6th August 1945
"Blimey, Daisy, what time were you up?" Rubbing his face and trying to get the life back into his head, Thomas Barrow stared at the kitchen table of food.
"About five, why?" Daisy asked, with her characteristic insecurity. "Do you think I should have started earlier?" She looked at the sandwiches and sausage rolls and pork pies and apples and cheese - too many things to count.
"Most of this is going back in the larder anyway, and the refrigerator. Mrs. Patmore - I mean, Mason, is coming up to help us later, and I've got Flora." Thomas glanced behind her and out of the window. The leaden sky did not promise good weather for the day. What was it country folk said, "Rain at seven, fine by eleven?" Something told Thomas that it wouldn't be fine by eleven, with the torrent that had begun.
"No," he told Daisy, for food was still being heavily rationed, "Where've you got it all from?"
"I've been putting things by," Daisy told Thomas. "For the last few weeks at least. I wanted this party to go well, it's the first one we've had since V.E. Day." She smiled. "At least the Labour Government are going to look after us now," she added, continuing to roll out the pastry. "They're keeping rationing, so they've said, everyone entitled to a bit of everything."
"Aye," Thomas said. Until people circumvented the rules, as he had done, or had tried to do in the last war. Or until some butcher had a "bit put by" or a few "backhanders" were handed back, and suddenly, a stately home had a tableful.
"If that's what Attlee has said," Thomas told her. "I'm not under the impression I should trust any politician." Daisy stopped rolling and looked at Thomas.
"Aren't yer?" Daisy asked, then nodded to the door as Andy stepped through, adjusting his livery - they were expecting guests from the morning. "A welfare state? After what we've all been through? To see a doctor and not have to pay?" She smiled. It cost money to see Dr. Clarkson as soon as he arrived at your home, although he had been retired for some time.
A Dr. Connell had come to take over, sent from York. Everyone liked Dr. Connell, another Irishman with a pragmatic nature and an MD from Trinity College, Dublin. To be able to take her children there without the burden of money related to whatever they might be suffering would be clearly a relief. Thomas's mind drifted to Ernst. He hadn't approached the boy yet with the idea of adoption, but if he agreed, that would be Thomas, too, searching for opportunities for the boy, grateful for a free at the point of care service. Money, proportional to what you earned would be taken in a new tax called, "National Insurance."
"They'll be well fed," Thomas said, nodding. He had just discovered more people were coming than the dozen George Crawley had told Thomas about. At least, now, he would not have to find the food - Daisy had been a very astute in her domestic budgeting.
But there would be more bedrooms to air and make, and Thomas was anticipating Anna Bates's face turn sour when he told her six more rooms would have to be readied.
"Can Florrie help Anna?" Thomas asked Daisy.
"I can, too," Andy told him. "Mr. Mason won't want me in this; he can keep the pigs going on the bins." He crossed to the window. "Phew, this weather," he added, nodding to Thomas. "With rain like this, I'm glad he's on a hill."
"Not many are," Thomas replied. "The Mr. Davies, for one, though the sheep should still be in the hills. Aye," he nodded to Andy, I think Anna would be grateful for the help on the rooms.
And the rain began to set in.
Thomas was still setting up outside when George Crawley stood at the threshold of the front door, looking at it.
"Its' never going to clear up today, Master George," Thomas told him, glancing to the sky. All about the estate the air was grey, as if the clouds, so heavy with moisture, had drifted down and enveloped them.
"Oh, don't be so pessimistic, Barrow," declared Lady Mary, scowling at the weather, as if her disapproval would conjure a brilliant sunny day. George turned to her.
"Mother, honestly?" Lady Mary held her expression a few moments longer, and then she sagged.
"Oh all right." And then she glanced at a figure coming up the drive, umbrella over her, rain bouncing off her boots. "It'll have to go into the hall," Lady Mary told Thomas. "Bring the tables in here, and the summer chairs." She looked around the gallery, "And you can put the bunting out over the railings." Thomas nodded.
"Oh here's Sybbie," Lady Mary added, and Thomas opened the door wider, stepping in for a moment and summoning Larry to bring the cloths that were used for decorating to put at the entrance.
"She can help," George told Thomas. "I can see you've got everyone working flat out, Barrow." He clapped Thomas on the back, who then turned and went back inside to supervise with the organisation of the hall. George Crawley grinned at his cousin.
