Chapter Twenty Eight
Reunion
Family Chapel, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.
Here, in the cool dimness of the ornate chapel, it was, without doubt, a scene of which the carved, polychromatic, wingèd putti, their little brows garlanded with small wreaths of blue and white plaster flowers, clustered around the bases of the tall, gilded candlesticks on the altar, had never seen the like. Nor, indeed, to be truthful had the myriad of equally wingèd cherubs, cavorting in riotous, smiling abandon for all Eternity across the richly painted ceiling of the elaborately decorated chapel.
A man with a lopsided grin and a pretty dark haired woman, hands caressing, clutching, touching, clasped in a passionate embrace, he holding her tight as in her dreams.
"Did ya miss me?" Tom asked with a grin when finally they broke apart.
"Now, that would be telling ..." Sybil smiled contentedly and rested her head against his shoulder.
"For sure?"
She looked up, his mouth found hers, and another lingering kiss followed.
Her eyes glistened with tears.
"Perhaps ..."
"Judging by that, I t'ink ya did," he said softly.
"Do you now? Maybe. Just a little!" Sybil laughed.
Another kiss followed; as perduring as the one before.
"Only just a little?" Tom managed to contrive to sound aggrieved. He drew back, cupped her chin with his hands and studied her face. Sybil slid her arms around his neck; pulled him close once again.
"Tom, hold me".
"In Hungary, women were asking me that all the time!" He grinned mischieviously.
Sybil arched a brow.
"Were they now? My, my but you're very full of yourself this morning, Mr. Branson".
"Why wouldn't I be, when I've come home to ya?"
"There's no answer to that!" Sybil laughed, kissing him full on the mouth.
They broke apart again.
Her fingers caressed both sides of his jaw.
"Yes, I know, I need a shave," Tom said ruefully, feeling his own jawline. "And a bath and a change of clothes. But first, what I'd like more than anything is for you and I to ..." He leaned in for yet another kiss; whispered deep in Sybil's left ear what it was he had in mind.
"Tom!"
"Don't you play the innocent with me, you little wanton!"
"Wanton, am I?"
"For sure!""
"Well, I might surprise you with just how wanton I can be!"
"Grand!" He laughed. It was, thought Sybil, so very good to hear that sound. Then Tom became serious.
"So, tell me now, what about the children?"
"They missed you most terribly, of course. But ..."
"But what?"
"Well, we decided it was for the best to keep the fact that there was any sort of problem over there in Hungary from the younger ones. We wanted to avoid having to tell them anything at all, at least until there was ... no alternative. If you follow what I mean. Danny, Saiorse, Robert, and Max were told that things had gone awry but even then not the full extent of what had happened. I doubt that they'd have understood it anyway that however unwittingly, you'd become mixed up in an attempted coup against the Regent of Hungary. But this was on the strict understanding that they didn't breathe a word of what they'd been told to the others. I must say I was very proud of Danny and Saiorse - keeping quiet about it all, as did Robert, and Max. It can't have been easy for any of them, especially Robert - with both his parents over there".
"No, for sure". Tom nodded in agreement. It made eminent sense for the adults, waiting anxiously here at Rosenberg for news, to have done as they had.
"Was it all so terribly awful?"
Again Tom nodded.
Now, of course, was not the time to speak of what had happened. Later, maybe. But even then, there were, perhaps, some things best left unsaid. Nonetheless, Sybil's question demanded an answer possessing some degree of candour.
"Not all. But there were moments ..."
"Moments," Sybil echoed.
"When I thought ..."
Tom swallowed hard.
Unbidden, here in the most unlikely of settings, within the incense laden, opulent magnificence of Rosenberg's Baroque chapel, there reared unpleasantly before Tom's eyes the image of himself forced to his knees on the damp grass of the airstrip with Fergal's pistol aimed directly at his forehead; Mary subjected to the lascivious, lecherous attentions of a group of licentious Hungarian soldiery ...
"Thought what?" Sybil's question served to dispel the ugly vision and jolt Tom back to the present.
"That ..."
"That?"
"... I might never see you, nor the children, ever again".
Tom rested his head against her shoulder. For a moment neither of them spoke. He raised his head
"Hush now". Sybil placed a forefinger gently to his lips. "Don't think of it. You've come back to us. You're safe now. That's all that matters". Tom nodded. While not entirely true, as was so often the case, Sybil had the right of it. Again he nodded. So, now, think of something else.
"I see our Danny's been in the wars. And, he's quite the young man now! He'll be needing his first razor ere long!"
Sybil smiled; aware that Tom had noticed, as had she, that Danny's voice had now broken. But if that was so then ...
"You've seen him?"
"For sure! All three of them. They were down there, in the meadow, to meet us, when the 'plane landed".
"Plane? So you did come back by ..."
Tom nodded.
"I tell ya about all of that later. But, yes, everyone was there. The whole family. Save for the one person I wanted to see most of all".
"Tom, I ..."
Sybil moved forward into the warm circle of his arms but then, before she could say anything further by way of reply, the door of the chapel creaked, swung open, and there in the doorway, framed against the light, stood Danny, Saiorse, and Bobby.
