Chapter Six
Ways And Means
Danny's Bedroom, Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Irish Free State, January 1937.
Up here at the top of the house, above the keening of the winter wind, the sound of the waves breaking down on the foreshore below the railway line was clearly audible.
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm doth bond the restless wave,
Who bids the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.
Was that the hymn those left on board the Titanic had sung as the liner sank beneath the icy waters of the North Atlantic? If so, perhaps James and Patrick had sung it too. Or, had it been something else entirely? Try as she might, Sybil couldn't now remember.
Alone in her misery, she lay curled up on her son's bed, clutching his vest and pyjama bottoms, the trace of Danny still upon them, so that if Sybil but closed her eyes, she could almost make believe that he had only stepped out for a moment. Then, downstairs in the hall the telephone began to ring, the shrillness of the bell dragging her unceremoniously back to the cold harshness of reality. A moment later, through the bedroom door, Sybil heard Tom answer; then snatches of the conversation that now followed ...
"Thank you for letting me know, for sure".
Sybil heard Tom replacing the receiver and, shortly thereafter, the door of the study close whereupon she sat up abruptly, at the same time, thrusting Danny's nightclothes back under the pillow. Surely, if there had been any news, Tom would have come straight upstairs to tell her. Unless, of course what he had to impart was so awful that he couldn't bring himself to ... Whatever it was, Sybil had to know the truth of it. Rising to her feet, she walked out onto the landing and then went downstairs.
From the other side of the study door there came a soft murmur of voices. Calling upon every ounce of courage she possessed, Sybil took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside the room.
8 Rue d'Anjou, 8th Arrondissement, Paris, Republic of France, February 1937.
The well dressed, elderly man, who was standing looking out of the window gazing down the street now removed the monocle from his left eye, turned and glanced over at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. The Calais express should have arrived in the Gare du Nord at eleven. So, barring unforeseen circumstances, let alone the fact that the traffic here in the capital was just as bad as it was in London, and it was of course possible that there could have been a delay on the Métro - his expected visitor would be here very shortly.
The man turned back to the window; looked once more down the street, in the direction of the British Embassy which stood on the Rue Saint-Honoré, not far from the Élysée Palace, the official residence of the President of France, M. Albert Lebrun.
"Ah, at last!" Maundy Gregory, or to give him the alias he usually went by here in Paris - one of several he used - Peter Michael crafted from his two other forenames, smiled; for, sure enough, here was his expected guest, walking briskly along the pavement.
Estate Office, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, January 1937.
Having been left with no option but to telephone Earnshaw and arrange an appointment to see him, here at the Estate Office so as to keep the matter private, Matthew was not in the best of moods. This apart, by nature, and also because of his long-standing work for the League, let alone his other activities - as ever since she had learned of them in Hungary back in '33 Mary had so termed them - Matthew didn't believe in coincidences.
All the same it was decidedly odd.
He had been doing his damnedest to try and make contact with Eccles, in order to arrange the means by which Robert might travel back safely to Downton from Palestine, so far without success, when late this afternoon, while still waiting for Earnshaw to arrive, before leaving the Estate Office and walking back up to the abbey in time to have a hot bath and change for dinner, quite out of the blue, this had come.
This being a telegram, from Eccles himself who, as Matthew had correctly surmised, was out in the Near East. But what he had not known was, for reasons so far unspecified, Eccles had a pressing need to meet up with him upon his return to England, at some mutually convenient locale. However, since Eccles was returning to this country in the next couple of weeks, it was at once obvious to Matthew that someone else would have to be found to accompany Robert on his way back from Palestine. And that presented something of a problem. Unless ...
Entrance Hall, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, Christmas Eve, December 1936.
Having had a light luncheon - Tafelspitz accompanied by a glass of Zweigelt, followed by a Kaiserschmarrn omelette and coffee - in the station buffet at the Westbahnhof, Edith caught the early afternoon train back from the capital; so as to ensure that, having driven herself down to the little station at St. Johann in the morning, she was safely back at Rosenberg well before it grew dark. For the only road leading from the station, through the hamlet of St. Johann, and thence to Rosenberg, could be treacherous in snowy weather. And while Edith had driven far worse in the Near East, some little more than rutted tracks, including on one occasion in a battered old army lorry, the road to Rosenberg twisted and turned, was in part but poorly fenced, and there were several very tight bends, where, in icy conditions, slewing off the road was a real possibility.
