CHAPTER 113 - LORD GRANTHAM

On the Road to Ripon

The same afternoon

A picture-perfect day, thought Lord Grantham, and me without my camera. He had not driven a car in weeks and had been so concerned with slipping out unnoticed that he forgot to grab one of his cameras. Not that anyone would have objected to his driving. Dr Clarkson had cleared him to resume his usual activities. It was his destination that he did not want to divulge. Thomas had been tasked with making the weekly visit to his box at the Ripon Post Office, but Lord Grantham was not ready to make the same request of Brouette.

It was Thomas who had suggested the use of a nom de caméra when Lord Grantham first considered entering snapshot competitions a couple of years earlier. That way, he could be confident of no prejudice in judging and no embarrassment in losing. They invented the name, Zebedee Villin, which both amused them and bore no resemblance to the name's owner. Thomas then suggested the rental of a box to receive mail privately. Lord Grantham chuckled. As much as Thomas had changed, the man still enjoyed a bit of subterfuge.

Lord Grantham missed the brothers who had deserted him for New York, but he could not permit himself to feel resentful. After all, Bates had confessed their intentions ages ago, and he could not be so callous as to blame a father who wanted something better for his children. Bates laid it all out after a peculiar visit from Lord Grantham's brother-in-law, Harold, with whom Bates, Anna, and Thomas were hatching some sort of hotel scheme. The three kept their promise to find suitable replacements. Lord Grantham had agreed to a single replacement for Bates and Thomas and was surprised when Mary hired a replacement for Anna. Mary explained that Imogene Lee was an investment. Eventually, she would also replace Baxter, who intended to resign within the year now that Molesley had established himself as a full-time teacher. If that was not sufficient, Lee was an experienced housekeeper and would be qualified to replace Mrs Hughes when the time came.

Mary made all decisions regarding the house and the estate. If she wanted advice, she went to Tom. Lord Grantham had become superfluous in his own home. Thank god for Thomas and that chauffeur friend of his who first lured him into photography. Cameras had become his life, and he rarely was awarded less than an honourable mention by the many contests in which Zebedee competed. Zeb's photographs and awards were collected in a scrapbook that Lord Grantham kept secured in his studio, a converted shed that the family presented to him on the occasion of his 65th birthday. Mary had outfitted the structure with a proper darkroom and lighting equipment. Perhaps on his next birthday, Lord Grantham would introduce the family to Zeb.

Lord Grantham was grateful to Thomas for giving him an avocation, but it was Bates he truly missed. He liked Brouette well enough. He was a good-humoured fellow who knew his business and gave the Abbey a continental air. Still, he longed for his daily conversations with Bates, who was closer in age and understood first-hand his time in South Africa. He owed his life to Bates, who had always refused to speak of it. Lord Grantham grunted involuntarily when he recalled Bates pushing him to the ground. Bates had not realized he was hit until he tried to stand and fell flat. Lord Grantham helped him roll over and was the first to see the wound that ruined his leg. He remembered the shock on Bates's face. It was not the face of pain. It was the face of understanding. At that moment, Bates understood that he was not invincible. Until then, Bates had been a giant of a man, the natural leader that Lord Grantham aspired to be, who stood erect and strutted wherever he liked. The day Bates learned what it was to be afflicted was the day he retreated to the shadows.

It was Thomas who dragged his brother out of the shadows by forcing him into a swimming pool. Lord Grantham smiled when he recalled the day he bore witness to the transformation. The family was in London and Bates had asked permission to take off the next afternoon. Lord Grantham rarely needed Bates in the afternoon and thought nothing of it. At least, not until the next morning at breakfast.

Thomas was refilling Mary's coffee. "If it's not inconvenient, milady, I'd like to take off this afternoon. I'll be back by tea."

Mary eyed Thomas. "Anna asked me the same thing this morning."

Lord Grantham looked up from his eggs and sausage. "Bates asked me yesterday."

"What are you up to, Barrow?"

"Mary, I don't believe that's any of our business."

"I was joking, Papa. Yes, it's convenient, Barrow. I hope there's nothing amiss."

"Nothing at all, milady. Only kindly don't mention it to Mr Bates if you see him. We're arranging a small surprise."

"Mum's the word."

Lord Grantham waited for Mary to leave with Henry for their tennis date. "Is it Bates's birthday?"

"No, my Lord. I know you'll keep this confidential. Mr Bates is going to attempt his first swimming race this afternoon, and we're taking the children to watch."

"A race? But he learned to swim only last summer."

"True enough, my Lord, but he thrives on it."

Lord Grantham pictured Bates swimming with a cane. "Don't the men dive at the start? Is Bates able to dive?"

"No, my Lord. He can't control his leg well enough. When he signed up, he asked permission to begin in the water. There was no objection."

"Certainly there was no objection. Diving will give the other men a head start."

"Mr Bates will do his best. We want the children to understand that pride doesn't come from winning but from perseverance."

After breakfast, Lord Grantham checked the time of the Great Smith Street Baths races in the paper. He bided his time at a front window until he saw Thomas and Anna walking towards the park with the Bates children. Once they were out-of-sight, he followed. As soon as he arrived at the pool and entered the balcony, he located the Bates and Barrow clan and sat at a distance. He had a long wait. Children competed first, then women, and finally men.

Bates competed in the men's second of two heats. Lord Grantham saw some discussion among the men, most of whom seemed younger than Bates, and then each of the competitors shook Bates's hand.

"Look at that!" the spectator in front of him shouted to his wife. "They're starting in the water!"