"Ma!" yelled Danny excitedly. "Ya'll never guess what! Da's ..." Then, in the dimness at the far end of the chapel, seeing his beloved Da with his arms around Ma, Danny fell silent.
"I rather expect I might!"
"Grand, ya've found Ma!" cried Saiorse.
"How did ya know where she was, Da?" Bobby piped; his voice just as gleeful as Danny's, but, in his case, high pitched.
Tom laughed.
"Your Aunt Edith told me where she might be. So, I came in here in search of her. Now, come here the three of yous!"
Letting go of Sybil, Tom opened wide his arms. As with Robert and Simon, so too with the Branson children. Needing no second bidding, all three running pell mell down the full length of the chapel, straight into their parents' outstretched arms. In the happiest of reunions, a welter of hugs and kisses now followed. Eventually, when these had run their course, Tom enquired of the one member of the family not present.
"Dermot?"
Sybil nodded.
"Oh, he's absolutely fine. Like Kurt, fast sleep upstairs, in the care of Nanny Bridges".
"Grand".
Tom leaned in and gave her another quick kiss.
"Oh, away with yous! Do yous two have to?" Saiorse shook her head; metaphorically raised her eyes to the ceiling, in a clear display of exasperation.
"Have to what?" Tom chose to be arch.
"Keep kissing, Ma. And in public, too!"
"I do for sure! Anyway, what's wrong with me kissing your Ma?" In part to prove what he had just said, Tom gave Sybil another peck on the cheek.
"Olive O'Brien told me that her Da never kisses her Ma!" Saiorse announced flatly.
"Really? Well, now, having seen Mrs O'Brien for myself, I can't say that I'm that surprised. Why, even the tide wouldn't take her out!" Hearing this definitive pronouncement from Da on the unappealing nature of Mrs. O'Brien, Danny did his best to stifle a snigger; failed miserably in the attempt and, instead, let out an explosive snort that seemed to echo around the walls of the chapel.
"Tom! And as for you, young man ..." Sybil shook her head in disbelief, first at her husband and then at her eldest son. All the same, she knew that what Tom had said was true enough. Sadly, Mrs. O'Brien was not blessed with good looks, was said to have a fearsome temper, and by common consent, treated her, clearly hen pecked husband, with open contempt.
Tom swung back to Saiorse.
"Now then miss, what ya said a moment ago ... about me kissing your Ma? Well, among the many promises I made her when we married was that I would love her. And while it's true, enough that kissing's not a legal requirement of being married, I t'ink your Ma would be very hurt indeed if I didn't kiss her. And often!" Tom gave Sybil a sly wink. She in turn played along.
"You're damned right, Mr. Branson, I would!"
The children laughed; all, even seven year old Bobby, being well aware of just how much their parents loved each other and, equally, how much they in turn were loved.
"Well, now, I t'ink it's about time we went and found the others, don't yous?"
A moment later, arm in arm and en famille, the Bransons had quitted the ornate chapel, leaving it to slumber on under the watchful eyes of the winged putti and the ever playful cherubs.
Entrance Hall, Rosenberg, but a short while earlier.
Alerted to what had happened, leaving one of the housemaids to sit with little Kurt and Dermot who were fast asleep in their cots in the nursery, Nanny Bridges had brought young Rebecca downstairs to meet her parents. Not that the little girl really understood what all the fuss was about. When they were at home in Downton, Papa and Mama were often away and, at least for the present, played an inconsequential role in Rebecca's own little world. Yet, today, even she sensed something was different with Mama covering her face with kisses, saying how pretty she looked in her new dress, and to Rebecca's delight, Papa hoisting her up onto his shoulders, giving her, had she known the word, a grandstand view of the entire family's joyful reunion.
With everyone else now having reached the house, and with arrangements swiftly put in hand for baths to be run, as well as changes of clothes found for both Wyss and Salvatore, true to form, young Max presently sporting Conrad's leather flying helmet and goggles, while delighted to see both his uncles and aunt safely back here at Rosenberg, was now ruthlessly plying a clearly exhausted Wyss and Salvatore with all manner of questions appertaining to the F13; so much so that Friedrich was forced to intervene and call a halt.
"Max, my boy, enough! Uncle Conrad and his pal will tell you all you want to know about the Junkers but not now. Later when they've both had a chance to recover".
His face flecked with oil and specks of blood from small cuts caused by fragments of flying glass from the shattered windshield, Conrad smiled warmly at Max.
"It's all right, Friedrich". Conrad reached forward and chucked the boy under his chin. "I do know just how much this young man is fascinated by anything to do with aeroplanes. And yes, we'll talk later, old chap, I promise".
"Really? Yes, please, Uncle Conrad!" Max could hardly contain his excitement.
"Then, it's a deal!"
To the amusement of one and all, the two promptly sealed their agreement with a spit in their palms, followed by a firm handshake.
A moment later, with the Bransons having rejoined everyone else here in Rosenberg's magnificent entrance hall, after several days of anxious waiting, the family's reunion was now, finally, complete.
Southeast Hungary, summer 1933.