Inter alia, when, several years earlier, darling Tom heard of Edith's exploits in Mesopotamia behind the wheel of an ex-War Department Peerless 4-ton truck, he had been most impressed. Not that he for a moment doubted her capabilities as a driver, as Tom proceeded to make clear.
Dining Car, The Rome Express, summer 1932.
"So, tell me, just who it was taught ya how to drive? Would I be right in t'inking he was a very good teacher, for sure!" exclaimed Tom, now grinning from ear to ear like the proverbial Cheshire cat.
"Oh, he was!" Taking another sip of her wine, Edith smiled.
"And so modest!" Sybil laughed.
"Indeed!" Matthew grinned; raised his glass at Tom in mock salutation.
"But why on earth couldn't you have found yourself another driver?" Mary asked, as if somewhere in the back streets of Baghdad there had been a chauffeur, no doubt resplendent in his livery, standing twiddling his thumbs, waiting, with nothing better to do than to run a loaded truck northwards, up country to the dig of which Edith had been telling them.
Edith shook her head.
"In Mesopotamia? Mary, darling, this is Baghdad of which I'm speaking. Not London!" Edith sighed; could just imagine the train Mary's thoughts had taken:
Grantham House in London, sold several years ago, at Matthew's insistence, to reduce yet another unnecessary financial burden on the estate; a town house which saw little use and which, even if shut up, as it mostly was, still had to be maintained, in terms of both its fabric and furnishings, let alone paying the wages of a skeleton staff. The last time Edith could ever recall the house coming alive had been for Sybil's debutante ball, held before the war. Then there had been motors aplenty lined up outside in the street, each with its own attendant chauffeur, all patiently awaiting the return of those who had been driven here in their finery to attend Sybil's coming out.
"As I was saying, there I was with a load of supplies to deliver to our camp at Tell es-Sawwan, close to Samarra, and, with Ibrahim having broken his arm, no driver. I knew that if I didn't make a stab at driving the lorry myself then, as sure as eggs is eggs, those self-same supplies would have been stolen".
"Just how far did you have to drive?" Tom asked.
"Oh, I'm not entirely sure, but it must have been close on a hundred miles".
"A hundred miles? Through the desert?" Tom whistled his appreciation.
Edith blushed.
"About that, yes. Ibrahim sat in the back, along with the boxes and sacks, while two of our other Arabs rode shotgun".
"Rode shotgun?" Being an ex-military man, Matthew's ears pricked up. "I'm very much impressed. You should have been a driver for the army on the Western Front!"
"Oh, I don't know about that! But, it never does to take chances. At least, not in Mesopotamia! However, with Faraj and Hassan along for company, I'd no qualms about that side of things".
Mary raised her ever expressive eyebrows. It sounded, for all the world, just like the Wild West. A hundred miles? Behind the wheel of a truck? And quite how one could ever term Arabs company ... As for all that blushing and simpering, well, really! No doubt Edith was exaggerating. Just as she always did.
Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Irish Free State, January 1937.
"So, that's where Spain is," Sybil heard Tom say. Saw him look up at her from where he was sitting over beside the fireplace, with Bobby perched on the arm of the chair, and Saiorse standing behind it, looking down over her father's shoulder, at the atlas presently resting open in Tom's lap.
"It's a very long way away, Da," observed Bobby.
"It is son, for sure".
"I heard the telephone ..." began Sybil.
Tom shook his head and smiled.
"Don't worry, it was only one of my contacts in the Dáil, letting me know that the Oireachtas is certain to pass the Act I mentioned to you, the one banning Irishmen from enlisting in foreign forces, early next month".
"And just how do you think knowing that makes me feel? It's a pity they didn't do it a very great deal sooner! If they had ..."
Sybil turned abruptly on her heel and walked out of the study.
Salzburg Express, Lower Austria, Christmas Eve, December 1936.
