August 4, 1914
Tom Branson sat on a barrel in the small courtyard outside the servant's hall at Downton Abbey, grateful for a quiet place to think. The day had brought far more than he was prepared for, really, and he need some time to unpick it all.
The garden party had broken up rather quickly after Lord Grantham's announcement, which was no surprise. The guests all hurried home, mouths full with worries they shared to each other. Britain was at war with Germany. The writing was on the wall, of course. Everyone knew war was coming. But Tom knew that the upper classes always thought of these things as happening to other people, far away on the continent. Now it was happening to them.
War was on Tom's mind, of course, but that wasn't all that plagued him just now. When he was a boy in Ireland, when he was about fourteen years old, he'd seen Maggie Murphy pull the pins out of her hair and jump in the pond and when she came out all wet and smiling and lovely with the sun shining on her dripping red hair, he'd felt his heart flutter with a feeling he knew, even then, was love. Tom hadn't felt that feeling since that moment. Not until today when he'd watched Lady Sybil excitedly give the good news to Gwen. His heart fluttered and though he'd tried to deny it for months, Tom knew he was utterly gone for her.
Mrs. Hughes had seen. Mrs. Hughes had seen and warned him off, as was her job to do. And in this world, he knew she was right. He'd be out of a job and left with a broken heart if he wasn't careful. But there was a fire in him that was unrelated to his feelings for Lady Sybil. He wanted better for this world. For ordinary people to not be relegated to their subjugation by the ruling class. For the feelings in a man's heart to know no obstacle outside his own folly. He'd not deny himself. He couldn't.
"Hope you don't mind, Mr. Branson."
Tom looked up, shaken out of his thoughts by Thomas Barrow, the footman, who had come outside to light a cigarette. "Don't mind at all," Tom said. "I imagine it's still a bit odd to be out here smoking on your own now that Miss O'Brien is gone." If that comment had been said by anyone else, Tom knew it would come across mean-spirited. Tom hadn't intended that, and he hoped Thomas knew.
"Miss O'Brien and I were not on the best of terms when she left. I can't say I miss her. Though yes, it is odd to come out for a smoke by myself. Won't be for long though," Thomas added in that slimy way of his.
"Why's that?" Tom asked, taking the bait if only for a reason to stop himself thinking about Lady Sybil any longer.
"I've spoken to Doctor Clarkson. I knew this war was coming, and I asked his help to go into the medical corps."
"Whyever would you do that?" Such a thing was surprising coming from Thomas Barrow, the most selfish, underhanded person Tom had ever known.
Thomas shrugged. "Gotta be better opportunities in the army than there are here. Besides, Mr. Carson doesn't like me much, and I don't fancy being on my own here looking over my shoulder for any of them to find reason to give me the sack."
"Well, that's very forward thinking of you, Thomas."
"I imagine every man here will be called up anyway. Might as well get to do something I choose."
"I'll not be going," Tom told him.
"Another of your political ideals, is it?" Thomas sneered.
In spite of himself, Tom gave a small smile. "Something like that."
Violet Crawley was ready to go home. It had been a long and difficult day to say the least. Cora's condition was still somewhat precarious, so Violet had taken on a bit more of the planning than she ordinarily would have in order to assist and assure the event was a success. And Rosamund was staying at the Dower House because of Cora's condition—Violet wrote to her daughter and explained the situation and told her it would be best not to bother the Abbey with overnight guests, even if it was Rosamund. And now they were at war. Ghastly business, the lot of it.
It hadn't been like this when Violet herself was Countess of Grantham. Oh there had been wars here and there, but they were off in the colonies in India and Africa. There were skirmishes with other European nations over those lands or with the natives there, but this was different. This was a war on European soil, a war that somehow felt like it would encompass the whole world. After all, the only world that really mattered was what England and Germany and France decided it was.
Through the Boer Wars and the Ashanti Wars, Violet had carried on as Countess, planning parties and raising her children and leading Downton as she was expected to. She had enjoyed the work and took it seriously, and it certainly agreed with her. She had married into the position, of course, but more often than not, Violet Crawley felt as though she'd been born to take the role.
Why was it, then, that just a few days of resuming those duties while Cora was recovering, did it feel suddenly so exhausting? She didn't want to think it was her age, but perhaps it was. Or perhaps the world was just different than it had been two decades before when this had been her domain and it was Cora who had been the visiting assistant.
Either way, she was pleased that the party was over and had been a success despite the declaration of war causing things to break up early. Violet looked forward to visiting with Rosamund for the next day or so and then getting back to her own life. Cora was doing well and there weren't any other events coming that would require Violet's assistance, likely not until after the baby was born.
It was getting late, and Rosamund had gone in search of a servant to send for the car for them. Violet wanted to wish Robert and Cora a good night and went looking for them in the library.
Voices told her that she'd been correct about guessing where they were. Her son and his wife seemed to always be in the library, usually with that dog of Robert's. Violet was prepared to enter and announce her presence and say goodnight, but she stopped short. It was terrible to eavesdrop, but Violet Crawley had never been one to deny the opportunity to gather potentially valuable information.
"You're feeling well, you're sure?" Robert asked.
"Yes, darling, I'm feeling fine. A bit tired is all," Cora answered.
Violet stepped closer and peered into the library. She could see the Earl and Countess sitting side by side on the settee. She had her head resting against his shoulder and he had his arm wrapped around her. They were inappropriately entwined but looked comfortable in a manner Violet herself could not quite fathom. Though Robert and Cora had so often behaved in accordance with feelings that Violet could not fathom. Not between married people of the peerage, at any rate.