About the very time that the Junkers touched down in the flower strewn meadow at Rosenberg, with Micky and Dévaj still seated beside him Tibor was driving the battered old truck into the dusty courtyard of the abbey where having sought a hurried audience with the abbot, and with the assistance of the monks, the wounded were carefully stretchered down from off the lorry, and carried into the infirmary. Here they were washed, fed, tended, and made far more comfortable than had been the case in the back of the bouncing lorry, with one of the brothers dispatched post haste to summon the local doctor back to the abbey. For, as Tibor now learned, they were not the first rebel soldiers fleeing the fighting further north to make it thus far south.
A short while later, having quitted the abbey, Tibor, Micky, and Dévaj, along with those who had remained on the truck, at last reached the temporary safety afforded by the Waldsteins' summer residence, where Micky was reunited with his desperately worried parents, from whom it was now learned that the main rebel force around Szentes had been routed.
Of more import was the fact that the government troops sent in pursuit of those defending the bridge had ended up chasing shadows. For while the principal residence of the Waldsteins, Erdőtelek, lay to the north, the estate had once been much larger. Like Rózsafa, it had been severely reduced in size following the annexation of Transylvania by the Kingdom of Roumania, leaving a smaller, isolated parcel of land some distance away to the south, on which stood the family's summer residence.
With two estates possessed of the same name, save but for a suffix which was very often overlooked, both of which belonged to the same family, the inevitable had happened. Unfamiliar with the area, the troops charged with apprehending the rebels had wasted much time and effort heading north when they should have been proceeding south. Everyone knew this to be but a temporary reprieve; that sooner or later, the Regent's soldiers would come calling. This notwithstanding, despite Tibor's protestations that he would not risk endangering the family, who, after all, were his own distant kin, the Waldsteins were insistent: Tibor and his men must be given a meal and then allowed to rest. Meanwhile, one of their servants would ride back up the road and keep watch.
Tom and Sybil's bedroom, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, sometime later.
Now freshly bathed and shaved, wearing nothing more than a towel, Tom came out of the bathroom into the bedroom where, with something approaching a sense of déjà vu, he stopped dead in his tracks. Although it was just after midday, the shutters had been closed, and the room was in complete darkness. If only for the briefest moment, Tom found himself thinking back to the scene which had played out at Rózsafa a matter of but a couple of days or so ago when for whatever reason, Unity Mitford had done her very best to try and seduce him. But, there, thankfully, any similarity with the present, and what had happened at Rózsafa, ended.
"A wanton, am I," purred a female voice from out of the darkness. A moment later, the lamp beside the bed snapped on ... to reveal Sybil posing as an odalisque, wearing the nightdress which Tom had bought for her in a small shop situated in a back street not far from the Sacré-Cœur in Montmartre in Paris, while they were en route here to Austria. Made of pale blue silk, the nightdress was diaphanous, all but translucent, and when she wore it, clung to every sensuous curve of Sybil's beautiful body.
Tom swallowed hard; found himself feeling quite light headed which, circumstances being as they were, together with the fact that a large amount of his blood had of its own accord suddenly rushed southwards, was quite understandable. He caught sight of Sybil eyeing his throbbing erection with undisguised interest.
"I think we need to do something about that, before it goes to waste, don't you?" she asked huskily, her lips pursed and slightly apart. In a trice she threw back the covers to reveal that she wasn't wearing a stitch, the nightdress merely having been artfully placed over her body beneath the bed clothes.
For a minute, Tom simply savoured the view; gazing on the vision of loveliness reclining before him on the bed.
Jaysus!
Unconsciously, he moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue.
"Now, come here, Tom".
How Sybil contrived it he knew not, but her voice seemed to have taken on a tone that was sultry; full of Eastern promise. He watched silently as, leaving none of her physical charms to the imagination, she moved languidly before him, lips pouting, clasping her hands behind her head, and stretching out her long, slender legs. "And Tom, darling, one thing more ..."
When, finally, he found his voice, it was reduced to little more than a husk of a whisper, and he all but stammered.
"Y ... yes?"
"You won't be needing that towel".
Erdőtelek Estate, southeast Hungary, several hours later.
Following the release of himself and his men from the barn, learning what had happened, that those sent in pursuit of the fleeing rebels had been chasing shadows, Fergal was livid, this news coming as it did after the attempted seduction of Branson by the Mitford bitch had failed to bear fruit, the humiliation which Fergal and his men had been put to at the hands of Crawley and Csáky, let alone the failure by a hand picked agent to deal with Schönborn across the border in Austria. Now, to cap it all, came the final ignominy: the escape of Branson and the Crawleys from right under their very noses. Someone would pay for this series of blunders.
However, if Branson and the Crawleys were presently beyond reach, then, for the time being at least, Captain Csáky would do very well by way of a substitute. And when word came as to the whereabouts of Csáky, Fergal wasted no time. Accompanied by a fresh detachment of soldiers and who knew the district, Fergal set off in pursuit of this so far elusive quarry.
His horse lathered with sweat, the Waldsteins' servant, clearly terror stricken, his face ashen, all but slid from off his saddle; stammered out the awful news that soldiers were coming down the road from the north.
Main Staircase, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, a couple of hours before.
