CHAPTER 104: IN THE STYLE OF HILDA MAUDE HITCHINGS

The Grantham House Parlour

Nearly Tea Time

"Is it true?" demanded Lady Mary as she and Henry joined the others for tea. "Is he wearing a cast?"

"And good day to you, Mary," greeted the Dowager without looking up from her copy of The Sketch.

Lady Mary adjusted her tone. "Welcome home, Granny. Now, about Barrow ..."

"He has a slight break in his hand," the Dowager replied. "The cast provides support and makes him more comfortable. I can't imagine that it's any concern of ours."

Lord Grantham sat next to his wife. "Surely it won't interfere with his primary duties."

Lady Mary made her disappointment known with a well-modulated sigh.

"We're not concerned with the performance of his duties," explained Henry. "It's the new tennis court."

The Dowager set down her paper. "What new tennis court?"

"We've had a tennis court installed at the house, Granny. The work will be done before we return to Downton. If all goes according to plan, and it will, we'll have it enclosed next year."

"I see," replied the Dowager. "So now we're to live in a public park."

"You know very well that Henry and I go to the club every day to play while we're in London. We want the convenience of our own court at Downton."

"Tennis is something Mary and I enjoy together," added Henry. "A shared sport is good for a marriage, don't you think?"

"Indeed," replied Lord Grantham. "Cora, would you care to join me for an impromptu game of cricket?"

"I would, Robert, but I've misplaced my bat."

"My, my, aren't you droll," murmured the Dowager through pursed lips. "I fail to see what a tennis court has to do with Barrow."

"When we play with our friends, we play doubles, Granny."

"We thought," continued Henry, "that we'd hire an instructor to work with us as a pair, but we need another couple to train with us."

The Dowager reopened her paper. "And you thought to play against the servants. Barrow and ..."

"Minnie, perhaps," answered Lady Mary. "She seems fit enough."

The Dowager turned a page. "And if the servants outplay you?"

"Not likely," smirked Lady Mary.

Henry cleared his throat. "It will only serve to improve our game."

"It hardly matters now," complained Lady Mary. "Even once the cast is removed, Barrow's hand may be ... unsuitable."

"Tell me, Robert," mulled the Dowager, her eyes still on her paper, "what was the name of that woman from New Zealand who played tennis years ago? Something with an H. You took Cora to see her play in London."

"I have no idea." Lord Grantham checked his watch. "Where's Minnie with the tea?"

"Be patient, Robert," scolded Lady Grantham. "Minnie and Mrs Hughes have their hands full without Barrow at the helm. And it may interest you to know that I remember the woman's name. Hilda Maude Hitchings. A handsome woman in spite of her height. I'm surprised you don't remember her, Robert. You found her inspirational at the time."

"Inspirational?" scoffed Lady Mary. "A tennis player?"

"Hitchings!" exclaimed Lord Grantham. "Now I remember. She was born with one arm."

Lady Mary rolled her eyes. "A tennis player with one arm? That's rich. So you and Mama watched this woman make a spectacle of herself in some wretched charity game and found her inspirational. What use is that to Henry and me?"

"Must you always find fault, Mary," Lord Grantham scolded lightly. "Your mother and I saw Hitchings play in a regular club tournament against stiff competition. She could have defeated the two of you easily."

"I'm certain she could have," placated Henry. "I, for one, would like to hear how she managed it. Wouldn't you, Mary?"

"Yes, of course, Papa. I'm afraid I let my disappointment get the better of me."

"Then we'll say no more about it." Lord Grantham stood to demonstrate. "Hitchings had a quick, low serve that was the devil to return. She held the racket in her last three fingers and the ball between her thumb and first finger. She would toss the ball up, twist the racket about, and hit, large as life and twice as natural. Of course, the woman never knew what it was to have two arms."

"Do you think Barrow could learn it, Papa?"

"If the doctor approves," cautioned the Dowager.

"Yes, Granny."

Lord Grantham returned to his seat, pleased with the success of his little show. "Possibly. Barrow's a clever man, and a determined one."

"Perhaps, you should ask the man if he wants to play tennis before you consider whether he can play tennis," suggested the Dowager as she studied the Mariegold in Society column. Both Mrs Ronald Greville and Lady Cunard had honoured King Fuad of Egypt with dinners and extravagant entertainments while she had been in Paris, and that seemed excessive for a man who insisted on wearing a fez.

