacup. "So what brings you up to London again so soon?" The older woman asked. "I thought you hated the place and wanted to get away."
"Who told you that?" Rose asked.
"Lady Flintshire mentioned something of the sort to Cousin Violet," Mrs Crawley answered, frowning slightly.
"Darling Mummy," Rose said, putting on a smile. "I'm planning a surprise for her, and I need to be here to arrange it."
"Well, can't you stay with your parents?" Mrs Crawley asked.
"No, that would spoil everything." Rose brightened her smile.
Mrs Crawley frowned. "But won't your mother mind when she discovers it?"
"No," Rose replied. "She'll be delighted and so grateful that everyone helped with my secret. Besides, with dear Cousin Cora as my chaperone, what harm can I come to?"
At this, Mrs Crawley gave her a curious look, so Rose glanced quickly towards the baby.
"He's so beautiful," she murmured.
Mrs Crawley followed her gaze, and Matthew, smiling at Rose's words, looked down at his son with pride.
"I think we should take our leave," Cousin Robert finally announced, and Cousin Cora nodded, leaning close to say a few final words to Mary.
"Jarvis just finished a survey of the tenants," Cousin Robert said to Matthew. "I was hoping to discuss it with you and Tom. We'll be staying at Rosamund's for the rest of the week. Could you come by tomorrow afternoon, perhaps?"
"Certainly," Matthew answered, cradling the baby and rising carefully beside Cousin Robert as the older man stood up. "I'll check with Tom, but I expect we can be there."
"Excellent. Edward, come along," Cousin Robert said, beckoning to his son, and the boy leapt gracefully to his feet.
George trailed after Edward, bursting into tears when they all went to the door, but Matthew gently handed off the still-sleeping baby to Mary and picked up George, quieting him with soft murmurs. In the foyer, Bates returned everyone's things while Rose made her goodbyes, tickling George's foot as she went, and grinning when she elicited a brief giggle from him.
"It was nice to see you again," Matthew said to her. "You're always welcome."
"Thank you," she replied, "and congratulations."
Matthew smiled. "Good luck arranging your surprise."
Rose gave him a tight smile and hurried out.
"What was that about a surprise?" Mary asked, watching as their four guests got into the waiting cab.
"I'm not sure. She's arranging some sort of secret gift for her mother," Matthew answered.
"Really?" Mary narrowed her eyes. "I'm beginning to suspect Lady Rose MacClare may prove to be rather a handful."
"I think you might be right," Matthew replied, waving as the car pulled away from the kerb.
"Rosamund!" Cora greeted her sister-in-law with a smile, ushering Edward into the foyer of Painswick House and gesturing for him to give his hat to Mead.
Rosamund returned her smile. "How lovely to see you all! Robert. Rose, my, how you've grown! I almost didn't recognise you!" Rose gave her a polite nod, and Rosamund looked down at Edward. "How's my favourite nephew?" Edward only stared back up at her, so Cora moved in quickly.
"I'm afraid he's rather worn out from the day's travels," she explained.
"Oh, that's quite all right." Rosamund glanced at Mead, who nodded as he collected the rest of the bags and hats. "I've had Mrs Andrews make a special treat for you, Edward. Would you like that?"
Edward looked up at Cora, who smiled encouragingly down at him, so he nodded to Rosamund.
Edward's governess emerged from the green baize door at the far end of the hall and the boy's eyes lit up.
"Go along," Cora murmured, nudging his back. Edward hurried to take his governess's hand.
"I'll go fetch your treat, Master Edward," Mead said, giving the boy a warm look, and the butler moved past, taking the coats and hats out of sight.
The governess led Edward into the library. "Come, Master Edward. Let's see what interesting new books we might find!"
"Now," Rosamund said, turning to Cora, Robert, and Rose. "I know you're here because you all have lots of things to do, so just run about and do them."
"I'd like to go up and change," Cora said, glancing at Robert, who nodded as he moved to her side.
"I've a gala to attend this evening—I'm sorry, I can't put them off," Rosamund explained, clasping her hands together in apology, "but all the preparations have been made for you to dine here tonight. Sybil will join you."
"Where is she?" Robert asked, glancing round.
"Buried in the library with Mr Wiggins," Rosamund answered. "You won't see her until Mead rings the gong. She said she's not to be disturbed. She and Mr Wiggins will join you briefly for supper and then they'll retire to the library again. There are only a few days left before her exam. Now, I did think we'd have dinner together tomorrow, and then we can all have a proper catch-up."
"Oh," Rose said. "We could always just—"
"I insist," Rosamund replied. "A good family gossip will be my payment in kind."
"Of course." Cora nodded. "We'd be delighted."
"Good." Rosamund smiled. "Dinner is served at half past eight."
"I hope you don't mind," Robert put in, "but I invited Matthew and Mr Branson to dine here tomorrow evening. I've got a round of meetings in the morning and I need to look in at my club, but they'll likely be here in the afternoon to discuss business."
"Certainly they're welcome," Rosamund replied with an easy smile, leading the way towards the stairs. "The more, the merrier."
Rose watched the three of them heading towards the stairs, exchanging pleasantries and chuckling. When she saw that they were quite absorbed in their conversation as they went up, she sidled towards the open drawing room door, then stepped inside and quietly closed it behind her. She glanced about. Oh good! She'd guessed correctly. There was the telephone!
She hurried over to it and lifted the mouthpiece. "Hello, operator? Knightsbridge 4056..."
The house was dark and silent, and Mary sighed when she saw the thin line of light at the bottom of the study door. She quietly stepped up to stand before it and, bracing herself, she twisted the knob and went in.
Matthew was sitting in his armchair, his legs crossed, reading. He did not look up from his book, although she had made no effort to hide her entrance. As she pushed the door closed, the grandfather clock in the front parlour chimed three times, its tones sonorous and muffled through the walls.
"Come back to bed, darling," Mary murmured, drawing close to him. She watched a silent sigh move through his frame, and his shoulders sank slightly. She moved around the back of the armchair and gently ran her fingers up into his hair. Nothing was guaranteed to make him drowsy so much as a scalp massage, and she smiled in satisfaction as he dropped his head and sagged further in his chair. After a minute of enjoying her touch, he exhaled a long sigh and lifted his head, turning it in her direction.
"Is Charlie asleep already?" he asked.
"Yes."
"That was quick."
"He dozed off while he was still nursing," Mary said. "I didn't even have to walk with him."
Matthew chuckled. "He's much easier than George was."
"Thank God." Mary ruffled Matthew's hair and smiled.
Matthew sighed. "I'm sorry."
"I know. I'm not upset with you, truly. Come back to bed."
"But what if it happens again? You need your rest. So does Charlie."
"I'll sleep more deeply knowing you're beside me," Mary replied. "And he sleeps for most of the day; he'll be fine." When Matthew didn't respond, Mary frowned. "I promise not to speak until I'm certain you're awake," she said softly. "I'm sorry if I made it worse."