After their love-making, having shared a bath together, then dressed and made themselves presentable, arm-in-arm, in high spirits, Tom and Sybil came out onto the landing of the main staircase ready to go down to luncheon which, taking advantage of the fine spell of weather, Edith had said would be served to everyone, adults and children alike, out on the terrace.
At the top of the stairs, Tom paused; swiftly placed a forefinger to his lips.
"What is it?" Sybil asked, keeping her voice low.
"Down there," Tom whispered. He nodded towards the foot of the stairs where, waiting for the Bransons to join them, Matthew and Mary, likewise equally well refreshed, believing themselves to be alone and unobserved, were enjoying a passionate kiss. Hearing footsteps from above, self-consciously, they quickly broke apart. Looking up, on seeing who it was, and catching sight of the expressions on the faces of both Tom and Sybil, Matthew laughed out loud.
"You two look very pleased with yourselves!"
Tom grinned.
"Perhaps! And judging by yous two a moment ago, I be t'inking I could be saying very much the same t'ing!"
"Tom!" exclaimed Sybil.
Mary shook her head in disbelief; then smiled. When Matthew and Tom were together they were, like as not, incorrigible, at times given to behaving like a pair of overgrown schoolboys. However, given what the three of them had just been through, Mary couldn't find it within her to be annoyed. Indeed, quite the reverse. It seemed, thank God, that some things never changed.
And so, arm-in-arm, laughing and joking, the two couples went happily in search of the rest of the family.
Terrace, Rosenberg, later that same day.
Replete after a very good meal, out here on the terrace,Tom was seated once more in his favourite wicker chair. Linking his fingers behind his head, he sighed, and gazed up at the afternoon sky. Like Sybil, he had little belief in the existence of a Divine Creator but, all the same, thank ... thank God, that the three of them were back here safe and sound. The nightmare was over.
Well, almost.
For there remained, of course, to learn, if possible, what had become of Tibor and young Micky Waldstein; let alone their erstwhile hosts at Rózsafa - Manfred and Eva. To this end, after luncheon, at Mary's insistent urging, Matthew went inside to place a telephone call to the British Embassy in Budapest. However, as he explained later, long after the children were in bed, when he had at last been connected, his attempt to speak with Viscount Chilston had met with a polite but nonetheless firm refusal on the part of some minor functionary - an attaché no less - to whom his call had been passed. Regrettably, the Ambassador was unable to speak to Lord Grantham.
All the same, Matthew had persisted in his endeavours.
No, His Excellency was not indisposed. Nor, for that matter, was he playing a round of golf; this observation constituted a surprising attempt at levity on the part of a member of the Legation staff who were not known for their sense of humour. Letting slip too, what, presumably, he should not, for which, were it to become known that he had done so, the young attaché might well find himself carpeted and recalled to London post haste. Chilston had been summoned to the Royal Palace, for an audience with Admiral Horthy.
At least the attaché had the good sense to say nothing further but, all the same, Matthew was left with the distinct impression that somehow the audience with the Regent concerned Mary, Tom, and himself, the unorthodox nature of their departure from the Kingdom of Hungary, in an aeroplane acquired in surreptitious circumstances across the border in Roumania, which had then been flown into Hungary by stealth. To say nothing of the part Matthew himself had played in organising the spirited, if in the end, singularly futile, defence of the bridge between Rózsafa and the airstrip, against an attack mounted by forces loyal to the Regent himself.
After Matthew, it was the turn of Friedrich to place a telephone call - in his case, once again, to Mihail Moruzov, head of the Serviciul Special de Informații in distant Bucharest. Like Chilston, Moruzov was unavailable but his secretary promised faithfully that Friedrich's call would be returned, just as soon as Moruzov himself came back from a meeting with the Prime Minister, Vaida-Voievod.
With Matthew and Friedrich having resumed their seats, the adults, save for Wyss and Salvatore who had gone back down to the meadow to begin repairs to the Junkers, and the children sat listening spellbound, as Matthew, Mary, and Tom told something of the time they had spent in Hungary. However, as Friedrich, Edith, and Sybil were only too well aware, certain matters would not be spoken of until much later, after the children were in bed.
So, they heard tell instead of the sights and sounds of Budapest, of the mighty Danube, of the Royal Palace and the Coronation Church with its colourful roof, both perched high up on the Var, of the rattling, yellow painted trams and the clattering Underground, of the crowded coffee houses and the elegant villas on Andrássy út, of the bustling streets and squares, with Mary explaining how it was she had first encountered Tibor Csáky by all but falling at his feet. Quite out of character, by telling the story against her, Mary made everyone laugh; not that she seemed to mind in the slightest. They heard too of the long journey southwards, across the Alföld, of the immensity of it, of the little farms, of the snorting water buffaloes and flocks of long horned sheep, and the creaking arms of the sweep wells, of which Uncle Manfred had spoken. Then, of their arrival at last at Rózsafa, of the house itself, of the Mezőhegyes English full blood horses, while Tom's account of the antics of Unity Mitford, while, for now he did not go into the details of her attempted seduction, brought the house down.
"I'm glad all of yous find it so amusing! A right little hussy, she was!"
"Hussy? Are you quite certain she wasn't a wanton?" Sybil asked straight faced.