Seated on her own in a First Class compartment, gazing out at the snowbound landscape from the speeding train, Edith was reflecting on her odd encounter at the Christkindlmarkt but, try as she might, could make no sense of what had occurred.
That the Nazis – Austrian or German - hated the Jews was by now well known; witness, since Herr Hitler came to power, the passing of a whole raft of decrees against the Jews, culminating last year in the promulgation of the Nuremburg Laws which further excluded Jews from participation in German society.
Yet this being so, the Rothschilds with whom the former king was now staying were one of the most prominent Jewish families in Austria although, from what little Edith knew of the owners of Rothschild Castle, the baroness herself was, by birth, an American, as indeed was the king's mistress and soon-to-be wife, Mrs. Simpson.
So, perhaps it was a case of any port in a storm.
8 Rue d'Anjou, 8th Arrondissement, Paris, Republic of France, February 1937.
"My dear fellow, do, do please come in. A pleasant trip? Would you like a drink?"
"Passable. Glad to get away. Yes, thank you. Brandy, if you have it". The younger man smiled, at the same time taking in the monocle, the lugubrious fish eyes, the podgy fingers, the near overpowering reek of eau-de-cologne ...
"If I have it? In case it has escaped your notice we are, dear boy, in France. It was the French who first began distilling brandy back in the fifteenth century!" Gregory poured out a generous measure of Armagnac Clés des Ducs, at the same time beginning to wonder what choice titbits of information his guest had to impart to him this time. He had said it was important. Well, he would soon learn what it was, and, more importantly, what use could be made of it.
After all, Maundy Gregory always had an agenda of his own.
But then, so too, did his visitor.
Somewhere Out In The Atlantic, January 1937.
Here on the Pieter where, driven on by a biting northeast wind, sleet had given way to squalls of heavy snow, the storm was worse than ever. Up in the wheelhouse most of the windows had been smashed by the force of the waves, as had several of the skylights of the engine room, and the starboard Jacob's Ladder leading to the bridge and the wireless cabin, completely torn away. With all watertight doors closed and the SOS distress call, dit-dit-dit dah – dah – dah dit-dit-dit, being transmitted over and over again on the radio, left with no option but to do so, Captain De Vries gave orders that the vessel's two lifeboats be made ready.
Below decks, aft of the galley, lit by the flickering light from a couple of oil lanterns, the narrow, cramped, four berth cabin Danny found himself sharing with Jimmy and Liam, along with a freckle faced lad called Develin Shaughnessy who hailed originally from Athenry in County Galway, reeked of cigarette smoke, sweat, urine, and stale vomit. And there was something else here present too, no less pernicious, insofar as it could be seen by the dim light of the two lamps, imprinted across the faces of all four lads: abject, naked fear.
The tramp steamer rolled heavily again, this time to port, listing further over than ever before, so that the Pieter was all but lying on her beam ends. Everything that was not fastened down, including the battered, galvanised bucket being used to piss and vomit in by the four boys, slid in a tumbling welter across the cabin; the slop bucket tipping over and spilling its foul smelling contents all over the floor. A moment later, and the cabin door was wrenched open to reveal a white-faced crewman wearing rain soaked oilskins, water pooling round him, bearing in his arms a pile of life jackets. Although none of the Irish boys spoke a word of Dutch, by his frantic gestures the crewman, scarce but a few years older than the lads themselves, made it abundantly clear that they should all put on the life preservers immediately. At which point, heedless both of the crewman's imprecations and the detritus fouling the floor, Develin sank to his knees, and, facing up the now steeply sloping floor of the cabin, crossing himself fervently, clasping his hands together, his rosary beads wound tightly between his fingers, began reciting the words of the Hail Mary:
Hail Mary, full of grace.
Our Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
Entrance Hall, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, Christmas Eve, December 1936.
With Max standing beside him, Friedrich looked down fondly at Edith kneeling on the marble floor as she helped little Kurt attach the last of her purchases from the Christkindlmarkt to the branches of the already profusely decorated Christmas tree.
"Well done, darling!"
Kurt beamed from ear to ear. Like his brother, he had a winning smile.
"You've no doubt that's who it was?"
Edith looked up; shook her head.
"No, none at all. Who else could it have been? It must have been the former king".
"Why?"