"Why do you go all the way down there at first light?" he asked. Sybbie, chocolate-brown hair swept around into two curls at her face, the rest of her hair under a scarf, smiled back and stepped inside.
"For father," she told him. "I know it's not a Roman Catholic church, so I do what I can. I adapt. I tell mother my sins." Not that morning. She didn't want to stand out in the rain. But Sybbie Branson did think about her mother every morning "mass" and wondered what she would be doing now, had she lived, where she would be, whether she would get on with her, like Flora did with Daisy, or whether there would be a rift, like Aunt Mary and Caroline.
"You have sins?" her cousin asked.
"Don't be silly, everyone has sins," Sybbie replied. "It makes me feel better, with Papa in France." And George smiled at his cousin again, thinking of Tom Branson, and hoping that he would arrive in time to surpise his daughter, as they had planned.
88888888
As the day went on, the planned outside soiree had to be relocated inside. Gone was the bunting and the outdoor marquee; gone were the summer chairs and trestle tables. It was still rather warm inside, and Thomas got Larry and Flora to carefully climb up to open the upper windows in every room for ventilation while he welcomed the guests. Many were friends of the three cousins. Marigold had also been in Downton, Peter had driven his sister, for they were waiting for news when their father would be getting back from London.
"Isn't Aunt Edith coming?" asked George, as Mary Crawley nodded at the indoor decorations. She turned to her son.
"She's waiting for Uncle Bertie to come back from London. You know how she is," Lady Mary added, but didn't elaborate. The flightiness of her sister which once annoyed her was now an endearing trait. Mary could now use it to predict Edith's decisions, and do it was useful, practical. And she was glad her sister was a happy Marchioness very far away in the north of Northumberland, both her children having survived the war, as had George and Caroline. As had Sybbie.
As for Henry...how Mary wished for news of him. He hadn't even been in uniform; he had been in Singapore on business, for heavens' sake. Yet she had seen the newsreels like everyone else, of prisoners, whether soldiers or not, used as human assets to build bridges, railways, to labour for the Japanese in their pursuit of imperial domination of South East Asia.
And their government had not given up, they had not surrendered, even after bombings after bombings by the Americans on their islands. There were a people to whom surrender brought the deepest shame, who were taught to give their lives willingly in suicide for their emperor. No-one could reason for one's own life, Mary thought, if one's captors had so little care for their own.
So, how could the war in Asia end? If it were dragged out, and there really was an invasion, as was being talked about more often, this would result in the death of hundreds of thousands, for the Japanese would not give up. There had to be something done to shorten the war, to end it. Then Henry could come home to her.
88888888
It was Ernst who went to find Thomas to tell him that there was a telephone call for him. Thomas, who was busy showing the Marquis of Anglesey - James Bagot to his fried George, and his friend Harry Uxbridge to their rooms had smiled at the boy, and asked him to take a message. When Ernst looked awkward, Thomas said, rather exasperatedly, "Get Larry to then, lad, if you can't understand."
But Ernst still stood there, and instead produced a message written in his clear, rounded hand.
"It was from Mrs. Blitz, from the Post Office," he told Thomas, as he read the same words on Ernst's note. He glanced at the boy and his pronunciation of the woman's name.
Mrs. Bliths had sent a message insisting that the news should be switched on onto the wireless. He showed the message to Master George, pointing to the second sentence on the paper.
"Alright everyone, come to gather in the hall," Master George said, looking both the image of Matthew Crawley, and his grandfather Robert in one go. "Sybbie, look out for Marigold and Peter - I don't think they're back from Downton yet."
"We are," Peter Pelham called, and he and his sister stood beside their cousin.
"I'll check the bedrooms," Sybbie told George. "Caroline's not down, nor Aunt Mary." George nodded to his cousin, who was more like an older sister - and commanding like one as well - allowing her talent at assertive organisation to be an asset just now."
"Barrow," he said to Thomas. "This is clearly important. Please have the staff come up to the hall as well. Organise for the wireless to be brought in from the library."
"Yes, my lord," Thomas nodded, and within minutes, Andy was bringing in the wireless, and the two footmen and Anna, Flora and Larry were standing beside Ernst.