Tom chuckled.
"Quite, for sure!"
"Da?"
"Yes, Bobby?"
"What's a hussy?"
"Ask your Ma!"
"Da?"
"Yes, son?"
"What's a wanton?"
"Like I just said, son, ask your Ma!"
"Tom!"
Tom grinned and deftly changed the subject.
"So then, tell me about what happened out at ... where did yous say it was again?"
"The Old Tower," put in Saiorse helpfully. "They weren't supposed to go in there. Uncle Friedrich told them not to," she added primly.
"Shut it, sis". Danny glared at Saiorse, who, as was her wont, promptly stuck out her tongue.
"Danny and Rob wanted to see the eagle, Da," added Bobby eagerly.
"Did they now? An eagle, for sure?"
"Yes, that's right, Uncle Tom," said Simon, nodding his head.
"And the Old Tower?"
"A watchtower, centuries old, now ruinous. My grandfather put in a cast iron staircase and used it as a viewing platform," explained Friedrich. "Since Danny and Simon's mishap, I've had the entrance properly sealed".
"I see. So, what happened?" Tom looked to the boys for further enlightenment. "Presumably, yous didn't heed Uncle Friedrich's warning ... about not going inside?"
"Well, er ... no," replied Danny who, along with Robert, glanced nervously at Uncle Friedrich. To the boys' great relief, he merely smiled.
"It's all right, I expect your fathers got up to all kinds of mischief when they were younger". Their uncle nodded in the direction of both Matthew and Tom. "I know I did". At this startling revelation, young Max's ears pricked up. This was a side of his beloved Papa of which he had never heard tell.
"Did you, Papa? What did you do?" Max asked, eager to learn more. Friedrich tapped the side of his nose.
"Never you mind, young man".
Max smiled. He had learnt what the gesture meant from Danny and Rob. But, seeing Max look somewhat crestfallen, his father relented. "Well, rather like someone else who shall remain nameless ... trying to learn how to ride a bicycle ... when I had been forbidden to do so!"
Max gulped. Papa, and probably Mama, knew too much. His father laughed and his next words confirmed Max's fears.
"My boy, there's very little you do that escapes our notice! Don't look so worried, my father, your Austrian grandfather, said very much the same thing to me". Max grinned. He would dearly have liked to have asked what other boyish misdeeds his father had committed; wanted to ask too about Grandpapa Leopold, of whom his father rarely if ever spoke. But, even at ten years old, Max had the good sense to realise that now was not the time. He could ask Papa about Grandpapa Leopold later.
Matthew grinned.
"Who me?" he asked, managing to contrive to sound horrified by Friedrich's suggestion. "Why, when I was a boy, I was as good as gold. Any assertion to the contrary amounts to character assassination!"
"What's ass ... assass ... the word you just said, mean, father?" Simon asked, sitting beside his mother, her right arm placed comfortably around his shoulders, and holding him close.
Matthew laughed.
"Your uncle's casting doubt on my good name and reputation; but only in fun".
"Oh!" Simon grinned. What Uncle Friedrich had said had to have been a joke because, both in and around Downton, Simon knew his father to be well respected by servants, tenants, and villagers alike.
Had he known another word, in the unlikely event of someone having asked him, Simon would have said also that he could never recall his parents being so relaxed in company, with himself sitting beside his mother, her arm about his shoulders, Rebecca seated in her lap, and Robert perched on the arm of her chair - something which would never have been permitted when they were at home at Downton - both he and Simon asking all manner of questions which, on any other occasion they would never have dared to do.
Quite what it was that had changed or why it had come to pass, Simon couldn't tell, but something was different. Whatever it was, he really didn't care, so long as things stayed just as they were now. Not because his brother, sister, and he were not loved; they were, devotedly, both by Papa and Mama. Just as Danny, Saiorse, Bobby, and little Dermot were loved by Uncle Tom and Aunt Sybil, and Max and young Kurt by Uncle Friedrich and Aunt Edith.
But father was so often up to his eyes in the business of running Downton; along with his work for the League of Nations, which betimes took him abroad; while, hitherto, Mama had always been such a stickler for good manners, being properly dressed, sitting up straight, speaking when spoken to, using the right knife and fork, and so forth. In a nutshell, doing the right thing. However, at least for the time being, that seemed to have gone by the board.
All the same, what mattered most to Simon, and he supposed to his siblings and cousins too, was that here within the family circle now assembled, they were loved and kept safe from the world that now fast was unfolding beyond the confines of Rosenberg, Idrone Terrace, and Downton Abbey.
"So, no misspent time in your dim and distant past, eh, Matthew?" A real goody two shoes then, for sure!" chuckled Tom.
"That, I doubt!" laughed Mary.
Matthew laughed too.
"Not that dim and distant, if you please. And I'll have you know, I had my moments. After all, in a city like Manchester ... Anyway, Tom, I expect you got up to all sorts of mischief over there in Dublin!"
"Did ya, Da?" asked Bobby, wide eyed.
"No, son, of course not. Just like your Uncle Matthew here, I was as good as gold, for sure!"
"Were ya really, Da?" persisted Bobby.
"Never you mind," said his father.