Matthew turned his head, lowering it and drawing it away from her still-stroking fingertips, and he lifted a hand to cover his face. His shoulders shuddered.
Mary immediately came round the chair and pulled up the footrest to sit on. She put her hands on Matthew's knee. "Darling, look at me. Tell me what it was."
He shook his head and let his hand fall away from his face as he stared past her with that empty, distant expression that haunted her so. Tears glistened around his eyes. "Just...the usual when you speak," he answered slowly, his voice rough. "I'm on a battlefield. When I hear your voice, I try to reach you, but something falls on me, trapping me, and I can't get to you. This time it was a tree that exploded nearby. All I can hear is you screaming my name, while the shells are whistling overhead and the ground is shaking, and then—" his voice caught. "—a bayonet."
Mary winced. "I'm so sorry, darling. I forgot. I'm so accustomed to quieting Charlie by speaking to him."
With an effort, Matthew moved to refocus on her, and a ghost of a smile lifted his lips as he uncrossed his legs and reached out to squeeze her hand. She gave him both of her hands, and he set his book aside to hold them in his.
"I do love you so terribly much," she said. "Come back to bed. You've a long day tomorrow and you need your rest. Papa can be a demanding taskmaster, and Aunt Rosamund an exacting hostess."
Matthew chuckled and dropped his head, nodding. When he lifted it, his expression was weary.
"But what if I wake you and Charlie again?"
Mary gave his hands a squeeze and straightened. "Then we shall simply calm everyone down and find our way back to sleep. We can stay abed for longer tomorrow morning. I have no need to rise early and you needn't leave the house until eleven, isn't that right?"
Matthew nodded.
"Well then," Mary said, rising and tugging him to his feet. "Come back to bed."
He rose, and his eyes seemed to be glistening anew as he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly for a long moment. She turned her face and pressed her lips against his neck.
When he released her, she looked up at him and said, "I promise not to speak, Matthew. I'll just touch and kiss you, as you asked. You have my word."
"I know," he answered thickly. "I'm not angry with you."
She smiled and pressed up to kiss him. "Come now."
Drawing in a deep breath, he smiled back and obeyed.
"It's not just loyalty," Anna replied, pushing another pin up into her hair as she held her bun in place with her other hand. Early morning light streamed into the small, neat, simply-adorned bedroom. "I know we have the money from selling your mother's house, but we don't have enough yet."
"We could afford the inn at Crompton," Bates said, as he pulled on his waistcoat and began buttoning it.
"Yes, but then we'd have very little left to live on, and what if it needed work done, or business was slow? No." Anna finished the bun and patted her hair, turning her head from side to side as she inspected her reflection. "I want to make sure we can buy the place outright, with enough set aside for repairs and business costs for the first two years, and also a bit on top of that, in case the need arises."
"That would be ideal, but you're asking for quite a lot."
"No." Anna smirked at John in the mirror. "I'm just asking you to be patient."
He gave her an amused look, then turned to pick up his suit coat.
"I am patient, my dear," he answered, shrugging on the garment. He limped over and bent slightly to look at his reflection in the mirror, brushing off a speck of dust on his lapel. "But we don't have much time to sort our immediate future. I want you settled soon, if we must move." His eyes met hers in the mirror before he grinned and bent to kiss her neck. She smiled and batted him off.
"Now, none of that, Mr Bates," she said, composing herself and rising. "We must start the day."
"Yes, Mrs Bates."
"I just can't stomach the thought of tourists wandering through the library at will," Robert said, nodding to Mead, who refilled Robert's glass.
Matthew frowned. "That was Mary's response when I mentioned the idea to her."
"Well, she was right. It does sound dreadful," Cora agreed. "We'd have to cordon off portions of the house, and be forced to live in only a subset of the rooms."
"You already live in only a subset of the rooms," Rosamund observed, from her place at the head of the table. Mead moved round the grandly-furnished Painswick House dining room, offering the decanter of wine to each person in turn.
"Yes, but we'd be able to live in fewer of them." Cora shot Robert a disturbed look.
"Not necessarily," Matthew replied, spearing his last piece of roasted potato. "You could establish limited viewing hours, perhaps only on weekends, for example, and the rest of the time, you'd live in all the spaces you do now."
"But we'd have to post guards to ensure that we weren't robbed, which would be an additional expense." Robert said. "I don't think this is the money-making scheme you expect it to be."
Matthew gave Robert a patient look. "If a servant led the tour, the visitors would never be unaccompanied."
"So I'm to spare servants to take gawkers around my home?" Cora asked. "And what of the extra work to be done if a visitor spills tea in the drawing room or tracks mud across the great hall? Oh, the wear in the carpets...!"
"No, you wouldn't have to offer tourists tea," Rosamund said. "It's a privilege enough to be allowed to see just a portion of the great house."
"Of course, if you wanted to set up a small tea-shop, I'm sure you could create a suitable space," Matthew suggested. "Perhaps an unused basement room, with a pleasant entrance from the outside, but kept separate from the servants' areas?"
"A tea-shop?" Cora echoed faintly.
"It sounds dreadful," Robert muttered.
"I think it sounds charming," Sybil said.
"No one is saying you have to do this," Tom said. "But you asked us for further ideas. There are many prominent families that open up their houses for visiting hours, particularly when they are not in residence."
"And this is not primarily a money-making scheme," Matthew said. "With the changing political climate, it is in your best interests to promote an open and enriching relationship with the general public. Portray the estate as a cultural resource, something that deserves to be preserved for future generations."
Robert chewed his food and frowned, dropping his gaze.
"Where is she?" Cora suddenly asked, worry creasing her brow. "She swore she'd be back by eight."
Robert looked at Sybil. "You were with her this morning. Do you know where she might have gone?"
Sybil shrugged and shook her head. "She didn't say anything about her plans to me."
"We shouldn't have started without her," Rosamund said.
"Nonsense," Matthew retorted. "She knew when dinner was to be served."
Rosamund frowned at him. "You don't think we should have waited?"
"No," Matthew replied. "Why should your delicious dinner be spoiled just because Rose has forgotten the time?"
"Oh, I shouldn't have let her out of my sight," Cora said, putting down her knife and fork. "I can't eat for the worry! What will I tell Susan if anything has happened?"
"The truth, I should think," Matthew answered. "You couldn't very well lock Rose up. I'm beginning to suspect there's a reason why Lady Flintshire sent her daughter up to Yorkshire."
Robert looked discomfited. Cora sighed and stared at her meal.
There was a sudden whispering at the door, where Mead stood quietly exchanging words with someone out of sight. Rosamund looked up.
"Mead? What is it?" she asked.
The butler gave her an apologetic glance and winced slightly as he stepped back into the room with a glance at the doorway.