"Because of how those men referred to him, seine königliche Hoheit which is, I suggest, conclusive. Max, would you mind …"
"Yes, of course, Mama". Max now helped his mother to her feet.
"Agreed".
"Well, then …"
"Perhaps. But you'd never met him before your encounter today?"
"No, never. Only Matthew and Mary have done so, then only briefly, years ago, not long after the war, when he was still the Prince of Wales. At a military revue. Something like that. And while Mary professes herself to be a royalist, I know she was left decidedly unimpressed".
"Well, it could just as well have been a member of some other royal house. Obviously not one of our own former ruling dynasty, even if Schuschnigg has seen fit to relax the Habsburg Law allowing the family to enter Austria again, as well as returning them a great deal of property which, incidentally, was always rightfully theirs, and is so legally again".
South of Scarborough, coast of Yorkshire, England, January 1937.
Over a mile in length, running in a west-east direction, the headland jutted right out into the cold grey waters of the North Sea. For most of its existence, the promontory had looked much as it did now, covered in bracken, bramble, and coarse turf, the haunt, predominantly, of seabirds, especially of kittiwakes, razorbills and guillemots, with on all sides, save where it joined the mainland, cliffs standing several hundred feet in height, the rock strata of which they were composed being limestone several million years old. In high summer, a bracing tramp across the promontory, with sweeping seaward views, north, south, and east, could be exhilarating. But, at other times of the year, it was a barren, desolate, windswept place, especially in winter, when the frets rolled in from off the sea, as they did all along this coast, and blanketed the high cliffs in mist. Then, save for the raucous, screeching cries of the largely invisible birds and the crash of the unseen waves breaking on the shore far below, it was a silent, eerie place. Maybe even a little ghost ridden.
The impact of man on this isolated spot had been negligible: a small Iron Age hill fort, and then, reputedly, a Roman signal tower, of which but scant grass grown earthworks remained. More recently, in the immediate aftermath of the shelling of Scarborough by the German High Seas Fleet in December 1914, a small naval battery had been hastily erected on the headland, but the threat for which it had been built never manifested itself again and by the end of the Great War it was derelict. Now, nearly twenty years later, with the wild having flowed in, it was fast falling into decay.
Given that it lay some fifty miles or so from Downton, somewhat surprisingly, the promontory was known to Matthew, this owing to his interest in all things Roman and his knowledge of the chain of signal towers built in the late fourth century, along the coast of what was now Yorkshire, northwards from the mouth of the Humber all the way up to the River Tees. All of which, at least for Matthew, had been brought into sharp focus by the ongoing excavation, of the site of the Roman signal tower that had once stood on Scarborough Head, and which he and Mary had visited when they had been staying at the Grand Hotel in the town in the summer of 1923, shortly after Simon had been born. This had been during the second season of the dig on the site of the signal tower, the year after Edith had been in the Valley of the Kings, out in Egypt, when the tomb of the boy pharaoh, Tutankhamun, had been discovered by Howard Carter in November 1922.
However, one look at grown men and women kneeling on the ground, scratching around in the dirt with their trowels on a decidedly windswept Scarborough Head, and for their pains uncovering fragments of stone walling along with broken pieces of pottery - which looked for all the world as if they should have and indeed probably had been thrown out with the rubbish - had been enough to convince Mary that a career in archaeology was not for her. Still, as she was heard to remark, and again on subsequent occasions, it did rather explain Edith's passing interest in another old relic: Sir Anthony Strallan.
Several years later, when Robert and Simon were older, with the Crawleys again staying at the Grand Hotel, knowing of the existence of what was said to be another Roman signal tower on the promontory, Matthew had driven Mary and the boys out to the headland where, happy as mudlarks, Robert and Simon, now aged six and five, had spent more than an hour similarly scratching around in the turf, on what Matthew assured them was the site of a Roman fort.
While the trip out to the headland undoubtedly kept the two boys happy - thanks to their father's enthusiasm both imagined they were on the verge of uncovering another Pompeii - seated in the open topped tourer, the wind playing havoc with her usually immaculate coiffure, Mary was rather less impressed. Still, when Robert dutifully presented her with what he solemnly assured her papa had said was a piece of a Roman roof tile, and, not to be outdone, Simon gave his mother a worn Victorian farthing - which Matthew playing along had said was a Roman denarius - Mary had smiled sweetly and contrived to appear interested; firmly convinced that all three of them were quite mad.