"Where's your mother?" he asked Flora. She turned big, pale eyes to Thomas, and looked grave.
"She didn't want to leave the luncheon," she told him. And it took Thomas some serious persuading for Daisy to leave the petits fours and her apron in the kitchen and come up to listen to the announcement, then made sure Ernst was close to him as Master George clicked the dial around and plugged in the wire.
"This is the BBC World Service," they heard, everyone in silence, waiting for the announcement. "Just over an hour ago, Allied forces dropped a single high explosive bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima. It is reported to have the power of 20,000 tons of TNT. The city had been completely destroyed. More information to follow."
And then the radio fell silent. Crackling of the radio transmission was the only sound that filled the room. George Crawley strode to the radio to switch it off. A silence had descended on to the guests, onto the family, onto the staff. Everyone looked at one another, stunned at the announcement.
"Oh that sounds truly horrid," said Marigold, her hand to her mouth, and to Thomas she did indeed look horrified. But it was her brother who rounded on her, and stood in front of her, leaning towards his sister, annoyed.
"You would say that," he told her, crossly. "Everyone knows what beasts the Japanese are! The Americans have been trying to get them to surrender, and they're in every south Asian country, doing the most cruel things to people," he went on. "Working people to death, you've seen them on the newsreels, Hari kiri? No thought for their own life? Prisoners of war no better than walking skeletons - "
"That's enough, Peter," George told him, severely. "I think, everyone should - " But he too broke off, for everyone was looking at Lady Mary.
"Aunt Mary, I do apologise," Peter told his aunt. "I - " But Lady Mary held up a hand. Caroline, who was beside her mother, was as white as a sheet.
"f you will excuse me, do...all...carry on..." Lady Mary made a stiff smile to Caroline, as if to encourage her to join her cousins, but did nothing more when Caroline just stood there, in her new dress, frozen to the spot. Her mother ascended the stairs with no other words. Marigold, on the other hand, glared at her brother, and then she too, took off.
"A good start to this party," Sybbie whispered to George.
"We can only do with what we have," he told his cousin, pragmatically and then stepped to the centre of the group.
"Friends, family, staff," he nodded to Thomas. "It is yet another attack on our enemies. We all know someone touched by war. Please," he continued. "Let this not spoil our day, for we have many things to celebrate. We have friends to be with, whom we might not have been with had circumstances been different. It is true," he added, "We do not have the weather. But we do have this fine house, my home, home to many generations of my family which I am pleased - no - honoured to share with you."
And then there was applause, and George Crawley nodded, though he was profoundly grateful when a knock came at the door. This induced people to speech, for guests were still arriving, and Thomas took charge, striding over to the door, after reissuing instructions for the staff to carry on where they had left off.
He opened it to Kitty Gillingham and Harriet Wellesley had arrived together, and even from stepping our of the car, were thoroughly drenched.
"It is so good to see you!" Kitty exclaimed to George, and to Sybbie. "This weather!"
"We have the fires made: do come in!"
88888888
Music from the record player filtered down from the hall as Thomas, Larry and Andy waited above. Ernst, who had returned to his room, looked ar the wardrobe, in which, at the bottom, rested his bag.
He could not leave that night, the weather was too poor. He had been into the kitchen and the servants' dining room, doing the jobs that Daisy or Thomas needed, for the party upstairs.
Thomas had sought to reassure the staff. He had compelled them to continue with their duties, and serve the family and their guests. He had even told Ernst he could help, if he wished.
"Or you could read the books you've chosen from the library," he added, seeing the three of them resting on the table beside Ernst's bed.
And Ernst had read the books, stumbling over words he did not know however, and eventually putting them down.
Go out, he told himself, help, work. You know what was in that bomb, and you know the role both of your parents played in it, one way or another.
There was another reason to leave. He could be hated for his nationality, or his voice or his intelligence - and he was outstripping the children of his age at the school. But he could not change his parentage, and it would come out, sooner or later.
Back to Hull, find Constable Pickering's home. See what he could do for him, say to him. What advice he could offer to Ernst, and perhaps, help him back to WIlhelmshaven.
And it struck Ernst that, had his father succeeded, or had Germany not surrendered in May, either Britain or Germany would have been the target. It had to be uranium; it must have yielded a deal of energy. Wilhelmshaven might well have been devastated, or Downton.