"Come on," he said, with a quick, commanding gesture.
A short, round, rather rough-looking fellow appeared in the doorway. He took a couple reluctant steps into the dining room, clutching his grey cap with both hands.
Mead looked at Rosamund. "This is the driver who took up Lady Rose from outside the house, my lady."
The cab driver fixed his nervous gaze on Rosamund. "I came back because she left a scarf in the back of my cab."
"How very good of you," Matthew said to him, smiling in an encouraging fashion.
Mead glared at the cab driver. "Well, go on. Tell them why they sent you up to the dining room."
The man swallowed, still looking at Rosamund. "I know where she is, ma'am. Your maid downstairs said you might like to hear."
Cora's eyes went wide, but Rosamund only said impatiently, "And she was right. Where did she go?"
"First to Warwick Square. To pick up a...friend," the cab driver answered, his eyes shifting briefly away from Rosamund's glare.
"And then?" Robert demanded. "Did you take her somewhere else?"
The man's eyes quickly shifted to Robert's before lowering, and he nodded. "Eventually. I was sat outside for the best part of two hours."
"How very expensive," Rosamund observed in a dry tone, as Robert exchanged a discomfited glance with Cora.
The cab driver swallowed. "When they came out, they said they wanted to go to a club. The Blue Dragon, on Greek Street."
"And what sort of club is that?" Rosamund asked, lifting her chin, her eyes not breaking from the cab driver.
The man shifted, twisting his cap slightly. "Well... You know."
"That's the point," Rosamund replied in clipped tones. "I don't."
"I'll go fetch her," Matthew said quickly, pushing back from his place at the table. "Tom?"
Tom nodded, also getting to his feet. He gave Sybil an apologetic look, and she pressed her lips together in a tight smile.
"I'll come with you," Rosamund announced.
"Are you quite sure you ought to be seen in such a place?" Robert asked, standing as his sister did.
"Never mind that," Rosamund replied, already striding towards the cab driver, who hurried out of the room ahead of Mead, Matthew, and Tom. "My first concern is Rose's safety." Rosamund paused beside the door. "You should stay here, in case she comes back on her own."
Robert nodded and Cora watched anxiously as the search party left.
The brassy sounds of jazz and raucous laughter percolated up the narrow hall, and Matthew pushed aside the beaded curtain as he stepped inside the Blue Dragon. Warm, cloying air greeted him, heavy with drifting smoke and an earthy scent. His mouth dropped open slightly at the sight before him. A band of black musicians played their energetic tune up on the stage at the far end of the room, and between him and them was a sea of churning bodies. Young women swayed in deeply-coloured, slitted, shockingly-short dresses that clung to their figures, their hair flying free and their hips gyrating to the loud beat. Rouge lent an artificial brightness to their cheeks, and each face was painted in a kind of grotesque exaggeration, with bright red lips and heavily-shaded eyes. Paired with each of them were glossy, well-groomed men dressed in formal black evening wear, their teeth flashing, their eyes hungry, and their hands loose, gyrating along in time with the objects of their lust.
"This is like the outer circle from Dante's Inferno," Matthew bit out, his stomach twisting.
"The outer circle?" Rosamund echoed dryly, coming to stand at his elbow. They peered into the crowd.
"Is that her?" Matthew asked, and jutted his chin in the direction of a young woman in a bright red dress, her head piled high with wild blonde curls. She was dancing ecstatically with a dark-haired, leering man.
"Heavens," Rosamund confirmed. "What a transformation."
Two young women pushed past Rosamund and Tom, who had come to stand just inside the doorway. Rosamund pulled back in distaste, Tom in some alarm.
"And that, presumably," Rosamund continued, her eyes taking in the dark-haired man, "is the 'friend' she spent two hours with in Warwick Square."
Tom fixed his gaze on the mysterious man dancing with Rose and glared at him.
"Let's not start down that track," Matthew said, watching as Rose kissed the fellow passionately and giggled as his hands slid over her body. When Matthew saw the pair heading for a table at the side of the club, he made a quick gesture to encourage Rosamund to mount the stairs up to that seating area. She was already moving ahead of him, her handbag held before her like a shield as she cut through the crowd. Tom and Matthew followed her to the table, stopping in front of it just as Rose pulled away from another passionate embrace to reach for a glass of champagne.
Seeing them, she gave a start and pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh my Go—! How on earth did you find me?"
The dark-haired man immediately got to his feet with an easy, oily smile, and extended his hand.
Rosamund gave him a sharp-eyed gaze and shook it. "How do you do? I am a cousin of Rose's mother."
"Lady Rosamund Painswick..." Matthew prompted.
"Terence Margadale," Rose said quickly, giving a nervous chuckle as she gestured at the man, who smiled more stiffly now.
"Well, how do you do?" Mr Margadale said politely, waving at the chairs before them as he and Rose retook their seats. "Please sit down."
Rosamund sat, without removing her coat. Matthew remaining standing, as did Tom behind him.
Mr Margadale waved at a passing waiter. "Can you bring some more glasses?"
The waiter nodded, and Tom stood aside to let him continue on through the narrow space between the tables.
"Tell me," Rosamund began pleasantly. "Where is Mrs Margadale?"
Mr Margadale smile affably. "She's in the country at the—"
He cut himself off and exchanged a nervous chuckle with Rose, who placed a hand defensively on his arm as she looked at Rosamund and Matthew.
"Er—Terence used to work for Daddy so he's more of a family friend, really," Rose explained.
"Ah, so dear Shrimpie will be pleased to hear about him, will he?" Rosamund asked.
Rose sat forward with wide eyes, her hand extended in protest. "No, please—"
"Why don't we dance?" Matthew declared, striding past and pulling her up out of her seat as he went. She spun, quickly regained her balance, and hurried behind him as he led her out into the sea of bodies with a firm grip on her wrist. He found an open spot and held her in a relaxed waltz frame, standing straight and tall and leaving plenty of space between their bodies.
"Now, look," Matthew said, no nonsense in his tone. "I think I can just about get Rosamund to keep her mouth shut, if you come back with us now and have nothing more to do with this man, at least not until you are out of Robert's and Cora's charge." He glanced up towards Rosamund and Tom, who remained in an awkward silence as they stared across the table at Mr Margadale.
Rose twisted to look over Matthew's shoulder as he turned her again. "But you know he's—he's—he's terribly unhappy and it's not his fault at all. His wife is absolutely horrid—"
Matthew turned her again, his expression unchanged. "Married men who wish to seduce young women always have horrid wives. I suggest you meet Mrs Margadale before you come to any final conclusions."
Rose pouted up at him. "You're wrong. He's in love with me. He wants to marry me just as soon as he can get a divorce."
"And when will that be?"
Rose dropped her gaze. "Well, you see, it's terribly difficult..."