But it was the more recent military past of the promontory that ensured it was known to someone else too: Sergeant Edward Armitage, the derelict battery providing him with exactly what he was looking for: a place to lie low and where he would not be disturbed on account of its reputation. Not that he believed in ghosts and even if he had, well ...
Entrance Drive, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, January 1937.
"Thank you for telling me".
"I'm sorry you had to learn of it like this, Lady Grantham. If you don't mind me saying so, I expected His Lordship would have told you".
"Not at all. Yes, indeed. However, with a little subterfuge, I think I know how things may be so ordered without you feeling that you've breached a confidence and without my husband ever knowing that we've had this little tête-à-tête".
"What do you have in mind?"
"From what you said, you're meeting Lord Grantham at the Estate Office?"
"Yes. He said it would be more private, than if I came up to the abbey".
Mary nodded.
"It would be. My husband has quarters there where, if the needs of the estate are such, he stays overnight. Now, what I propose is this ..."
Estate Office, Downton Abbey, sometime later.
Over at the stables, and out of sight, Mary waited until she saw Earnshaw leave the Estate Office, before promptly marching purposefully across the yard. Opening the door, she walked briskly into the office to find Matthew finishing dressing behind the wooden partition which screened the corner of the room he used from time to time as sleeping quarters.
"Matthew, I've just seen Earnshaw leave here. Obviously, he's been to see you, so don't even try to deny it".
Having slipped on his Norfolk jacket, Matthew now emerged somewhat sheepishly from behind the screen and sat himself down at the well appointed desk with its array of neatly ordered documents, papers, and letters, all appertaining to the business of the estate.
"Darling, I wouldn't, even if I could".
"Well, that's a start then".
Matthew was still toying with the silver blotter, rolling it back and forth across the leather desktop until, exasperated, Mary reached out and stayed his hand.
"Why on earth didn't you tell me?" Sitting perched on the desk beside her husband, given what Mary had now learned, she was beside herself with worry.
"Darling, I didn't want to cause you any distress".
"Well you have! And, as I told you once before, when we were in Hungary, that's no excuse. I've a right to know".
Matthew nodded.
"Yes, I suppose you have".
"No suppose about it. I have! So, Earnshaw thinks it may be to do with what happened to you during the war?"
"Possibly. There ... there are some tiny fragments of shrapnel ... from the blast ... left in me ... that couldn't be removed. Too close to the spine. Having given me the once over, Earnshaw thinks it's possible one of them has moved. And that's what's causing the problem. However, he admits he's not a specialist. So, to make certain, he wants me to go up and see one in town".
"When?"
"In a few days' time. He'll let me know when the appointment has been made. I'll travel up and stay overnight at my club".
"I see. And will it mean an operation?"
"Possibly, but until I ... that is we ... know what the diagnosis is, it's best we don't speculate. And, not a word to the children. Agreed?"
"Yes, of course. But you'll tell me if you have another ..."
Matthew nodded.
"Speaking of telling you things, there's something else of which you should be aware. But before you berate me for not informing you, I only learned of the certainty of it yesterday".
"Oh? Which is what?"
"It seems we're to play host to the German ambassador, Joachim von Ribbentrop. Obviously, Barrow will need to be told, but no-one else is to know. Is that understood?"
Mary nodded.
"Perfectly. But why all the secrecy?"
"Well ..."
"From what Esme Bolderstone told me, when we were down at Esher, since Herr von whatshisname arrived here in England, where ever he's been a house guest, he's left a trail of devastation in his wake by his boorish behaviour, rubbing people up the wrong way, or by saying the wrong thing. That, and a succession of outraged hosts. Apparently, he's upset every tailor in town by summoning them to the German embassy for a fitting, making them wait hours, before then sending them away without having seen him, giving instructions that they be told to return the next day, only to do the same thing all over again!"
"So I've heard".
"You have?"
Matthew nodded.
"I'm very well aware of the stories circulating about von Ribbentrop". He smiled.
