CHAPTER 42: THE GAME'S UP
On the Road to Downton
Sunday evening
Thomas had insisted on driving the last leg from Doncaster to Downton. Who knew when he would have the opportunity to drive again. Morgan was curious to see the Abbey and its inhabitants, yet he was reluctant to complete the day's journey. He thought of aristocratic estates as dungeons of humourless formality. He felt as though he were delivering Thomas into a straitjacket, and it was a damn shame. Last night at the flat, Thomas had let loose his innermost devil-may-care self. That was the true Thomas, thought Morgan.
It started at dinner. When Novello came to the table after changing his clothes, Thomas hugged and kissed him and said he was glad they were staying home for his last evening in London. Morgan and the others were surprised. Thomas was not usually demonstrative. "You're in a lovely mood," Bobbie remarked.
Thomas grinned. "Why wouldn't I be?"
After dinner, Novello settled in the parlour with his coffee and cigarettes. Morgan had his camera ready and extra film in his pocket. When they heard the first knock of the night, Thomas leapt to his feet and ran to the door to see who had come to bid him farewell. He eagerly opened the door to find Garland and Lucas. Lucas immediately embraced Thomas, easily lifting him off the floor. "Tu vas tellement me manquer, mon petit homme drôle."
"He says he'll miss you very much. He calls you his funny little man," translated Garland. "I'll miss you too, my friend. I can't imagine why you're leaving us."
"Look who's here!" Thomas announced as he ushered the two men into the parlour and settled between them on the sofa. Morgan was amused by the threesome as he snapped a photo. Thomas was chatting gaily, untroubled that Lucas did not understand one word, and Lucas was nodding and laughing, captivated by Thomas' enthusiasm.
Morgan retreated to the kitchen for a private cup of coffee and the last bit of honey cake when he heard another knock at the door. A moment later, Eddie Marsh was pulling Thomas into the kitchen. He wanted to have a conversation away from Novello but did not seem to mind that Morgan was there. "So, you're abandoning us!" declared Marsh.
"I'm not moving to Borneo, Eddie, and I know you're too sweet a man to make me feel guilty. I'm only trying to make the best choice for myself."
Marsh sighed. "You're right, dear boy. You must do what is right for you. It's only that you seem to arouse a certain maturity in Ivor that I rarely see in him, at least not when it comes to his personal affairs."
"I wouldn't want to change one thing about Ivor. I love him just as he is, Eddie."
Marsh smiled. "Of course you do, dear boy, and that's as it should be. That's enough about Ivor. I'm here to see you. I've brought you something." He handed Thomas a flat wrapped package that obviously contained a book. "Open it. It's for that godson of whom you're so fond."
Thomas opened the package and read the book's title, "A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson." He turned to Marsh, his blue eyes glistening. "My mother read to me from this book every night when I was a boy! I still remember some of the poems." He paused a moment and then recited from memory:
"A birdie with a yellow bill
Hopped upon my window sill,
Cocked his shining eye and said:
'Ain't you 'shamed, you sleepy-head!'"
"Now, you can read the poems to your godson, my boy."
"I can't thank you enough, Eddie. I'll put it in my bag right now!" Thomas ran out of the room, bumping into Novello who was coming to see why they had disappeared.
Novello watched Thomas leave and then turned to Marsh accusingly. "What did you do to him?" he demanded. "He was happy a moment ago!"
Marsh smiled. "I didn't do anything to your little ward, Ivor. Calm down."
"He's fine, Ivor," assured Morgan. "He's feeling a bit sentimental. That's all."
Novello looked at Morgan and then turned back to Marsh. "I'm sorry, Eddie. It's only that I don't want anything to spoil Thomas' last night here."
Marsh gave Morgan a wink. "Of course not, Ivor. Let's join the others." Morgan tucked the last bit of cake behind the bread box for later and followed Novello and Marsh to the parlour.
No sooner did Thomas return from his bedroom than there was another knock at the door. Thomas opened the door, and Morgan watched as Thomas stood there gawking.
"Who is it?" shouted Novello.
"It's the two Bolsheviks!" Thomas shouted back.