It was funny, uranium seemed to be a word very much overheard in his house; his mother - adopted mother, Mrs. Scholtz, had said it to his father several times one evening when they thought Ernst was in bed. And always in connection with the name, "Heisenberg." His name was on the radio sometimes, and the Scholtzs would always stop what they were doing and listen in.
"What can I do to help?" he asked Thomas, getting to his feet and leaving his room. Do something, anything. It will take your mind off things. Daisy smiled, and nodded to a plate of small delicacies on a plate.
"You serve the canapes," Thomas said, and within a few minutes, he was standing beside Thomas in livery up in the hall. A thin, reedy voice was coming out of the record player. He recognised it as an old singer, from the 1930s. His adopted mother had had the same record.
"And these are...?" Kitty Gillingham asked, as she hovered a hand over the silver tray. Ernst looked at the woman and then at the plate. He didn't know what they were called, and so, as he had been taught, admitted it.
"I do not know, madam," he told her, honestly, "But I am sure they taste delicious, yes?" Kitty's face was blank for a moment, and then she suddenly turned with delight in her voice and a tinkling laugh.
"Oh, what a darling, George, how modern, a German footman!" George looked up, expecting to see Larry, and then his eyes met Ernst. Ernst looked down, his face beginning to redden.
"I'll take over here," said Thomas, scooping up the plate and holding it out just as Ernst had done. And then, by his ear he whispered, "You have done extremely well - we'll make a footman of you yet." Ernst turned his face to Thomas. If he looked as devastated as he felt then his face must look awful. "Go to bed," Thomas continued, "I'll be down shortly."
And Ernst left, but he did not go to bed. Instead he lingered at the door and heard George Crawley chide, "He is a refugee, Kitty, looking for his English mother."
He saw the woman turn, her dark hair swishing around her, her face sparkling like the diadem in her hair.
"Oh, but still, how can you stand it with your father - "
"Shut up, Kitty!" Caroline shouted back. She had been standing by the door, hoping her mother would come back down, but as yet, Lady Mary had not made an appearance. And Caroline was feeling low. And she didn't like Kitty Gillingham one bit. "Just you shut up! Just because your father got a cushy job in parliament, which exempted him from practically anything apart from swanning around London - "
At this, Kitty's face fell and her mouth opened. It was a shock to her that someone would actually stand up to her, let alone tell her the blunt truth.
"Caroline! I really don't think - " put in Harriet Wellesley, as James Bagot reached for Kitty's arm. Not that it would do much good, his friend, Harry, mused. Kitty did like to be the centre of attention, did like to be fussed over.
"Ladies," said George, "Please. Barrow, bring some more wine, and can you bring the radio in?" He asked this of Andy. Andy Parker bowed
"Very good, my lord."
"First, can we put on the news?" asked Caroline, because George would want the Light Programme on. He smiled to his sister. Marigold, who was unusually quiet, stood beside her, and the two cousins held hands.
"This is the we BBC World Service," came the newsreader. "President Trman of the United States has issued a statement about today's attack on the Japanese city of Hiroshima."
Ernst straightened. He had been about to go back downstairs, but now, instead, he crept back to the door and tried to breathe quietly so he missed none of the words.
Another voice came over the airwaves. It was an American voice, and they all listened intently. It was that of President Truman, not long in office, and he spoke slowly, yet determinedly to anyone who was listening.
"This morning, at eight o'clock, American forces dropped an atomic bomb on the city of Hiroshima. The reason for doing do was to spare the Japanese people from utter destruction, that stemming from the ultimatum of July 26th was issued at Potsdam. Their leaders promptly rejected that ultimatum. If they do not accept our terms, they may expect a rain of war from the air, the like of which has never been seen on this earth."
They listened on, as the BBC broadcaster continued with a message from Attlee, that we stood beside the Americans in this, to bring a swift end to the war in South East Asia. Nothing else was reported, apart from prisoners being repatriated from Saigon and Manchuria, and eventually George turned off the radio.