"Then as I asked you a moment ago, why all the secrecy, and just why is he coming here?"
"I can answer both those things, at least in part, but it's a long story".
"Matthew, darling, you're not leaving here until ..."
"What are you going to do? Lock the door and throw away the key?" He laughed.
Mary glanced over at the outer door; saw that the key was in the lock.
"If I have to, yes". She smiled.
"There'll be no need for that. However, may I suggest you find yourself a more comfortable seat than sitting there on the edge of my desk".
Downton Abbey, later that same afternoon.
In both the fog and fading light of the winter's day, arm in arm, Matthew and Mary strolled slowly up the drive towards where, all but lost in the murk, the great bulk of the abbey nestled in the gloaming. It was now some seventeen years since their wedding and, on the whole, Mary considered herself to be more than satisfied with her lot. Dear God, she thought, that makes it sound as though I made a successful bid for Matthew at one of Messrs. Fawthrop's auctions. But the truth of it was that the two of them rubbed along very well together and, when all was said and done, they had made a pretty good stab at things. Mary thought it unlikely that she and Sir Richard Carlisle, dead these eight years, and by his own hand, would have fared so well. Of course, they still had their moments, and would, undoubtedly, continue to do so. But then, from what Sybil had said, so did she and darling Tom. And no doubt Edith and Friedrich did too. With all this in mind, feeling a sudden rush of affection for her husband, Mary squeezed his arm affectionately, whereupon Matthew turned his head and smiled.
"So, now you know just as much as I do".
"Thank you for telling me".
"Ceteris paribus, all things being equal, not only will I be able to see Robert off at Victoria, but also visit the MO. in Harley Street whom Earnshaw has in mind, and then meet up with Eccles. As I said, he's a member of my club and often stays there when he's in town. I wonder what it is he wants to see me about".
"You really have no idea?"
"No, none at all. As for the rest, I won't say what I had to impart about Ribbentrop gave me any pleasure, but you do understand, don't you, why his visit here is so damned important?"
Mary nodded.
"From what you've told me, yes. Even if ... "
"Ribbentrop," put in Matthew helpfully.
"He sounds a thoroughly objectionable man. To be perfectly frank, darling, I'm dreading meeting him".
"That's putting it mildly and, in the circumstances, only to be expected. I don't relish the thought of him coming here either, but, as I explained to you ... "
"Matthew, I do understand, believe me. Not only about ... Ribbentrop, but also about Robert too. I'm very glad you were so frank with him".
"Again I took no pleasure in saying to Robert what I did, but there's no glory to be had in war. Some of what I saw in the last show ..." Matthew shook his head in evident disbelief.
"You really believe there will be another war with Germany?"
Matthew nodded.
"I'd be lying if I told you otherwise. And sooner rather than later. The war in Spain is but a foretaste of what is to come and, when, finally it happens, it will involve all of us, including those here at home, far more than ever it did last time".
"And dearest Danny, now on his way to fight out there in Spain! God knows what darling Sybil must be feeling ... I should telephone her tonight".
"That would be a singular kindness. Whether it will help ..."
"It may not. But, with you already having spoken to Tom, it's the very least I can do".
They had now reached the abbey whereupon Matthew nodded towards the imposing front door of the house.
"For what it's worth, I don't suppose our esteemed butler will be pleased to learn of Ribbentrop's impending arrival".
"Oh? How so?"
"The Nazis put the kibosch on his annual trip to the fleshpots of Berlin - by closing them down. So, one assumes Barrow now goes elsewhere for his ... entertainment".
"You knew about that?" Mary had blithely assumed that as Matthew had never once referred to the sexual predilections of their butler, they remained unknown to him. However, she ought to have known better. Like darling Tom, dearest Matthew was always so well informed.
Her husband nodded.
"Indeed. So long as he remains discrete, there is nothing to be done. What the eye doesn't see and so forth. A case of Much suspected by me, nothing proved can be. But, if ever Barrow should be caught in flagrante delicto, then it would become a different matter entirely ..."
Downton Abbey, several days later.
As it turned out, Matthew was right.
On two counts.