The discussion was brought to an end by the appearance of tea and the children. Master George ran to the display of delicacies, followed doggedly by Miss Katherine, who had just learned to walk. She was encouraged by Timothy, but he deserted her as soon as he caught sight of the Dowager, of whom he was becoming quite fond in spite of her formidable wrinkles. "Milady's home!"

"Thank you for noticing, Timothy. Not everyone has."

Master George diverted his attention from the sweets long enough to deliver a dutiful, "Good afternoon, Granny."

"Good afternoon, George." The Dowager patted the cushion next to her. "Bring us a plate, Timothy, and we'll have a conversation."

"A connamashun!" Timothy hurried to the table and gave Minnie's skirt a tug. "Milady's biscuits ... please!"

"Right, Timothy. Which ones?"

Timothy pointed to lemon cookies with jam centres. "Lotsa biscuits and ... dat." He pointed to a small cake topped generously with white icing. The boy balanced the plate carefully as he returned to the Dowager with Minnie in tow carrying a cup of tea.

"Mama," protested Lord Grantham, "don't you think you should spend time speaking to your great-grandchildren?"

"They know where I am, Robert. They need make only the slightest effort."

Timothy handed the plate to the Dowager and scrambled onto the cushion next to her.

"Now here's a young man who not only makes the effort but knows my favourite biscuit. But what's this, Timothy?" asked the Dowager, pointing to the cake. "I don't like an excess of icing."

"Mine," explained Timothy simply.

Lord Grantham chuckled. "Well done, my lad. Where's your sister? I don't see her."

"Wit mum, milord."

"I see." Lord Grantham looked up to see Miss Sybbie strolling into the room on her father's arm. She wore a simple, short-sleeved rose dress with a white Peter Pan collar and a shirred drop-waist. A bow of long, narrow red ribbon fell from her collar. "Here's another of our brood, Mama. Let's see if she reflects a little better on us."

"Granny, you're home!" Miss Sybbie ran to the Dowager and kissed her cheek.

"Sybbie pretty," Timothy whispered to the Dowager as he spread his hands wide apart to indicate measurement. "Dis much."

The Dowager returned the boy's whisper, "You have excellent taste, Timothy," and the boy sat a little taller.

Miss Sybbie sat on the Dowager's other side. "Granny, is it true that Mr Barrow was kidnapped?"

"What dat?" demanded Timothy. "Kid-apped?"

"Barrow's an Englishman," replied the Dowager. "He was in a terrible situation, but he remained calm, as any proper Englishman would until he found a solution. We wouldn't want to mention it again and embarrass him, would we?"

Miss Sybbie's eyes were large, but she nodded in agreement. "No, granny."

"What kid-apped?" clamoured Timothy. "Where Uncle Pooh?"

"You'll see him soon, my boy," assured Lord Grantham. "He's resting in his room."

Timothy plopped the cake onto his napkin and slid off the sofa. "For Uncle Pooh." He grabbed the napkin and ran out before Nanny could catch him.

"I'm afraid you've been abandoned, Mama."

"The boy understands the importance of family, Robert. He and I are friends, but he and Barrow are family."


The Dowager's Sitting Room

Two Days Later

"You may enter."

Barrow opened the door to find the Dowager sitting at her writing table. "How may I be of service, milady?"

"That depends. Has the doctor released you to work?"

"No, milady. I've been ordered to rest and relax and breathe fresh air, as if there were any of that in London. I'm not to read or write or go to the cinema. The doctor will check me again in two days."

"Patience, Barrow."

"Yes, milady, only it's difficult to sit by while Mrs Hughes is forced to manage all the packing for Downton."

"Mrs Hughes managed very well during the war without our lads. I'm certain she can manage a few days without you."

"I didn't mean to disparage Mrs Hughes' ability. Only that it's unfair to her."

"Understood. Would handing me the box on the tea table violate the doctor's order?"

"Certainly not, milady." Thomas scooped up the large, narrow box with his good hand and found that it was not heavy. He handed it to the Dowager.

"What are those bruises on your forehead, Barrow?"