"I am sorry," Kitty told Caroline, in what seemed like a genuine apology. "Yes, my father was lucky, and yours was not." She took the centre of the room now, and held court to the guests and the Crawleys. "Now Japan will have to give in d'y see?" She beamed a smile to Caroline. "Your father will be home before you know it. Look, now, George, may we have some music? How about dancing? Like when we were younger?" Behind her, rain thrashed the windown. How cosy, thought Caroline, tucked up inside the house, with a storm raging.
"Like when our parents were young, you mean?" asked George, as Kitty held up a record of a waltz by Strauss.
"Look, come on, everyone, we all know how to dance; we were all taught."
"But we are outnumbered," protested Marigold. "There are more women than me."
"Then, I'll just have to dance with you!" Kitty declared, as Harried laughed behind her hand at her friend's antics. She took Marigold's hand, who was shocked at the idea, but went along with it, though whether out of willingness or fear of showing up the party, it wasn't clear.
Harry Uxbridge took Marigold's hand from Kitty, whose hand was immediately taken up by James Bagot, and George took that of Jane Stanbrook. Peter, who was also reluctant to dance, saw that Caroline needed a partner, and stood forward. Caroline nodded, gratefully. Andy put on the record, and the waltz crackled into life.
"The Blue Danube!" Harry exclaimed, and smiled at Marigold. "I saw it once, from thirty thousand feet - " he continued, "And I can confirm, it did indeed look blue."
A laugh went up, for the man's words were clearly meant lightheartedly, but, given the news that day, it died off rather quicker than he expected.
"That just leaves you, Sybbie!" called Kitty, and when the girl waved her hand to her, she frowned theatrically, and broke off from James, giving him a, "Wait for me," look, glancing around for someone to partner her.
"No," Sybbie shook her hand as Kitty approached.
"Look, come and dance!" Kitty insisted, hauling Sybbie to her feet.
"Who with?"
"With me, of course, or...the German refugee hovering by the curtain." Kitty gestured to the door. Ernst had indeed stepped closer to it, not wanting to stay, but not really wanting to leave.
"Is he really?" asked Harriet. If Ernst had blushed earlier, it was nothing to how he was blushing now.
"Go on," Caroline urged her cousin. "So dance with him." And Kitty held out a hand to Ernst, and when he didn't take it, took his instead and walked towards the dancefloor.
"I do not know any dances," Ernst claimed.
"Oh you must know this one, it's a waltz!" Kitty told him. "ONE two three, ONE two three."
"Or, EINZ zwei drei!" called out Harriet. "You must put him at his ease."
But it was not true. Ernst had danced before, at the Schultanz, when he was ten. All of the boys in the last year of the Grundschule danced with the girls from their Grundschule. It had been a pleasant afternoon, though it had taken him from running for three sessions as the boys were coached in it. Maria Weiss, where were you, now?
And he did not see Larry and Flora at the door, actively trying to avoid their father and Thomas Barrow, as the Downton butler looked at Ernst in horror, being encouraged to dance with Miss Sybbie.
Ernst held his frame, and Sybbie smiled, as his arm folded around her, his other arm out so she could rest her hand upon it. Kitty called for the record again, and all of the dancers began.
"Look!" Larry pointed to Flora, enjoying the cross look his sister's face.
"Just why is Ernst dancing with Miss Sybbie?"
And Flora felt cross, though she did not know why. Probably because she got on with Ernst, she told herself, she alone gave him someone to talk to, she alone sat with him and walked to and from school with him. And now Miss Sybbie, who was a grown up woman, was dancing with him as if he were a grown up man! He was certainly nearly tall enough to be, and with a fair head of hair and blue eyes like forget-me-nots...
It was one dance, and at the end, Ernst bowed to Sybbie, and turned, walking with as much elegance as he could muster. On the other side of the door, Thomas took his shoulder.
"You shouldn't have to done that," he told Ernst.
"Danced?"
"Yes. Now, it's getting past your bedtime - what will Mr. Hartree say tomorrow when he comes?" Douglas Hartree, the Ripon deputy headmaster, had been employed by George to tutor Ernst in the summer holidays in mathematics. Thomas had insisted on paying, and Master George had not argued.
And Thomas was also cross, for he remembered all too well Milo's graduation evening. Werner Heisenberg had danced with Melusina in exactly the same way as Ernst had just danced with Miss Sybbie.