When informed about it, while remaining outwardly unflappable and as inscrutable as a Chinaman, Thomas Barrow had indeed been surprised to learn of the impending visit of the German ambassador. And, several of the other names on the list handed to him by His Lordship of the houseguests for that particular weekend, which he recognised, had also caused a figurative raising of the butler's eyebrows. Not of course that he said anything. For, just as Thomas had told Billy - William - that it was not his place to voice any opinion on His Lordship's relatives, so too it was not the business of the butler to take issue with those whom His Lordship chose to entertain here at the abbey.
All the same, Thomas had his own views on what was happening over there in Germany. After all, with the coming to power of that nasty little corporal and his thugs, understandably wishing to keep himself a whole skin, Thomas had been forced to go elsewhere for his especial encounters. This he deemed to be a very great pity, given what had been freely available in certain bars and clubs in Berlin, like the Eldorado on the corner of Motzstraße and which had been a wonderful place to visit. But, along with all such haunts, including the Karls-Lounge with its sailor clad waiters, which Thomas had come to know so well, the Eldorado had been forcibly closed down. What had become of most of the men he had met there, Thomas didn't like to think. All he knew was that the letters he had written to Günther, a young soldier in Potsdam who, at the time he and Thomas had met, had an apartment on the Nollendorfstraße, had gone unanswered.
So, for the last few years, while Thomas continued to travel abroad, something which these days he did two or three times a year, he only dared venture as far as Paris where several of his friends from Berlin had now settled. In addition to these, there was another friend living in the French capital, with whom Thomas had become acquainted but a year or so ago, the one who owned a charming apartment on the Rue d'Anjou, and who would, no doubt, be interested to learn of the forthcoming visit by von Ribbentrop to Downton Abbey.
But then Maundy Gregory was interested in all manner of things.
Author's Note:
Sybil's memory was at fault. The hymn which is said to have been sung as the Titanic went down is Nearer My God To Thee.
Arthur John Peter Michael Maundy Gregory (1877-1941) was a British theatre producer, political fixer, homosexual, and a thoroughly nasty piece of work, best remembered for his involvement in the scandal of selling political honours on behalf of Prime Minister David Lloyd George to raise funds for the Liberal Party. Gregory claimed he was in the pay of British Intelligence, and was said to have amassed a great deal of "dirt" on people in high places. Made bankrupt in 1933, having served a short prison sentence for trying to sell a peerage, Gregory moved to Paris, allegedly bankrolled by individuals close to the Conservative Party to the tune of £2,000 per annum, and taking with him his private papers. Still living in Paris when the Germans occupied the city in 1940, Gregory was arrested and died in 1941, either in Drancy internment camp or in Val-de-Grâce hospital.
The finds from the excavation of the Roman signal tower on Scarborough Head may be seen in the town museum. The dig was supervised by F.G. Simpson.
The Habsburg Law of April 1919 dethroned the Habsburgs as rulers of Austria (which had declared itself a republic in November 1918) exiled them, and confiscated their property. While the Law was repealed in 1935 and the family's property returned to them, in 1938, following the Anschluss, the Nazis reintroduced the Law, which was retained when Austria regained its independence after WWII. In the 1990s the Law was found to violate human rights and, before Austria would be given admission to the European Union, large parts of the Law had to be repealed, principally the ban on members of the Habsburg family entering the country. Although the Law de jure remains in force, it is all but obsolete; however the Habsburgs have still not received the return of their property.
Esher - a town in Surrey.
Sir Richard Carlisle: in my stories, having lost a great deal of his fortune in the Depression, he committed suicide in 1929.
Much suspected by me, nothing proved can be - the words scratched by Princess Elizabeth - later Elizabeth I - with a diamond ring on a window at Woodstock Manor in Oxfordshire while under house arrest during the reign of her sister, Mary Tudor.
Before the Nazis came to power, the Motzstraße was well known as an area for homosexual encounters. The Eldorado Cafe was made famous by Christopher Isherwood in his semi-autobiographical novel "Goodbye to Berlin" which inspired the film Cabaret. Along with several other well known homosexual clubs it was closed down by the Nazis in 1933. Although other less prominent such venues stayed open, with the enacting in 1935 of further anti- homosexual legislation, they were shut down too.