The two men at the door separated to reveal Gladys Cooper. "All right, boys, the game's up," she declared. The two men removed their hats and turned down their collars. "Boys, this is Thomas Barrow. Thoms, this is Sir Gerald du Maurier and Ronald Squire."
Thomas realized that the two men were Lord Dilling and the butler from The Last of Mrs Cheyney. He laughed and shook their hands heartily. He kissed Cooper's cheek. "I'm so pleased you came tonight, Glads."
"I can't stay long, darling, but I couldn't let you go back to the wilderness without saying goodbye."
Thomas happily served drinks to everyone under Ivor's disapproving eye. "Thomas, your holiday's not over yet. You shouldn't be waiting on us."
Before Thomas could reply, several sharp raps sounded at the door. Thomas opened the door and slammed it shut again. "Ivor, come quickly. It's some peddler!" he shouted.
"What?" As Ivor approached, the raps became more insistent. The room silenced, and everyone waited expectantly as Ivor open the door. There stood Coward and another man. "Oh. It's only Noël Coward," observed Novello blandly. "I can understand your mistake."
"That's Noël Coward?" asked Thomas, straight-faced. "Are you certain, Ivor? He's not wearing pyjamas."
"No, he only wears pyjamas when he's working," replied Novello.
"Look, Ivor. How clever!" remarked Thomas. "He's brought a friend to help him carry his talent. I've heard it's too immense for any one man to carry."
Coward waited patiently at the door for the commentary to cease. He turned to Thomas. "Ingrate. I didn't come here tonight for you. I came to mourn for Yorkshire over your return. Bring me a martini, would you. I'd like to begin wailing now." Coward stepped inside. "Ingrate, this is Jack Wilson. Jack, this is an ingrate."
Jack smiled and offered his hand. "Thomas, isn't it? Where can I get his martini?" he asked. "And a double for myself," he added quickly.
Thomas shook Jack's hand. "I'm pleased to meet you Jack. Have a seat. I'll get them."
When Coward saw Morgan, he pounced. "There you are, Morgan. Did you see how the press enjoyed our little Bolshevik play, oh ye of little faith?"
Morgan looked at Thomas who shook his head. "No, we haven't seen the paper today. We've been busy and forgot to look."
Cooper laughed. "The rest of us are killing ourselves to get in the papers, and they forgot to look."
"Well, find it and bring it here, man!" commanded Coward.
Morgan retrieved the paper and set it on the cocktail table opened to the headline, "Where's The Butler?" Under the headline were two photographs of Thomas. In the first, Thomas was shaking hands with George Reeves-Smith in front of the Savoy. In the second, Thomas and Cooper were standing side-by-side next to Cooper's car, and the baby goat was sticking its head out the car window between them.
Novello sat back on the sofa. "Read it to us, Noël."
"I dread reading anything not written by me, but if it will make you happy," replied Coward picking up the paper. "The West End wants to know if its beloved new prince, The Butler, is out of harm's way. He joined the after-theatre crowd last night at the Savoy Grill with intimate friends, Noël Coward, Ivor Novello, and Bobbie Andrews, but was threatened by the sudden appearance of two men described by witnesses as either Bolsheviks or anarchists."
"Why is your name listed first?" complained Novello.
"No heckling, please." Coward continued, "No doubt out of concern for the safety of the Grill's guests and staff, The Butler rose from his seat with the dignity and courage of his ancestors intact and strode out of the hotel, accompanied by Mr Novello and Mr Andrews. At the same time, Mr Coward and The Butler's muscular bodyguard cornered the spineless Bolsheviks who offered no resistance as they were escorted from the Grill. Once removed, however, the two goons escaped. Their whereabouts are unknown, and they are feared to be a threat to The Butler's continued good health ... I need page 11."
Thomas slapped Morgan on the back. "Your muscles made the paper!"
Coward located the continuation. "Here we are. Earlier yesterday, at the invitation of Mr Reeves-Smith, Managing Director of the Savoy, The Butler enjoyed a private tour of the hotel. Mr Santarelli, the popular manager of the Savoy Grill, pronounced The Butler to be both charming and astute and in possession of impeccable manners. In the evening, The Butler was seen sitting in a box at the St. James' Theatre to watch The Last of Mrs Cheyney. Attendees have reported that The Butler was scribbling notes furiously before the show and between the acts but paying rapt attention during the performance. He smiled adoringly whenever lovely Gladys Cooper took the stage."