"I am...sorry Thomas," Ernst told him, "I did as I was asked -"
"Aye, yer did," Thomas agreed, "And right now I'd like yer ter - " But he broke off as a figure came closer. Pale hair, he had been tanned from time abroad, his blue eyes piercing his skin tone. He looked to Thomas.
"Who was this dancing with my daughter?" He took Ernst by the shoulder, but Ernst backed away.
"I meant no offence, sir," Ernst told him, as the man's face broke into a grin. Ernst did not think it looked like a friendly grin.
"Mr. Branson," Thomas put in. "This is...Mr. Ernst Scholtz, he is staying here, by the gift of Master George." Tom Branson eyed Ernst.
"Is he now? And why do you see fit to dance with my daughter?" He made to approac Ernst again. Beside him, Sybbie appeared, a bright smile on her face.
"Your daughter," she emphasised. "Is twenty six uears old, father, and Ernst isn't even thirteen." But the look on Tom Branson's face made Ernst decide that he would not hang around. He got halfway down the stairs when the lights went out, and he grabbed for the railing as he felt his way to the bottom.
"I was just teasing," Tom Branson told Thomas, as the guests piled out into the hall. George Crawley went about organising them, guiding them through into the library as Andy and Larry were sent downstairs by Thomas with the instruction for them to find candles.
Anna was already on the hunt, and Daisy was in the kitchens. There was unexpectedly more light in the kitchen for the setting sun was managing to push waning fingers of light through the rain sheet and to the windows.
"I do have them," Daisy told them, distractedly, when none were coming to hand, but Anna had found some tallow ones, put away from when the chandeliers had been replaced with lightbulbs, and the call was made by Thomas to repopulate them again.
"He's in his room," Daisy told Thomas as he glanced at the under-butler's room door, which was closed fast. He lowered his hand from the knock he was about to give. and they both went into the kitchen.
Daisy pulled open one of the overhead cupboards, looking for a particular tray when some things began to fall out. Thomas caught some of then, one of which was a gross of candles, enough to light all the rooms in Downton that night.
"Feels like forty years ago," Thomas said to Daisy, as he handed the candles to Daisy. She had done a marvel with the food, he had to give her credit for that. "Who'd have thought that we'd be the only two here to remember that?"
"I was so soft on yer then, Thomas," Daisy admitted, a blush tinging her cheeks. "But yer never knew."
"I knew," Thomas told her, and gave her a soft smile, one which Daisy had to admit made her just a little bit soft on him still.
"What's this?" asked Andy, stepping through into the kitchen.
"Candles," Daisy said, moving her head from Thomas to her husband. Larry and Flora appeared beside their father.
"Enough candles to light the whole house up," Daisy told him, pleased. Thomas handed them to Andy.
"Just do the rooms that're necessary," he told him. "We were just remembering the time before the electricity was insralled.""
"Before Mr. Ashby came," Daisy continued, "And his son. Lady Edith was sweet on him," she added, "Ernest." Andy nodded, pulling apart the string binding the candles, and he and Thomas organsied where they were going to go.
"Sit down," Daisy encouraged. "Have a cup of tea."
"Aye," Thomas said. He wasn't in the mood for this, poor weather, more guests than expected, and Daisy'as thoughtless reminiscences.
"Just when we need someone to mend all of this - you remember, Anna, don't yer, before electricity?"
"I do," she nodded, taking some of the candles off the table. "I remember you getting up before six in the morning to begin the fires. And we thought our getting up time was bad. It was great with the electricity, though."
Thomas nodded, unable to say her name. Who else could...have sorted all of this out? It was still her circuitry, in many of the rooms. She would have -
..who wlse would have survived it all? Who else would have survived Branson, survive university...survuve torture at the hands o f the Nazis? Soomeone somewhere knew where she was, and he was determined to find out.
And, as if she was reading his mind, Daisy added, "If only Milo was here. She'd know how to fix all of this."
"Aye!" Thomas replied, shouting it at her. "She would have, an' all. But - " he broke off, determined to compose himself. He turned to look at Daisy and Anna, who had both jumped at his shout, and added, "As she is not, someone's either got to go out in the rain and fix 'em, or we've got to manage til the morning."
"Can't be that hard?" Anna ventured, then wished she hadn't.