"Yes, I thought it might be. Now, are you going to accept my conditions, or do I throw you to Lady Rosamund?" Matthew turned Rose again, keeping their steps quick in time with the music, but his movements had a merely utilitarian air.
Rose frowned up at him. "Why are you helping me?"
Matthew gave her a gentle, self-deprecating smirk. "I'm on the side of the downtrodden."
She blinked, and he dropped the pretence of dancing with her. Keeping his grip on her wrist, he led her from the dance floor.
"Excuse me," he said, moving through a gyrating couple.
Back at the table, Rosamund sat stiffly, both of her hands gripping her handbag. Addressing her, Mr Margadale gestured at the still-standing Tom with a glass of champagne. "He's not a very talkative one, is he?"
Rosamund eyed Tom, who was glaring at Mr Margadale. Her lips pulled up in a smirk. "I rather think you wouldn't much like what he has to say."
Tom's mouth softened slightly, but his gaze remained unchanged. Mr Margadale squirmed.
They all looked up when Matthew and Rose appeared beside the table.
"Rose is feeling rather tired, so we're leaving," Matthew announced, and started towards the exit. Rosamund and Tom immediately moved to follow.
Mr Margadale sat forward, reaching out. "But won't you at least stay for a—"
But they were gone, disappearing through the beaded doorway a moment later.
"This is all so terribly unfair!" Rose hissed, glaring at Matthew as he escorted her up the steps to Painswick House.
"Nevertheless, these are the terms," Matthew replied calmly.
Rosamund paused on the steps and turned to look back at them. "I don't feel right not telling Susan about this."
Rose blanched. "Mummy wouldn't understand."
"Nor do I," Rosamund snapped. "What were you thinking? A respectable, well-born young woman, going out with a married man?"
"Rose knows that it all depends on her behaviour for the rest of her stay," Matthew said, lifting his hand to calm Rosamund, then turning his gaze on Rose. "If I hear of one false step, I shall personally telephone Lady Flintshire."
Rose huffed in annoyance, but finally nodded.
Rosamund's mouth flattened. "Very well. But I don't approve."
She continued up the steps and a curtain immediately fell into place on one side of the door. A moment later, Mead pulled the door open and the three of them went inside.
Hearing the sounds in the foyer, Robert, Cora, and Sybil emerged from the drawing room, and Cora gave a soft cry of relief. Robert's eyes were narrowed as he took in Rose's appearance. Rose's bright red dress was carefully covered up with her long coat and a high-necked scarf, but her face and hair remained as they had been in the club, and she looked rather garish in the bright lights and elegant surroundings of the foyer.
"You're all right!" Cora exclaimed, smiling at the girl as she reached her. Rose gave her a shaky smile in return.
"What happened?" Robert demanded.
Mead offered to take Matthew's hat but Matthew waved him off, so the butler quietly carried away Rosamund's coat and handbag.
"Rose went dancing with a friend and quite forgot the time," Matthew replied, eyeing Rose and then glancing at Rosamund, whose mouth was set in a thin line. "It won't happen again."
"It most certainly will not!" Robert barked. "Your parents entrusted you to our care and you gave us a terrible fright! How could I have faced your father if something had happened to you?"
Rose's eyes widened and her mouth trembled.
"Papa..." Sybil pleaded gently.
Matthew put a light hand on Rose's shoulder. "She's back safely now. I suggest we all retire. It's late."
"Where's Tom?" Robert asked.
"We dropped him at his flat on the way back," Matthew answered. "Do you have more you'd like to discuss? We could come see you tomorrow to finish up."
Robert waved his hand dismissively, stepping closer to Matthew as the women moved away, Rose clinging to her coat despite Mead's repeated offer to take it. "No, that shouldn't be necessary. I have some other business to attend to tomorrow. Shall we plan to meet again in November, when I've had a chance to implement a few of your latest proposals and we can see how they're coming along?"
Matthew smiled. "That sounds fine."
Robert sighed as he watched the women ascend the stairs. "Thank you so much for bringing her back."
"I wouldn't let her go out unescorted again," Matthew said. "I know many young women are allowed to go around without chaperones nowadays, but I don't think she's quite ready for the responsibility yet."
"I should think not." Robert answered grimly, then stood back with a small smile. "Give my grandsons my love."
Matthew grinned and turned to go. "I will."
"And give my love to Mary, as well." Robert paused. "Will you spend some time at home now, or must you travel again immediately?"
"Oh, I plan to remain here for at least the next few weeks," Matthew said, putting on his hat as Mead opened the front door. "It will be a very welcome reprieve."
"I'm glad to hear it." Robert gave a brief nod. "Good night."
"Good night," Matthew replied with a smile, and he went out.
Matthew turned on to the darkened drive and slowly pulled the car into the carriage house, cutting the rumbling of the motor. Gathering up his briefcase, he stepped out and closed the door as quietly as he could, mindful of Anna and Bates, who were likely asleep just above. The yellow glow cast by the streetlight spread out on the driveway behind him and illuminated the stone steps from the garage up to the back door, enabling him to slip silently into the house.
He went through the scullery and into the kitchen, pausing beside the counter to lift the cover of the biscuit tin. Bending down to take a whiff, he smiled and snagged a biscuit, then replaced the cover, turning to continue on through the kitchen as he took a bite.
The pungent taste of a lump of baking soda made him wince and cover his mouth. Frowning, he swallowed the bite he'd taken, then dropped the remainder of the biscuit in the bin under the sink. They really did need to find a better cook.
There was a creak and a scrape, and Matthew turned. Bates stood at the foot of the narrow stairway that led to his and Anna's apartment.
"Good evening, Bates."
"Good evening, sir. I just wanted to ensure you weren't an intruder."
Matthew smiled. "Well, not an unwanted one, I hope."
At Bates's answering smile, Matthew turned.
"Actually, sir—" Bates put out a hand, stepping into the kitchen and letting the door swing closed quietly behind him. He lowered his voice. "If I might have a word?"
"Yes, of course." Matthew paused.
"Might we speak privately with you and Lady Mary tomorrow morning, before you go out?"
"Certainly." Matthew frowned. "Is everything all right?"
"Quite," Bates answered, his teeth flashing in the dimness of the kitchen. "But it's an urgent matter."
"I'll speak with Mary. Perhaps after breakfast, when the children are settled?"
"Very good, sir."
"Good night."
With a nod, Bates disappeared back up the stairs, and Matthew continued on through the kitchen. He bent to wipe his fingers on a cloth, then pushed through the door into the hall and walked to the study. Setting his briefcase on a high shelf, he pulled up the roll-top desk cover, turned on the lamp, and briefly thumbed through the post, finding only the doctor's bill and a new parish calendar. Nothing pressing. He closed the desk and turned off the light.
The usual stair creaked as he ascended, making him wince, but then he smiled when he reached the top and saw that his pyjamas were laid out in a neat pile on the small table outside the bathroom. Taking them inside, he quickly readied himself for bed.