"What do you think of the name Abigail?" Cora asked suddenly. She placed her hands on her abdomen, obviously referencing the baby.
Robert hummed, taking a sip of his scotch. "Mary, Edith, Sybil, Abigail. They do fit nicely together. Though we could avoid any pattern and ensure that the next one doesn't end with the same letter as any of the others."
"If we go by that rule, we'll have to have something that's two syllables so it fits in properly," Cora laughed. "I'll keep thinking of names. I know we're both hopeful for a son, but after three girls…"
"I know," Robert interjected. "I told Matthew rather plainly that I don't seem to be any good at making boys. The odds are we'll have another beautiful daughter on our hands in a few months' time." He turned his head to kiss Cora's temple.
"You won't be too disappointed?" she asked him worriedly.
"Cora, I have loved each of our children with all my heart. And yes, I do want a son to pass all of this on to, but we have Matthew now, and he's come along wonderfully. And hopefully he and Mary will work things out, and he shall be my son-in-law and heir. And we'll have another baby. How can I be disappointed about any of that?" Robert responded.
With a happy grin, Cora snuggled up against her husband. "I know you're just saying all that to make me feel better, but I do love you for it."
"I imagine we'll both have to say a lot of things to make each other feel better in the near future," Robert said with a sad sigh.
They were both quiet for a moment before Cora asked, "Did Shrimpie say anything else in the telegram?"
"Just that the hunting trip to Duneagle is cancelled. Which is fine, because I wasn't going to have to make the journey anyway in your condition, and I wouldn't want to be without you. I don't think he knows anything else. Just as before, we'll have to wait to see what happens."
Violet remembered those days in the Second Boer War, when Robert was doing his military service as all men of the peerage are expected to do, and the family had to wait and see if he would be sent to Africa to fight. It was a terrible time, the girls so young and everyone still trying to cope after Patrick's death. Violet had not said it to anyone, nor would she ever, but she had been horrified by the prospect of her only son going to war. Cora was practically beside herself. And now, Violet wasn't certain if the army would call Robert back after more than ten years away. She rather hoped they wouldn't, but she hoped even more that Cora wouldn't think about it. It would just worry her too much.
"Mama, the car is being brought around."
She turned to see Rosamund there. "We'll say our goodbyes to Robert and Cora," she announced, walking into the library as though she'd not been standing there watching them and listening to them for the past several minutes.
Mary Crawley summoned her courage and walked outside to the front drive of Downton Abbey. Granny and Aunt Rosamund and Cousin Isobel were all talking together as they waited for Branson to bring the car around to take them to Crawley House and the Dower House. Matthew stood apart from them. And Mary took her opportunity.
"I didn't want you to go without me saying goodnight," she said, coming to stand beside him.
"Mary, don't do this," Matthew said quietly.
"Don't do what?" she challenged.
"Don't try to back me into a corner."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mary answered, though she knew exactly what he was talking about. But that's not what she was trying to do. "I merely wanted to say goodnight. And I hope you'll be able to speak to me again soon. Or at least look me in the eye."
That was sufficient goading. Matthew turned and looked at her. Right in the eye. "Things are entirely different now, Mary, don't you see?" he said in a soft but desperate tone.
Mary felt her shoulders sag. "I'm not so naïve as to think that they would remain exactly the same, but I had hoped…"
"I had hoped to know where we stood before war broke out," Matthew interjected. "Hope doesn't count for much right now. I'll say goodnight."
He did not wait for her to answer before he went past her to where his mother and cousins were standing.
"Mother, I think I'll walk back. I need to clear my head."
Mary watched as he made his way down the dark drive. She felt the hope extinguish in her chest and be replaced by the sinking feeling that he was walking away and might never come back to her.
Elsie Hughes thanked Mr. Carson for the glass of sherry he handed to her.
"Hardly a time for celebration, I know, but a drink to calm the nerves is certainly in order," he said.
"I quite agree, Mr. Carson."
The pair sat down and quietly sipped their sherry. Elsie's head was so full, she hardly knew where to begin. Perhaps the less complicated items would be a good starting point.
"Miss Baxter seems to be a fine candidate for Her Ladyship. She's going to come to Downton for an interview next week," she said.
"Good. We'll be short-staffed sooner than we know. Ensuring Lady Grantham is well cared for will be important to have in hand," Mr. Carson answered.
That was the issue Mrs. Hughes wanted to avoid, but it seemed no such luck. "I came here just after His Lordship returned from Africa. What was it like when the war began?"
"Well, it was many years ago, but the hall boys all enlisted as well as one of the three footmen. But with His Lordship away, his valet at the time helped out when necessary. There wasn't much entertaining or traveling, but not much else changed. One of the hall boys died in battle, but the rest all came back when their service was through. I don't imagine it will be the same this time," Carson noted.
She nodded. "I'm afraid I agree. Those who don't enlist will probably be conscripted. And the guns and things have only gotten more terrible in the twelve years since the last war ended. I don't like being a pessimist, but I'm finding it hard to hope that we'll get many of our boys back to us after this all ends."
"But we shall do all we can for King and Country," Carson proclaimed.
It almost made her laugh, his staunch patriotism and faith in such things. There were three things that caused Charles Carson to show his passionate side, so far as Mrs. Hughes had seen: patriotism, the good name of the Crawley family, and the cricket. Elsie hardly understood any of it, but there was something quite charming about seeing this side to him.
Smiling just now felt insensitive. Mrs. Hughes drank her sherry and tried not to eye Mr. Carson too much. She hoped he would mistake her quiet for a contemplative mood rather than one of distraction.