"Mrs Bates? Fancy yourself as am electrical engineer?" Anna had the humility to look away. "Andy?" Thomas noticed the footman at the entrance to the kichen again, candles still in hand. "Perhaps I'll ask his Lordship?" They stared at him, not wanting to say anything for it would be wrong, whatever it was, with Thomas in that mood.
"No?" He finished with. "Because Milo would have fixed it all - that was her!" He pointed towards the window, in the direction of the generator building. And it was beginning to destroy him, the mystery that George Paget Thomson had laid on him. Alive but no-one knew where? There was a nonsense, if ever he'd heard one.
"So," he concluded, as his staff still stared at him, "We will fill every candle holder, candelabra, jam jar, everything we have and fill 'em with Daisy's candles. Andy and I will feed the boiler, for the gas lights in the hall, and Flora, you will make sandwiches and finger food, for they don't look like they are ready for bed yet, and cocoa. Aye, and for us all," Thomas added, gripping the back of his carver chair. Let us sit around this table and think about what today's news has brought to us.
And then he noticed Milo's boy standing with them, still in his livery.
"Ernst, you're with me," he told him, and he gave Thomas a sharp nod of agreement. When they had all left the kitchen, Thomas turned away from Downton's cook and put his hand to his head, looking at the treacherous weather.
"None of us meant - " Daisy began.
"Aye." Thomas turned to her. "I know. It is... a good thing she's in your minds and your hearts. He glanced at Ernst, she was loved here, lad, he added, then took up the keys from the table. "Come on," he added, glancing to Larry, who reappeared again. "Let's make Downton look like it did when I was your age."
88888888
It was early morning when Thomas Barrow sat by the dying embers of his office fire, a small glass of whisky and water in it, thinking a little of Prew, and his fearsome, fiery distillates. Ernst was asleep, and the rest of the staff had gone to bed, the guests and the family not making it much later than midnight, given the news the day had brought. Outside, the rain beat an insistent tattoo against the window.
And then a knock came, and Tom Branson's face appeared at the door.
"Mr. Branson?" Thomas made to get to his feet, but Tom Branson waved a hand, opening the door a little wider and stepping inside.
"Mr Barrow," Tom said, "Thomas," and Thomas watched as Branson pulled a chair opposite to him, before closing the door and then sitting on the chair.. It was against protocol - he surely knew that. As the exiled Lord of Enniscorthy, he ought to, at least. No-one, not even the lord of the house could come uninvited into the butler's room, or the housekeeper's sitting room. But here, now, it didn't seem to matter: that bomb, and the weather dampening everyone's spirits, the electricity going out, which hadn't been mended and, despite what Daisy showed him in the pantry, not enough for the house guests to keep going a second day without someone visiting the shops, or for the said houseguests to be ex-houseguests.
"I know we have had our differences and God knows how sorry I am for what I did to her," To
"I know," Thomas told him, glancing from his whisky to Tom. "And I thought I was over her now, that she was part of my past, all of our pasts, when I had the telegram that she was dead, and now, her son turns up, and, and - "
"Her son? The tall lad?" Branson looked towards the door, and then back to Thomas. "But - "
"Perhaps when I know what is happening with him, I'll tell you more," Thomas told him. "Ernst," he added, anticipating Tom Branson's question. "I'll talk to him tomorrow, tell him that you weren't angry with him."
"No," Branson told him, "I can do that. Ernst," he added, "Like her brother?"
"Ernest," confirmed Thomas. And here was the next part. "She gave birth in Germany, Branson, and the boy grew up there. He is, rightly, Ernest."
Branson said nothing for a moment, just sat there, considering what Thomas had told him. To ease the silence, Thomas got up and reached for a second tumbler, pouring a not ungenerous amount into it."
"Slainte mhath," Tom said. "Health," he added. Thomas nodded, raising his glass.
"I have looked into adopting him," Thomas added. "He has his birth certificate, with Melusina's name on. He even has her - wedding ring." The last few words came out as a sigh.
"Adoption? Considering his mother's death?" Branson prompted. Thomas gave a nod - it was easer that way. And, then he thought, he supposed it wouldn't hurt telling Branson. God knew, he needed to tell someone.
"Except, I have had reports, two reports, telling me the same thing," Thomas continued. "That Milo is alive."