When he slipped into the darkened bedroom a few minutes later, he crept carefully over to peek in the bassinet.
"Don't you dare rouse him!" Mary muttered sleepily. Matthew chuckled, turning away from the bassinet to press a quick kiss to her cheek before going round and settling into bed beside her. She pressed back against him with a contented sigh when he drew her close. "How was your day?"
"Good," he whispered. "Murray agreed to let us stay in town until the end of October."
"Oh, good."
"Yes. Tom and I will scout for properties. We want to settle on something definite by then." Matthew gave Mary a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry, we'll be sure to get your approval first."
There was a smile in her tone. "And Papa?"
"Robert was open to some things, although less keen on others."
"That's to be expected."
"Mmm. And I have much to tell you of young Lady Rose, who proved quite as troublesome as you suspected."
"In the morning," Mary murmured.
"In the morning," Matthew agreed, settling more comfortably against her and smiling as he drifted off to sleep.
"Yes, they've gone. Nanny has taken George to the park to feed the ducks," Anna answered, smiling as she tidied up Mary's bedside table, removing the breakfast tray and Charlie's soiled burp cloths. "Mrs Harrow gave him a bag of breadcrumbs."
"Only the crumbs? What about the rest of the rolls?" Matthew asked, shooting Mary a look. She widened her eyes at him in warning and adjusted the cloth she'd draped over herself and Charlie as he lay cradled in her arm, nursing contentedly.
Anna suppressed a smirk. "It was a large bag, sir."
"Those are going to be very fat ducks," Matthew muttered, bending down to tug on his shoes.
Anna turned to leave with the breakfast tray, but there came a firm rapping on the bedroom door, and she paused. Bates pushed the door open and entered, taking in the scene before his eyes met Anna's. She gave him a slight nod and set the tray back down on the bedside table, so he leaned on his stick and closed the door behind him.
"Ah, Bates, there you are," Matthew said, straightening up as he finished tying his shoelaces. "Come in."
Bates stepped forward to stand beside Anna, and Mary looked up at them in surprise.
"My lady," Anna said, then glanced at Bates. "Might we have a moment?"
"Certainly," Mary answered, frowning with curiosity. "What's this?"
Bates and Anna looked at Matthew, who quickly stepped round the bed with an apologetic smile at them all.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Matthew said, "it slipped my mind."
"If now is not a good time—" Bates began, but Mary silenced him with a toss of her head, shooting Matthew a look before giving Bates an encouraging smile.
"It's perfectly fine. What is it?" she asked, her eyes moving between him and Anna.
"We need to discuss possible changes in the staffing arrangements, my lady," Bates said.
Mary sighed and glanced at Matthew. "I know. Mrs Harrow will need to be replaced soon."
"No, my lady, it's not that—well," Anna gestured nervously, "—yes, we agree with that plan, of course, but..." Anna straightened and clasped Bates's hand before returning her gaze to Mary. "...we're expecting, my lady."
A wide, delighted smile suddenly lit up Mary's face, and Matthew let out a surprised laugh.
"Oh! Is it true?" Mary asked, her eyes moving to where Anna had laid her palm against her belly. Anna was smiling now as she squeezed Bates's hand and met his warm gaze with her own.
"How wonderful!" Matthew exclaimed, grinning.
"Now," Mary said, her tone returning to business even as she continued smiling. "How long before I'll need to hire a new maid?"
"Late March, most likely," Anna answered.
"So, late February, to give you time to train her," Mary said. Anna nodded.
"We thought..." Bates paused, glancing down at Anna. "Would you allow us to share only my salary?"
Anna continued in a rush. "If we might be permitted to stay," she said, "we would be content to each work part of the time and share the raising of our child."
Bates looked at Matthew. "You've been very generous to us and we're grateful, but you needn't keep both of us on full salaries to run this household smoothly."
Matthew raised his eyebrows and turned to Mary.
"Particularly if we hire an under-maid," she agreed. "But it's an unusual arrangement."
Anna and Bates nodded.
"Let us consider it," Matthew said, looking back at them. "We'll give you our decision in a day or two."
"Thank you, sir," Bates replied.
"Congratulations." Matthew stepped forward with a smile, holding out his hand, and Bates released Anna's, quickly switching his stick to his left hand and shaking Matthew's with his right. "We're very happy for you both."
Grinning, Bates moved the stick back to his right hand and turned to go. Anna slipped past Matthew, a wide grin on her own face, and gathered up the breakfast tray and cloths. Her eyes met Mary's, and the two women shared a smile before Anna followed her husband out of the bedroom.
"Well!" Matthew said, turning to Mary. "This is going to be interesting."
She chuckled and arched an eyebrow before reaching down to pull back the covering cloth and stroke the wisps of brown hair on Charlie's scalp as he nursed. "Quite."
"Yes, I'll consider it," Mary said. "Have a good morning with Tom."
Matthew gave her a teasingly wide-eyed look of desperate relief. "Thank you!"
"I won't ask if you plan to come home for lunch, then," she replied with a smirk, allowing him to kiss her cheek before he put on his hat.
"Good, because I don't want to give you my honest answer." His eyes twinkling, he opened the front door and went out.
Isobel appeared at the top of the stairs. "Was that Matthew?"
"Yes," Mary answered. "Do you want me to call him back?"
"No," Isobel replied, waving her hand as she descended. "It's only that I'm thinking I ought to head back to Downton tomorrow." She reached the bottom of the stairs. "You and Charlie seem to be doing well and I'm sure I'm just imposing now."
Mary gave her mother-in-law a warm look. "You're always welcome, Isobel, you know that."
Isobel smiled, but demurred, starting towards the dining room with her stationery and letters.
"Actually, I thought I might ask you something," Mary said.
Isobel paused. "Yes?"
Mary took a step closer, lowering her voice as she glanced towards the closed kitchen door at the end of the hallway. "Do you think Mrs Bryant might be open to Ethel seeing her little Charlie after all?"
Isobel blinked and look away a moment. "You know, I think she might." Isobel eyed Mary shrewdly. "What are you thinking of?"
Mary's eyes darted towards the closed door again. "Hiring Ethel."
Isobel brightened. "I think it an excellent idea," she pronounced. "Shall I deliver your offer to Ethel tomorrow?"
"Let me call on Mrs Bryant first," Mary said, then smirked. "Inviting her to visit with her grandson might be good practice for adjusting to the social mores of the middle class." Mary finished this last with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes.
Isobel chuckled. "Very well."
Mary smiled and slipped past, heading for the study as Isobel disappeared into the dining room. Closing the study door firmly, Mary crossed to her desk and lifted the telephone mouthpiece.
"Belgravia, 4423," she said, and waited as the operator connected the lines.
After two rings, Mead picked up. "Lady Rosamund Painswick's residence, her butler speaking. How may I be of service?"