"I seem to recall hear tell of you riding on trains without buying a ticket!" laughed Mary.
"Did ya, Da?" Bobby asked.
Tom nodded.
"But why Da? What if the Garda had caught ya?" Bobby's lower lip trembled, so much so, that Tom pulled the little boy to him and sat Bobby on his knee".
"Shall I let ya into a secret?"
Bobby nodded.
"The Garda didn't exist back then!"
"Oh!" Bobby's eyes grew very wide.
"And what about the time you came back to Downton without a ticket?" laughed Mary.
"Did ya Da?" Bobby asked.
Tom nodded.
"When, Da?"
"Before ya were born, Button. I hadn't the money for the fare but see, when I told the guard I was on my way to Downton to see Danny and your Ma, right away he stopped the train for me and and let me off without paying".
"Really?" Mary raised a disbelieving brow. "I seem to remember Papa, who was a Director of the North Eastern Railway Company, receiving a telephone call from the Company Chairman concerning a passenger - His Lordship's son-in-law no less - who had failed to pay his fare and Papa reimbursing the railway to avoid a scandal!"
"He did? Well, I never knew that! Good for old Robert!"
Everybody laughed.
Of course, young Max was agog to learn all about the flight which had brought his uncles and aunt back here to Rosenberg. While matters such as atmospheric pressure, mean wind speed, fuel consumption, and the like were not within the cognizance of either Uncle Matthew or Uncle Tom, and certainly not of Aunt Mary, their joint recollections of the flight, if by tacit consent they glossed over the exact nature of their departure from Rózsafa, proved just as enthralling, even for Max, with Aunt Mary likening being strapped into her seat as akin to being restrained in an asylum.
"Are you speaking from personal experience?" Tom asked, wooden faced.
Everyone, including Mary, laughed.
"Anyway, back to what yous were telling us - about the Old Tower".
Danny nodded. Taking a deep breath, with yet another glance at Uncle Friedrich, Danny now went on with his tale.
"Well, we cleared away some of the loose stones from the doorway, so that we could climb in ..."
"It was dark inside but we could see daylight at the top," explained Robert.
"Danny said that was where the eagle lived," added Bobby.
"It was easy going up. Well, not that difficult. Except, where the steps were missing," put in Simon.
Robert nodded.
"About halfway up there was a large break in the stairs but we managed to climb over it. Then, coming down, we found we couldn't do what we had done on the way up. So, we had to jump back across the break in the darkness. That's when Danny fell and hit his head".
Tom nodded.
"And I pulled my arm," added Simon.
"So after that, Bobby and I had to help Dan and Si down the stairs. Then, while I stayed with them, Bobby went for help, running back through the woods, all on his own," explained Robert.
Danny winked at his little brother.
"Ya were a real hero, Bobby, just like D'Artagnan in The Three Musketeers".
Bobby beamed.
"Da ..."
"What?"
"I thought I saw ..."
"Saw what, Button?"
"A wolf," whispered Bobby. "That's why I ran so fast, Da. In case it tried to gobble me up!"
"Are there any wolves here?" Sybil asked.
"Who knows? In the forests, maybe there are". Friedrich smiled. In fact, as he well knew, there were no wolves left in Austria, but to have said so would have served only to diminish Bobby's bravery and his uncle did not want to do that.
"Ya were very brave, Button". Tom hugged Bobby to him. Sitting opposite them, seeing Bobby seated on his Da's knee, Matthew had to smile. There was no denying who his father was; they were as alike as two peas in a pod.
Matthew and Mary had just ended telling everyone about the dance held at Rózsafa.
"Darling, where were we staying, the time we danced the Charleston in Monte Carlo?"
At the memory this particular recollection evoked, Matthew smiled broadly.
"Cap Martin, back in '26, with the Althorpes. At their villa".
"Yes, of course".
"I seem to recall we put on quite a display on the dance floor, you and I".
"Yes, well, maybe"
"No maybe about it. We did!"
Mary smiled.
"All the same, I think the least said about that little episode, the better. In any case, it was all the fault of the champagne. That evening, it went quite to my head and by the time we came to leave, I was feeling decidedly squiffy".
"What's squiffy?" Danny asked. He had never heard the word before. Nor had Simon.
"It means, my boy, that your Aunt Mary had a little too much to drink!"
"Matthew!"
"Well, where's the harm in admitting it? We've all done it, at one time or another. And, doubtless, in time, when they're older, they will do too". Seeking confirmation of what he had just said, Matthew looked in turn at each of the other adults here present while Robert and Simon exchanged glances. Today was certainly proving to be full of surprises. Learning that Papa and Mama had made a spectacle of themselves on the dance floor was startling enough but then to find that Mama had been ... squiffy. Well!
Unlike Danny and Simon, Robert knew already what squiffy meant.
Billiards Room, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, spring 1933.
"No more than that. I don't want you going all squiffy on me. And not a word to your mother, now! She would be horrified".
"Squiffy, father?" Robert had never heard the word before.
His father smiled.
"What you feel like ... when you've had a little too much to drink".
"Have you ever been squiffy, father?"
"Now, that would be telling. But, as it happens, yes, and on quite a few occasions. And not only when your Uncle Tom comes to stay!"