"Then, God is merciful," Tom told Thomas, and raised the whisky again.
"Really?" Thomas asked, tears now in his eyes, "Beause she is in the hands of some authority or other...her work, Branson, was specialised, it was to do with a nuclear bomb, perhaps even that nuclear bomb dropped on Japan." He shook his head, dejetedly. "If she is alive, she is being held somewhere, and I just...feel so wretched that I can do nothing for her."
"But, you can, you really can!" Branson exclaimed, bright of tone, a glint in his eye. "Look, I am sorry I was rough with the boy; I left Lucy and Brendan in France so I could look in on the business, with no Henry here...back... I was trying to make light of it, but I really did not expect to expect to find Sybbie in the hands of a tall, blonde boy, I really did not."
"And, how old were you when you and Lady Sybil eloped?" Thomas asked, knowing the answer. As if it were some bizarre drinking game, Tom Branson raised his glass again and took another drink.
"Tell me about the business," Thomas asked, and Tom Branson did, the words acting on Thomas's mind like a sedative as the Irishman spoke about exports to America, and imported parts, smaller British cars, and new ones due to be arriving with already filled order books.
And then Thomas reached to his pocket, feeling for the keys. Flora could take the ashes out in the morning, and he would lock the door.
But his fingers caught on a letter, and he pulled it out as Branson continued to talk about horsepower and carburettors - it was one of Milo's. In the candlelight, he glanced at the letters, and then across to Tom Branson.
"There is something you could do," Thomas said, when Branson had finished, and had apologised for what he had done to Milo. "I was given all of her letters, ones that never made it to me in the last twenty years, ones that were held up, shall we say, by forces unknown." And if he ever met this man Lindemann, Thomas might well find time and a quiet corner to find out the answers to several questions that he still had unanswered.
There was no answer for a moment, but Tom Branson was indeed reading it. At length, he looked back up to Thomas, and he noticed the man swallow, uncertainly.
"You asked me to tell you, Thomas," Branson said. Thomas nodded, unable to find the word, "Yes" to reply with. And Tom Branson, with the rain still hammering down, and candles flickering around him, told Thomas about her confession to Prew, in 1943, when the SS had arrested her.
"She says she did nothing that would betray the Reich," Tom told him, not daring to look up, "And that her work was being done according to the lead of Professor Heisenberg." And he went on to say that she did not believe she deserved the punishment she had received, and on the life of her son, she swore that all work was done for Germany."
...on the life of her son...
That was what then tipped Thomas over the edge. He crinkled his good right hand and plunged it towards his eyes, rubbing at the tears. She had been taken; she had been interrogated, punished, tortured. As Tom Branson read on, hesitating on one or two of the more difficult words to say aloud, Thomas Barrow unashamedly wept.
"...Miss Ashby...did all of this...?"
Thomas realised Tom Branson had finished speaking, and waved his hand towards the letter. "It would appear so, would it not?"
And then, when Tom Branson relaxed his hand, Thomas snatched the letter and thrust it into the fire.
Branson sat next to Thomas for many more minutes, though only whisky passed between them. Then, suddenly, Thomas got to his feet.
"He's Milo's son all right," he told Branson, pacing abiut his office. "Not thirteen and he's outstripped everyone in mathematics; Mr. Hartree at Ripon Grammar has had to send for more material for him to keep him going."
"But he was brought up in Germany?" Thomas looked at him, bristling at what might now be an attack on the boy.
"Yes," Thomas replied, stiffly, "He arrived here all on his own, looking for her."
"Then he is very brave," Tom Branson told him. "Look, I'm here, if you need any help, Mr. Barrow. With...anything."
"Appreciated," Thomas told him, and watched as Tom Branson got to his feet. He extended a hand to Thomas, and Thomas shook it, meaning it.
As Branson opened the door, someone else appeared at it. It was Andy, and he was blackened with oil and a rag n his hand, shaking his head. He had been down to the cellar, and, from what was now clear, had not been able to fix the hot water, either.
"Does the offer start now, Mr. Branson?" Thomas asked.
"It can," Tom conceded, and turned to Andy. "What is it?"
"The boiler, Mr. Branson."
"I want to see how much you think car engines are like hot water boiliers," Thomas told him, then drained his whisky, and clapped Tom Branson on the shoulder.