"Must I say?"

"I'm afraid you must."

"I tend to forget about the cast, milady."

"I don't understand."

Thomas demonstrated. "I'm in the habit of smoothing my hair with my left hand and have hit myself with the cast a few times." He could see that the Dowager was pressing her lips together in an effort not to smile. "The doctor says that a bit of clumsiness isn't unusual after a concussion, but I believe he was trying to save me embarrassment."

"If you persist, he'll have to wrap either the cast or your head in cotton. You will try to control yourself, won't you, my boy?"

Thomas was surprised by the endearment he thought the Dowager had left behind in Paris. "I'll do my best, milady."

The Dowager opened the box to reveal a tennis racket and a package of balls. "Pick up the racket, Barrow, and tell me if it's suitable for a man."

Thomas picked up the racket and admired it. He stepped clear of the Dowager and the furniture and swung forward and back at an imaginary ball. "I find it quite suitable."

"Excellent. It's yours."

Thomas froze. He returned the racket to its box. "I appreciate the thought, milady, but I couldn't possibly accept."

"I beg your pardon."

"Milady, I have received innumerable kindnesses from Your Ladyship and Lady Bennett and ..."

"You may continue to call her Ella. That's her preference."

"I will be fully recovered soon and cannot continue to accept your charity. Something unfortunate happened to me, but I have never cared to think of myself as a victim."

"That was a pretty speech, Barrow."

"I hope I didn't offend Your Ladyship. It wasn't my intention."

"Then perhaps the speech needs to be reworked, my boy."

Thomas looked at the Dowager, confused. There was that endearment again.

The Dowager set the box on her writing table. "Let's change the topic for a moment, shall we? You've been ordered to rest, Barrow. Please have a seat while we talk. Or would you perceive that as charity?"

"No, milady," Thomas answered quietly as he sat.

"Tell me, Barrow, what's your opinion on the subject of humility?"

"Humility?"

"Yes. Whether or not it's a desirable quality."

"That's an interesting question."

"There's no need to flatter me, Barrow."

"I wasn't ... no, milady. Let's see. I'd have to say my opinion has changed over my lifetime. When I was a boy, I learned to admire humility as did the other children who attended church with their families. At least, we admired it on Sundays. By the time I reached manhood, I had no use for humility. I thought it a sign of weakness. I pursued arrogance wholeheartedly, and I believe I mastered it, but it never brought me happiness. In fact, it made me dreadfully unhappy. The day came when I chose to model myself after my brother. John Bates is a humble man, at least, most of the time, don't you think, milady?"

"I'm not in a position to judge. Most servants have mastered the appearance of humility for the sake of their employers, whether or not they truly possess it. Isn't that so, my boy?"

Thomas nodded. "Yes, milady. But my brother works to embody the spirit of humility, not the appearance of the thing, as do I ... although I must admit to failing regularly."

"And has it made you a happier man, in spite of your failures?"

"Yes, milady. That I can answer without hesitation. Others like me better, and I like myself better. It's easier to live with myself. When it comes to humility, it's the honest pursuit of the thing that counts. Not success."

"I thought that might be the case. You see, my boy, there's someone dear to me whom I believe could use a shift towards humility, but we'll leave names out of it, shall we."

"As you wish, milady."

"And you will help your old friend?"

Thomas touched his new whiskers thoughtfully. "If I'm truly a humble man, milady, then I would not consider it my due to dole out doses of humility to others."

"Humility can be quite an inconvenience."

"Yes, milady."

"Would it be within the realm of possibility for a humble man to indulge a friend's desire to see how excellent a tennis player he could become?"

"Why do I feel as though I'm being manipulated, milady?"

"Perhaps it's because you are being manipulated, my boy."

Thomas laughed and bowed his head. "I am your humble pawn, milady. But how can I play tennis with a cast on my hand?"

"I will instruct you."

"You!"

"Certainly, me. You need your left hand only to get the ball into play, isn't that true?"

"You mean to serve the ball, milady."

"Yes, to serve the ball."

"I suppose that's true."

"Unwrap one of the balls, and I'll show you how it's done in the style of Hilda Maude Hitchings."

"Who?"

"Never mind, my boy. Let's get down to it."