"It's Lady Mary for Lady Rosamund," Mary replied.
"One moment, my lady." There was soft thunk and a shuffling, and a second later, Rosamund spoke.
"Mary, dear, good morning! What a pleasant surprise!"
"Good morning, Aunt Rosamund. Who's with you?"
"No one. Robert's out at his club or some such and Cora has taken Edward to Harrods," Rosamund replied. "Sybil is buried in the library, as usual, and Rose is keeping to her room."
Mary did not ask why. "Excellent. I'd like to take lunch with you and Rose, at a minimum. Would tomorrow suit?"
"I think they're heading back to Downton tomorrow," Rosamund said, a slight note of wry humour in her voice. "Why not join us today? I'll arrange for a proper luncheon."
"Will Mama be there?"
"I expect so."
Mary thought a moment. "I'll need your assistance."
Rosamund chuckled. "Matthew told you of last night's adventure, did he?"
"Yes." Mary grimaced. "It sounded dreadful."
"It was," Rosamund answered fervently. "What are you thinking of?"
"Have you had Shrimpie and Susan to dinner yet?"
"Ahhh...clever. No, I haven't even sent the invitation. I hadn't thought there was such a rush."
"Oh, there isn't," Mary replied. "I would think it wise to wait until after Sybil receives her marks and we know whether all the effort is even necessary."
"I agree. And you'd like my help in...convincing dear young Rose that assisting us is in her best interests, without your parents being any the wiser?"
"Precisely."
Rosamund laughed. "Luncheon is served at half-past. I'll tell Sybil."
"Thank you, Aunt Rosamund."
"No, thank you! I haven't had this much fun in years."
With a soft chuckle, Mary set down the receiver and felt a welcome glimmer of her old self. What to wear? She pressed a finger to her lips, then smiled. One of the new outfits would do for luncheon at Painswick House. Matthew had given her the dresses a few months earlier, in thanks for coordinating their move to London, but she hadn't been able to wear them for more than a week or two before the growing baby had demanded a different wardrobe. With the effects of childbearing still visible on her body, the straight, stylishly-loose cut of the fabric would drape nicely round her recovering form. She was pleased with how quickly she was returning to her usual proportions, something that Isobel attributed to the nursing.
With that thought in mind, Mary went in search of Anna and Nanny. George seemed to have weaned himself by now, but Charlie would need to nurse before Mary went into town.
November 1920
"We're not to be disturbed."
"Yes, Lord Flintshire."
The sounds of telephones and typewriters cut off abruptly when the secretary pulled the heavy door closed, and Sybil swallowed as she looked across the desk at Shrimpie. His grey beard gave him a certain dignified air, but there were new lines under his eyes. She hadn't seen him since before the war and he seemed to have aged significantly. He was giving her a friendly smile now, but a sharp, curious look lit his eyes.
"How nice of you to drop by, my dear," he said. "Is everything quite all right?"
"Oh, yes," she replied, and set her handbag down beside her foot. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
"Thank you for waiting."
"Of course."
"So what brings you here today? I assume it isn't a social call." His glance at their surroundings made her give a soft laugh.
"No, not quite." She sat up straighter. "I know you're a busy man, so I'll get right to it."
He chuckled. "I wouldn't expect anything less of a granddaughter of Aunt Violet."
"I'm engaged to marry Tom Branson, Matthew's business partner."
"Congratulations." Shrimpie gave her a polite smile. "How can I help?"
"Our situation is rather complicated," Sybil said.
Shrimpie raised his eyebrows. "Complicated how?"
"I don't know if Mama and Papa told you, but I've applied to medical school."
"I had heard that, yes. I wish you all the best, my dear."
"Thank you. I've just received my marks and they're very good, but I cannot be accepted into the programme if I am a married woman."
Shrimpie frowned. "It's very unfortunate, but I do not see how I can make a difference. An English medical school is hardly under the jurisdiction of the Foreign Office."
"No, it's not that." Sybil bit her lip. "Tom and I still plan to marry, because the dean has said that if we keep it quiet, I would be permitted to study. We need your help to ensure the marriage does not become public knowledge."
"A secret marriage?" Shrimpie frowned, then narrowed his eyes. "Do your parents know of this?"
"Yes, we made our announcement to the whole family in April."
Shrimpie's frown deepened. "Robert hasn't mentioned any of this to me."
"Mama and Papa wouldn't have spoken of my engagement, because we've asked them to keep it quiet."
Shrimpie sat back in his chair. "I still fail to see how any of this involves me."
"If you could host us at Duneagle for Christmas," Sybil said plainly, "then no one would bat an eyelid if I were to disappear for a few weeks."
He gave her an incredulous look. "You want me to convince Susan to allow you and your fiancé to pretend to spend a few weeks at our estate while you and he actually do what? Run away together?"
"Not exactly." Sybil smiled nervously. "Whether you extend an invitation to Tom is up to you. But by law, I must spend three weeks in Scotland before we can be married without the banns."
Shrimpie's face relaxed and he opened his mouth in a slow 'ah' of understanding. Then he blinked and sat forward. "Why not just apply to your local ordinary for a special dispensation? They have the authority to waive the banns. At least, they do if Mr Branson is Catholic, which I assume he is, from what Robert has said of him."
Sybil considered this a moment, then said, "Well, we can't be married at Downton; that would hardly lend itself to keeping such a secret. But the more important issue is that we don't wish to draw attention, in Downton or London or anywhere else. That would defeat the point."
Shrimpie sat back and eyed her for a long moment. "I'll consider it," he finally said. "But only if your father does not object."
Sybil nodded. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," he answered. "I'm not the one who will be difficult to convince."
As the cab trundled through the city, Sybil stared out the window, watching the passers-by, and wondered how Tom was faring with the dean. He'd assured her that he was prepared to do whatever was necessary to provide for and support her, but what was Dr Henley telling him now? Was Tom having second thoughts?
Her grip on her handbag slipped, so she lifted her hands, one at a time, to wipe her damp palms on her skirt. Her stomach churned.
What did Tom see in her? He had risked his livelihood to tell her he loved her, and how had she repaid him? She'd kept him at arm's length for years, and now she was demanding that he live with her in secret for years more, without children or even a particularly attentive wife. If she succeeded at achieving an entrance, she would be gone much of the time, her hours long and her energy devoted to others. Sybil wanted to become a physician, but would the sacrifices be worth it? Could she really make a difference that would matter to anyone? And even if she did, would it matter compared to how she'd treated him? Would he grow to resent her after years of her leaving him behind for her work?
Her thoughts spun round, so she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
"Here we are, miss," the cab driver said. The car bumped and rolled to a stop, and Sybil opened her eyes.
Tom stood outside on the pavement in his best brown suit, a sombre expression on his face. All at once, he broke into a grin, and his eyes twinkled at her as he stepped forward. She exhaled a quiet laugh.