"Aren't you a darling!" interjected Cooper.
"Please, I bill for overtime!" warned Coward. "Tonight there has been much speculation as to the notes The Butler was writing. The most likely explanation is that they were farewell notes announcing The Butler's plan to go back into hiding. Readers, I invite you to write your own farewell notes to our brave visitor. I have been promised delivery of any notes I receive by a member of his inner circle." Coward set down the paper. "That would be me."
"Let's have a pool!" suggested Cooper. "We'll bet on how many letters Thoms receives by this time next week. £5 a number. How's that?"
Bobbie ran to the office. "I'll get some paper."
"Are they serious?" Thomas asked Novello.
"Certainly. Let me buy a number for you."
Thomas hesitated, as though he were going to refuse, but then he asked, "May I split a number with Morgan?"
Novello laughed. "Yes, Thomas. Whatever your heart desires."
Bobbie returned with paper and pencil. He drew boxes and entered numbers in increments of 500. "Thomas is the guest of honour. Let him pick first."
"What do you think, Morgan? 500?"
"2,500."
"That's daft! All right, we pick 2,500." Bobbie wrote Thomas & Morgan in the 2,500 square. Coward took the pencil and wrote his name in the 5,000 square.
As the others selected their numbers, Coward approached Thomas. "Why are you going back to Yorkshire? You could write your own ticket here. We could arrange to have witnesses report that the two Bolsheviks were recalled to Russia."
Thomas shook his head. "Imagine me after a year in London." Morgan thought he recognized a hint of mischief in Thomas' eyes. Thomas held up his hand. "Give me a moment." He disappeared into his bedroom. Coward looked at Novello who shrugged.
Thomas returned wearing a gaudy dressing gown and smoking a cigarette in a holder. Morgan recognized the dressing gown as a gift from Novello's mother that had never seen the light of day. Thomas must have gone through Novello's closet while Morgan was picking up Novello at the theatre.
Lucas pointed and laughed. "Il est Noël Coward mais plus beau!"
Garland began to translate, "He said ..."
"We know what he said!" squealed Novello. Everyone was laughing now except Thomas and Coward. Coward sat calmly on the sofa with his legs crossed.
Thomas sat next to Coward and crossed his legs too. He imitated Coward's clipped speech. "I require some space, my good man. I use large words." Novello guffawed, and Thomas continued. "I've permitted London to host me for one year. I've become witty, debonair, urbane ... a truly odious fellow. I don't believe there's room in London for two of our rare breed."
"But Noël can leave London!" suggested Cooper. Novello rolled off the sofa holding his splitting sides.
Coward took Thomas' hand, turned it palm side up, and tapped his cigarette ash into it. Thomas, in turn, tapped his cigarette ash into Coward's martini glass.
Coward looked at Novello who was on the floor attempting to regain his composure. "This should be a lesson to you, Ivor. This man took a risk and succeeded. You must take risks in your work if you want to grow, Ivor. I take risks with my work every day, and what is the result?"
"Coward dies a thousand times but Novello dies but once?" asked Thomas.
Coward gazed at Thomas but could not summon a response except, "Touché."
"You've broken our Noël!" exclaimed Cooper. "It's a good thing we have a spare."
"Oh no," replied Thomas. "You'll have to repair the original model. I'm going back to Yorkshire tomorrow. Being Noël Coward is too much to ask of any man."
"A truer word was never spoken," agreed Coward.
Thomas retired the dressing gown. When he emerged from his bedroom, everyone clapped, even Coward, so Thomas took a bow.
Thomas sat next to Garland and Lucas, and Garland asked him about his life in Downton. "It's lovely country. I've lived there for sixteen years now, except during the war.
"Were you in France?" asked Garland.
Thomas nodded. "The Somme."
Lucas pulled out a photograph he had tucked in his wallet. It was a picture of a young man in uniform. Lucas tapped the picture. "Garland était dans la Somme."
Thomas looked at the picture and looked at Garland. "Garland, is that you?"
"I was a Bantam. The 15th Battalion of the Cheshire Regiment."