Terrace, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.
"I would never have put you down as a flapper, darling".
"No more than I could ever have imagined you learning how to fly an aeroplane!"
"But a flapper!"
"Oh, I was hardly that darling but since Matthew has let the cat out of the bag, you all know that I do have my moments!"
Again everyone laughed, giving Simon the nerve to venture a further question.
"Father, what's a "flapper"?" He saw his parents exchange knowing smiles.
"Let's just say it's a young lady who likes dancing".
"Really?"
"Yes".
"And I can vouch for the fact that your mother does indeed like dancing, for sure".
"She does?" Simon sounded doubtful.
"Yes, really!"
"And how would you know ..." Mary began, realising too late that she had blundered.
Tom smiled.
"Have ya forgotten the two of us tripping the light fantastic together, down at the Arizona?"
"The Arizona? What's that?" asked Saiorse.
"A nightclub in Budapest," explained Da, before proceeding to regale the family with the wonders on show at the Arizona ...
"An elephant?" Knowing Tom's propensity to exaggerate, Sybil sounded disbelieving, even if she accepted what Mary had told them about the tame fox.
Tom nodded.
"Really, Da?" Still seated on his father's knee, Bobby's eyes grew very round.
"For sure, Button!"
And so the sultry afternoon wore away, with the family sitting out on the terrace in the warm sunshine, Wyss and Salvatore still down in the meadow in their shirt sleeves working on the engine of the Junkers. Dr. Berger called to look in on his two patients and while he examined first Danny's head and then Simon's shoulder, Robert and Max took themselves off down to the meadow to see how the repairs were progressing. Before they went, Friedrich impressed on them not to make a nuisance of themselves, and for Max not to take any unnecessary risks.
Not that this prevented Max from asking all sorts of questions nor, during a pause in the repairs, the two boys, helped by Salvatore, climbing up onto one of the wings and then inside the cockpit and the passenger cabin while Wyss carried on with the repairs; at the same time keeping a weather eye out for anyone coming down from the house. So when later Friedrich appeared with several bottles of cold beer, he found Robert and Max sitting cross-legged on the warm grass, watching as Wyss and Salvatore started up the engine to see if the repairs had been effective.
"Yes, Da, I remember what ya told me in Florence. I do hope so!" Danny sighed wistfully.
Tom and Sybil watched as, with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his khaki shorts, Danny mooched off across the terrace, down the steps, to go in search of Robert and Max.
"I don't think I've ever come across anyone so intent on being in love as darling Danny".
"Well, he needn't worry. He's a good looking boy. A few years from now, the girls will be all over him, for sure".
"No, darling, I think that piece goes ... there"
"Thank you, Mama". Rebecca looked up; smiled at her mother. When, in the past, she had tried to do a jigsaw, it was always under the watchful eyes of Nanny Bridges. But this afternoon, with Papa and Mama having returned from what Mama had said had been a short holiday in some far off place, it was Mama helping her make the pieces fit.
The sky had darkened ominously and it looked very much as though the storm they had encountered west of the Carpathians had followed them here to Rosenberg. A moment later and the first fat raindrops began spattering the flagstones, prompting an immediate exodus off the terrace and inside.
"The boys ..." began Mary, looking towards the distant meadow, where could be glimpsed Danny, Robert, and Max, along with the two pilots still working on the Junkers. Now rising, and with Simon's assistance, Mary began gathering up the pieces of Rebecca's jigsaw.
"Oh, they'll be all right! The three of them suffered a far worse soaking before you left for Hungary!" laughed Friedrich.
Later that same day.
There was still no word from Chilston; nor indeed any news of what had become of Tibor or young Micky Waldstein.
Gazebo, Rosenberg.
The rain had stopped half an hour since.
"Aunt Mary, why are you crying?"
Hearing Max's voice, Mary stiffened; turning, she saw that, quietly and unobtrusively, he had come to stand beside her in the gazebo overlooking the lower garden, whence she herself had come, she thought unobserved, so as to to be alone with her thoughts. Saw too that, now having changed for dinner, Max was dressed as he had been the very first time they had met, in the salle d'attente of the Gare Maritime in Calais the previous summer.
"Darling, I'm not. I had something in my eye. That's all".
Max gave her a thoughtful look.
"That's what Mama says ... when she's been crying ... and doesn't want me to know," he said softly. His candour was unexpected; disarmingly so, for a boy of his age but Edith had said that in some ways Max was old beyond his years.
"And does your Mama often do that?"
"No, not often. But sometimes she does. Usually when I'm unwell".
"I see".
Max held out his hand.
"Walk with me?"
It was, Mary supposed, part of the continuing strangeness of the day that, without question, she did as Max had asked.
Their stroll had taken them down through the rain dappled, rose scented English Garden which was Edith's pride and joy, and thence back up to the house.
"And in there?" Mary nodded to a short flight of steps leading up to a pair of double doors.
Max didn't answer her. Instead, he darted forward up the steps, opened one of the doors, standing aside, to let his aunt pass through into the room beyond, before following on behind, throwing wide the shutters of the nearest window, letting daylight flood in, to reveal a veritable jewel.