"Thank you," she answered, handing a few shillings to the cab driver as Tom opened the cab door.
"Come," he said and gave her a hand out of the cab. Once he closed the door, she fell eagerly into step beside him, alternating between hurrying to keep up with him and searching his face. But he said nothing further until they had gone two blocks and turned down a narrow side street.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"There's a good pub just there," he answered, pointing at a cheerful black sign with gold lettering and a dog and a loaf of bread embossed on it. At her look of surprise, he shrugged. "I did a bit of scouting," he explained. "If I ever need to see you home from the School, I wanted to find a safe place for us to meet."
"And a place to keep warm while you wait."
"Just so."
They went up to the Bark and Bread, the bell over the door jangling as they went in. The place was warm and dark, and smelled of ale and smoke and chips. Sybil followed Tom to a booth, where they took their seats.
"What did she say?" Sybil asked.
Tom's sombre expression returned. "She asked a great many questions, some of which I would have preferred not to answer. But I thought if I held anything back, she'd do the same."
Sybil nodded. "Did she give you the third degree?"
"She wasn't antagonistic," Tom answered. "But she painted quite a stark picture."
Sybil felt a small stab. "Was it worse than you expected?"
"Not in the particulars, no," he answered, "but I was surprised to learn that the later years would likely be more difficult than the earlier ones."
"Once I begin working in the wards, the hours will be much longer," she agreed with a nod, then winced. "Did she press you to answer very personal questions?"
"Some." Tom shrugged. "But I appreciated her bluntness and honesty."
"She shouldn't have invaded your privacy."
"I don't begrudge her that. She just wants to be quite sure."
Sybil swallowed, drawing in a deep breath. "And...is she?"
"Yes." He smiled. "She told me to tell you this: 'Mr Branson will not prove an impediment to your application.'"
"Oh, Tom!" Sybil broke into a wide grin and steepled her hands, pressing her fingers to her lips.
Tom opened his mouth to continue, but just then the waiter came by. He had thick, twisted burn scars on one side of his face. It was the kind of injury Sybil had seen many times on wounded soldiers during the war. She quickly focused on his eyes.
"What'll ye have?" the young man asked, glancing between them.
"A pint of Guinness, and bangers and mash, with peas," Sybil said. The waiter's eyebrows rose, but he merely nodded and turned to Tom, who appeared to be repressing a grin as he looked across at Sybil.
"The same," he answered. "But without the peas."
"We've carrots," the waiter said.
Tom looked at him. "That'll be fine. And two glasses of water."
With a nod, the waiter strode off.
Tom regarded Sybil with a speculative, amused expression.
"What?" she asked, jutting out her chin. "I've always wanted to try it, ever since you let me have that sip of yours when we were out with Mary and Matthew ages ago."
Tom's lips twitched. "You didn't look like you much enjoyed it."
Sybil shifted, sitting up more primly. "I was a bit shocked at the time, but I didn't...mind it."
"I didn't hear you asking for more."
"I couldn't, not in front of Mary."
Tom chuckled. "Well, fair warning: I won't let you drink the whole pint, not until I'm sure you can hold your liquor. Lady Rosamund would never forgive me if I brought you home three sheets to the wind."
Sybil gave him an incensed look, but at his firm expression, she sighed and sat back. "Very well. But I'll not let you baby me forever."
"Hard drinking isn't going to prove anything about your competence as an adult."
She arched an eyebrow and smirked. "Not the sort of thing I'd expect to hear from an Irishman."
Something flashed briefly in his eyes, but then he put on a tight smile and sat forward, interlacing his fingers, his elbows resting on the table. "Not all of us are drunkards," he said, "and given our situation, can you truly blame those of us who are?"
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
Tom sat back. "Forgiven."
The waiter appeared with their glasses of water and then left.
After taking a sip, Sybil fixed Tom in a direct look. "I don't want to merely go from being controlled by my father to being controlled by my husband," she said, watching as Tom's brows pulled down. "If I've had a hard day and I want to nip off for a drink and some time to myself, I want the freedom to do that."
"You can have a glass of wine at home just as well," he answered, still frowning.
"But could I really relax with everyone around?" Sybil asked. "Mary and Matthew, all the children, a houseful of servants..." Sybil swallowed. "...and you."
Tom's frown faded, to be replaced by a different look altogether, one that she couldn't quite name. There was a smile in it, but there was something else as well. "Yes, me. Alcohol isn't the only way to relax, you know."
She blinked, frowning in curiosity. He raised his eyebrows and his smile widened.
She felt her cheeks grow hot and she looked away, quickly taking another sip of water. When her eyes flickered back up to his, something deep within her stirred in response to his gaze, which remained amused and confident. Her skin tingled and she was filled with both eager curiosity and trepidation. She wanted this. She understood the basic mechanics of it. She'd seen men naked many times before, as she'd cared for them in the hospital wards. For all her worldliness, however, she was still uninitiated, and unsure exactly what would be required of her. Hadn't Mary implied that Sybil's being with Tom in that way would be somewhat demanding, impeding her sleep, not encouraging it?
She was relieved by the brief reprieve of the waiter arriving with their food and drinks, but after eating in silence for a minute, she leaned forward, lowering her voice.
"So it's...relaxing?" she asked. Tom's head shot up, and then he dropped his eyes slightly and swallowed. He smiled as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. She sat back, frowning. "I hadn't realised you were so experienced."
His smile fell away. "Not much more than you are, I expect."
She narrowed her eyes. "Then how do you know?"
"It was just something my grandfather once said in passing," Tom answered, reddening slightly.
"But...a friend...once told me that a husband would wake me at night, to..." she drifted off with a pointed shrug.
Tom raised his eyebrows. "Well, I can't honestly say I'm opposed to the idea of...waking you," he answered, resting his fork on his plate. "Look, I know you're going to be tired and you won't have much left for me, or anyone, at the end of the day. But I can promise you this: I will never force myself on you." The corners of his mouth tugged up. "I don't know who your 'friend' is, but never you mind them. We'll work it out together."
She glanced down with a nod and he took another bite, but after a moment, she chuckled, prompting him to look up at her.
She grinned. "I'm so looking forward to not feeling the least bit awkward with you about any of this any longer."
A smile broke across his features and he laid down his knife, reaching across the table to clasp her hand. His grip was warm and reassuring, and she relaxed.
"So am I!" he agreed, laughing softly.
She smiled at him, squeezing his hand, and they reluctantly drew apart to return to their meal.
"Shall I tell Aunt Rosamund to set her wheels in motion?"
He laughed. "Yes, please do." Sobering, he lifted a forkful of carrots. "How was your meeting with Lord Flintshire?"
"I think he'll help us, but he might telephone Papa first before he agrees to it."
Tom swallowed his food. "He won't try to stop us, surely?"