"Cheshire? I thought you were from Soho."
"The first Bantam battalion was organised in Cheshire. The local recruiting office measured me at exactly 5 feet and gave me a railway warrant to Birkenhead."
Thomas was silent.
Garland grinned. "Surprised that I volunteered or surprised that there was an army for short men?"
"I was thinking you were brave to volunteer. I joined the medical corps because I thought it would keep me safe."
"I wasn't brave; I was young and angry. My parents had assured me that I'd have a late growth spurt. My 18th birthday came and went and nothing happened. Then my 19th. By my 20th birthday, I knew it was never going to happen. That was the year war was declared. You remember how it was after that. Everywhere you looked, there were men in uniform. More than anything, I wanted the respect that those uniforms commanded, but I was too short. I wasn't man enough."
Thomas opened his mouth to object, but Garland stopped him. "I'm describing how I felt at the time. It can be a terrible thing to feel less than a man." Thomas nodded, and Garland patted his hand. "I was desperate to get my uniform, but there was a khaki shortage. When I finally got my first uniform, it was blue serge. I wanted to look like a soldier, and instead I looked like a postman." Garland laughed. Then he gave Thomas' glove a light tug. "It didn't keep you safe, did it?"
"What ... the medical corps? I have no complaints."
"The glove gives you glamour," remarked Coward.
"Oh?"
"It's as mysterious as an eye patch," Coward insisted, "but doesn't make you bump into furniture."
Morgan continued to snap pictures of Thomas and his guests until everyone had gone except Marsh. Then Morgan slipped into the kitchen to enjoy his hidden piece of cake. He sat at the table and could hear Thomas thanking Marsh again for the book and apologizing for being soppy about it. Morgan was tired. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was not certain how much time had passed. He heard Thomas asking Ivor if he wanted coffee.
"No, only a cigarette."
After a pause, he heard Thomas ask, "Ivor, what are you doing?"
"Don't you like it?"
"I like it very much. Now stop it, Ivor, or I shall have to go to my room."
"Shall I come to your room?"
"No."
"Then I'm going to stop."
"Good."
Morgan took another bite of cake. He was relieved that nothing intimate was about to occur in the parlour. He heard Thomas speak again.
"Ivor! Are you going to pout now?"
"How do I look when I pout?"
"Adorable."
"Then I'm going to pout."
"You're impossible."
"Thomas?"
"Yes?"
"Are you happy to be going home?"
"Yes."
"Then why the tears?"
"Because I'll miss you. What about your tears?"
"I look adorable when I cry."
Morgan heard Thomas laugh which gave him satisfaction. When they met, Morgan had wondered if Thomas knew how to laugh.
Now Ivor was speaking. Are those two ever going to bed? wondered Morgan.
"Thomas, you should stay here."
"Ivor, please. Not this again. Do you want us to end up like you and that poet ... what was his name ... Sassoon?"
"Siegfried Sassoon? Did Morgan tell you about that?"
Morgan set down his fork, insulted.
"Ivor, how can you ask such a thing? You know Morgan doesn't tell tales."
Thank you, Thomas, thought Morgan as he picked up his fork.
"Eddie Marsh told me. He resented being caught in the middle."
"What else did Eddie say?"
"He said you made Sassoon miserable, and he wasn't the first."
"He made me miserable too! He expected me to worship him because he had a little fame and lot of money!"
"Ivor, I have none of those things, but if I were your lover, I would expect you to worship me too. Would you have me stay in London so you and I could make each other miserable?"
"No ... but there are other men in London. Many other men, and they're more open about their true selves than in Downton. Stay and I'll help you find the right one."
"Ivor, I like living in Downton. I like the countryside. London's too grimy for me. I don't like air that you can eat with a spoon. You may be a city mouse, but I'm a country mouse."
"And your precious family is in Downton. That's what you mean, isn't it?"
"Stop it, Ivor."
Morgan thought the two men sounded angry, but soon he heard Ivor speaking affectionately.
"We should go to sleep. We have an outing in the morning. Give me a kiss goodnight."
"Goodnight, City Mouse."
"Goodnight, Country Mouse."
Just in time, thought Morgan. I'm out of cake.