Ballroom, Rosenberg, summer 1933.
"So, this is the ballroom?" It was more a statement than a question for with its gilded, white plaster work, painted ceiling, pier glasses, silver candle sconces, polished parquet floor, and the two huge chandeliers which, like all the other furnishings, were swathed in heavy dust sheets, for what other purpose could this magnificent room be used; except for dancing.
Once again, Mary felt Max's hand steal into her own. Glancing down, she saw him nod his head.
"Yes. This is where Mama taught me to dance," he said quietly.
"To dance?" echoed Mary. To her knowledge, dancing had never been Edith's forte but, then again, as she herself had come to learn so very recently in Hungary, each and everyone of them was a mystery, perhaps most of all to themselves.
Max nodded. Found himself thinking back ...
Ballroom, Rosenberg, afternoon, Christmas Day, December 1931.
Outside, beyond the tall, round headed windows of the ballroom, the snow continued to drift down.
"Please, Mama?"
"Darling, I wouldn't know where to begin".
Max was having none of it. If he wanted something badly enough, then he could be remarkably persistent.
"Yes you do! Please, Mama".
"Very well darling, if it's really what you want".
Max nodded.
"Well, then. Let's start with the waltz. Now, watch me".
In the fading light of the winter's afternoon, Max stood to one side while his mother drifted slowly round the room, her arms outstretched, holding an imaginary partner.
"One, two, three, one two three. There. Do you see?" she asked drawing level with him.
"Yes, I think so".
Taking his hand, Edith led Max forward into the middle of the room.
"Now, turn and face the windows".
"Why?"
"Because, the gentleman always starts with his back to the middle of the room. Stand straight, shoulders back. Step out to your left and forwards".
"Good boy! Now, turn clockwise ..." Edith nodded to her right "... and sweep your right foot backwards".
Max dutifully followed suit.
"Like this?"
"Well done! Turn your left foot, bring it square, pointing into the middle of the room ... Max, darling, have you done this before?"
"No, never".
"Not even with Fraulein Schmidt?"
"No, Mama. Why do you ask?"
"Because you're picking all of it up very quickly indeed".
Ballroom, Rosenberg, summer 1933.
"Yes, the waltz and the quickstep. This afternoon ..."
"Yes?"
"Out on the terrace, you said you and Uncle Matthew once danced the Charleston".
"I say lots of things ..."
"But, you do, don't you?"
"Do what?"
"Know how to dance the Charleston?"
"Max, darling, that was when your uncle and I were a great deal younger than we are now".
"But you're not old!"
"How very gallant of you to say so, young man. No, at least not yet". Mary laughed.
"Well, then ..."
"Well, then what?"
"You must remember ..."
"Max, darling, it was several years ago. That apart, this dress I'm wearing, well it really isn't suitable for ..."
As before, Max was having none of it.
"Please!" At his most winning, he could be very persuasive.
"Oh, very well. But, what about music? We can't dance the Charleston without music". But if Mary had thought to extricate herself from the situation, then she had underestimated Max who was, already, pressing the bell to summon one of the servants who, when he arrived, was asked to fetch both the gramophone and recordings from the Drawing Room.
And while they waited for Hans to return, Mary began to teach Max the Charleston.
"Now, first step forward with your left foot, then tap your right foot forward ..."
"Like this?"
"Yes. Then step back and tap. So, it's forward and tap, back and tap ..."
"That's it!" laughed Mary. Max grinned. "My, but you're a fast learner".
"That's what Mama said".
"Did she now?"
Max nodded.
"So, step back and tap ..."
The stylus crackled. A moment later and there came the first notes of the tune that a matter of some five years ago had swept across the dance floors of both America and Europe.
Entrance Hall, Rosenberg.
"So, as I explained to Conrad ... Good God! What on earth ..." began Friedrich now turning as, from somewhere within the house, came the unmistakable sound of the Charleston.
Ballroom, Rosenberg.
"You've got it!" Her cares, at least for the moment forgotten, Mary laughed out loud, quite oblivious to the fact that Max and she had attracted an audience, now standing open-mouthed, in the doorway.
The music came to an end and Max ran over to change the recording. Catching sight of everyone, he grinned.
A moment later and the new recording began to play.
Five foot two, eyes of blue
But oh, what those five foot could do
Has anybody seen my girl?
Turned up nose, turned down hose
Never had no other beaus
Has anybody seen my girl?
It was the tune to which Mary and Tibor had danced in the house on Úri utca in Budapest.
"I don't remember any more," she said; now turned her head away so that neither Max, nor any of the others in the doorway, should see her tears.
Author's Note:
Even the tide wouldn't take her out! An Irish phrase used to describe an ugly woman; implying that while the tide sweeps most things out to sea, there are somethings it wouldn't take!
Odalisque - a female slave or concubine in a harem, especially one in the seraglio of the Sultan of Turkey.
For Tom avoiding paying for his ticket, see the last chapter of Home Is Where the Heart Is.
Alexandru Vaida-Voevod (1872-1950) was a Roumanian politician who supported and promoted the union of Transylvania with the Kingdom of Roumania. He became Prime Minister of Roumania for the third time in 1933.