"No..." Sybil frowned, then sighed. "But I just wish he would give us his blessing."
Tom regarded her with a patient look. "He's been nothing but polite to me. It's more than I had expected." Sybil nodded, although her expression remained pained. Tom gave her an encouraging smile. "We'll be official soon enough, with or without his blessing."
Sybil pushed food round her plate for a long moment, and then she sighed and spoke in a low tone. "'Soon enough'? I don't think I can bear to wait until Boxing Day!"
He gave a small groan and closed his eyes, his soft laugh of agreement his only answer. A moment later, he looked up at her, and that expression she was coming to recognise had returned.
She cleared her throat and made a determined stab at a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "I purchased the supplies we discussed. Have you had much luck with yours?"
"I've found a place," he answered. "The chemist was very helpful. He said that if we want them, we should ask for 'a little something for the weekend', and everyone would know what we meant. Oh—and he mentioned that we won't be able to buy any in Ireland."
"Why not?" she asked.
"They're outlawed."
"Ah," she replied, and took a bite.
Tom chuckled. "Perhaps that's why we say, 'Oh you have five children! So you've been married five years, then?'"
She smiled and watched him eat for a moment, then asked, "Does it bother you, agreeing to this?"
He chewed and frowned, then shook his head. "No. It's what is right for us, right now."
She reached out to touch his hand again. "Thank you," she said softly. "For all of it. Truly. Thank you."
"You're worth it all and far more," he answered, his smile warm, and she looked forward to when their meal would end, and she could step outside, find a quiet spot, and kiss him.
Several days later
"Mary, Sybil, and Rose want to go skiing," Matthew said with a shake of his head, as he drew more folders out of the filing cabinet and laid them in the box that stood on the desk beside him. "I'm afraid I don't much see the appeal of flinging myself down a mountainside."
"There's always cross-country," Tom offered, and Matthew tilted his head and shrugged. Tom finished rolling and tying a bundle of maps together, carefully tucking it into a box near his feet.
"Well, I don't suppose it will much matter if the weather doesn't cooperate." Matthew sighed. "According to Rose, there was almost no snowfall last winter."
"You'll be bringing your Brownie, right?"
"Of course," Matthew answered. "How could I resist photographing such a beautiful landscape? But Mary would be bored to tears, following me around while I tried to frame the perfect shot."
"I'm sure you'll come up with something to do," Tom said. "At least you'll have company. That's more than I can say."
Matthew grunted and shook his head. "Not very pleasant company, if Mary is right."
"Lord Flintshire seems a decent enough fellow. He's been very kind in supporting our plans."
"True."
Tom hefted his box of maps and went down the stairs to put it in the boot of the Runabout. When he returned to his flat, he found Matthew unscrewing the legs of the drafting table, and went over to help.
"It will only be three weeks," Matthew said with a grin. "Then you'll have all the company you want."
Tom chuckled. He made quick work of one leg and moved on to the final one. "I just hope she won't tire of me."
Matthew laughed. "She won't, not if you let her set the pace."
"Sometimes—" Tom grunted as he lifted the drafting table up on to its side, propping it against the wall, "—I feel as though wild stallions couldn't hold me back."
"I know exactly what you mean," Matthew said.
Exchanging a smile, they went back to packing up all the office supplies. After a few minutes, a rumbling pulled up outside and cut out. Tom went to the window.
"The lorry's here," he announced.
"Excellent."
"Mr Branson!" an older woman's voice called up the stairs.
"Yes, I'll see them in, Mrs Harrigan," Tom called back.
"Tracking mud all over my carpets..." The landlady's voice faded away as she went back into her rooms, and Tom and Matthew exchanged an amused, longsuffering glance before Tom hurried down the stairs to direct the moving men.
"You're making good progress," Mary observed, stepping into the new office. One of the movers checked himself, gawking as he went round her. Tom glanced up from his unpacking in surprise, then amusement. Even in these surroundings, she managed to look every inch an aristocrat, from her elegant hat down to her coat and her stylish boots.
"Hello, darling," Matthew said. "How was your shopping?"
Mary shrugged. "I've sent Anna home with a few things. Will you be done before tea?"
"Why do you ask?" Matthew smirked. "Do we have some pressing appointment?"
Mary pulled off her gloves, drifting round the room as she glanced at things. "As a matter of fact, we do."
Matthew gave her look. "I told you we'd need the whole day to arrange things. Possibly two."
Tom straightened. "That's all right, you go. I can see to getting the place in order."
"It's for all three of us," Mary announced. "I've just run into Mr Napier and Mr Blake and invited them to tea. Here."
Matthew raised his eyebrows. "You 'just ran into' them?"
"Well, Frankie told me where I might find them and I stopped by..." Mary smiled, giving an expressive shrug.
Matthew glanced at Tom, who just pressed his lips together and stayed out of the fray.
"We're going to have to find the teapot," Matthew muttered, frowning at the stacks of unlabelled boxes, as another pair of moving men came in carrying the disassembled drafting table.
Mary smiled at Tom. "How was your meeting with Murray this morning?"
"I've given my notice," he answered. "He didn't look all that disappointed."
Matthew glanced at Tom. "It's Murray. He didn't look pleased, either." Matthew turned to Mary. "He's accepted our terms. Tom will leave after the first week of December, but I'll stay on through January, to finish the legal work I've promised the last few clients."
"What about new clients?"
"I've agreed not to solicit further legal work from any of them, but we can continue to offer our services to their firm's clientele as assessors and restructuring consultants."
"Did you negotiate a finder's fee?" Mary asked.
"Yes," Matthew answered. "If Murray refers any clients to us and we take them on, we'll pay him a flat rate."
"Good." She removed her hat and looked for a place to set it down, along with her gloves and handbag. "Why is it so cold in here?"
Tom gestured at a nearby cast-iron radiator. "They take time to warm up. The chill ought to be out of the air within a half-hour."
Mary nodded and left her coat on, then suddenly strode across the room towards where the moving men were trying to set up the drafting table. "No, no: the longer legs go on this end. Angle it so the lower end is facing the room. The lamp attaches there."
"Yes, m'lady," the older of the two moving men said, quickly shifting to obey.
As Mary continued to direct the movers, Matthew and Tom focused on unpacking their boxes and staying out of her way. When they were safely out of earshot, working in Matthew's office, Tom glanced back towards the lobby.
"Have you given any thought to my suggestion?" Tom asked.
Matthew looked up, then followed Tom's glance towards where Mary strode about.
"She found the teapot," Tom observed.
"I do agree with you," Matthew said slowly. "But it's more complicated than that. She manages so much already. I don't want to tax her too much."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Could you really stop her?"
Matthew half-chuckled, half-sighed.
"You might as well make it official."
"I'll think about it," Matthew agreed, then went back to moving the folders into the filing cabinet as he smiled to himself.