As the men dropped into the pool, Lord Grantham found himself sitting a bit taller. There's still such a thing as honour among Englishmen, even in the modern age.

The pistol sounded, and Lord Grantham fought his desire to join in the shouting. The other men shot ahead of Bates, but he swam his own race. By the third lap, the others were tiring, but Bates held steady. The men pushed themselves for the fourth and final lap, but it was too late. Bates finished in third place, qualifying him for the finals, which followed immediately. That's hardly fair, thought Lord Grantham. The winners from the first heat have had a chance to rest.

As before, the competitors all agreed to begin in the water, and as before, the younger men made explosive starts and exhausted themselves, while Bates inched up from behind. He finished fourth, but the men from both heats shook his hand as though he had won. Lord Grantham laughed aloud when Anna shouted from the balcony, and Bates turned in surprise and waved.

Lord Grantham never let it be known that he witnessed the race and kept his attendance secret the following year as well. During the winter in between, Bates devoted himself to physical improvement in Lord Grantham's gymnasium, while his benefactor's interest waned in both exercising and pushing himself away from the dining table. Bates's musculature enlarged as did Lord Grantham's waistline.

Again, Lord Grantham observed the races from a far corner, and again, the men who competed against Bates began in the water. This time, there were three heats. Bates won the third heat outright, and no one appeared more astonished than Bates himself. Immediately, he competed in the finals. In spite of his slower start, his unwavering strength earned him third place. Lord Grantham wanted nothing more than to cheer and stamp his feet, but he knew better and departed in silence.

It was at tea that same afternoon when Lord Grantham noticed a small medal pinned to Timothy's chest. He pulled the boy aside for a private conversation. "What's that, young man? Have you been playing army?"

"It's Daddy's!" Timothy answered, proudly pulling the medal up for Lord Grantham to see. Engraved in small letters, Great Smith Street Baths rimmed the top and 1929 the bottom. A large 3rd appeared in the centre in relief above the figure of a swimming man. Lord Grantham exchanged a few quiet words with the boy and then with Minnie, who rushed out.

Lord Grantham finished his tea before speaking. "You don't mind finishing service yourselves, do you? I require Minnie's assistance." Before anyone could answer, Lord Grantham left with Timothy in tow. The two descended the stairs to the servants' hall where Minnie had herded Thomas, Mrs Hughes, and Mrs Patmore from their usual posts and the new boy from the boot room. She offered no explanation because she had none to give. Anna and Baxter were already seated at the table mending and chatting with Bates, who had just returned from purchasing new laces for Lord Grantham's shoes. Anna and Baxter caught sight of His Lordship and stood.

"Has Timothy gotten himself into mischief, my Lord?" asked Anna.

"Certainly not. We're here on a mission. Step forward, Bates."

Bates glanced at Anna before separating himself from the group.

"Timothy was wearing this." Lord Grantham opened his hand, revealing the medal.

"I gave it to him," explained Bates. "It's a child's thing."

"It certainly is not," declared Lord Grantham. "Not today. Today, it is an honour bestowed on a member of this household and reflects on all of us."

"I beg Your Lordship's pardon, but I don't think ..."

"There's no thinking about it, Bates. Your son has made a sacrifice, and you are to wear this medal proudly to mark your achievement. You may return it to the lad tomorrow." Lord Grantham turned to the assembled group. "Mr Bates won third place this afternoon swimming against 23 robust Englishmen. Well done, Bates."

Thomas clapped his brother on the back. "Hear, hear!"

"Hear, hear!" echoed the assembled group.

Lord Grantham spoke privately to Bates under the din of enthusiastic applause, "You've earned the right to strut, old friend. I miss it."

The matter did not end in the servants' hall. At dinner, Lord Grantham summoned Bates to the dining room to display the medal and receive the admiration of the family. He was certain Barrow's chest expanded twice its usual size with pride. How jealous Lord Grantham was of the pair. Rosamund was a poor substitute for a brother. Would she jump into a river to save him? Not likely.

It was still a long way to Ripon, and Lord Grantham took the time to examine the matter more objectively. Bates saved me, and we have no familial relationship. And if Dr Clarkson is to be believed, Thomas did me the same favour. He did not like to think of that ghastly night last winter. It was humiliating to think of himself lying helpless at the foot of the stairs in the Abbey's grand hall, struck down by his own overindulgence. He remembered clutching his arm and fighting the nausea that swept through him. He remembered Thomas refusing to help him up the stairs. He shouted and bullied and commanded, but Thomas held firm.

"Your Lordship is ill. It's not wise to risk the stairs before Dr Clarkson has his say."

"This is outrageous! Help me up this minute if you value your position!"

"I'm not begging, Your Lordship; I'm telling. You may be having a heart attack, and the stairs could be the end of you. You must remain calm ... Your Lordship."

Lord Grantham remembered the panic that seized him. He tried to assure himself. I'm not the age for a heart attack.

Thomas managed the situation with his usual efficiency. Minnie phoned Dr Clarkson, and Baxter summoned Lady Grantham.

Thomas knelt at Lord Grantham's side and covered him with a rug. "I apologize for my tone, Lord Grantham."

"No need."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes. If anything happens, check my box for the Society's answer. If I'm accepted, tell Cora ... Lady Grantham ... tell her about Zeb."

"I'll tell her about Zeb whether or not you're accepted. Don't you agree, my Lord?"

"Yes, tell her either way."

"You have my word, my Lord."

Lord Grantham had applied for an Associateship with the Royal Photographic Society and was awaiting a decision. His theme was Women in the Modern Age. He included a photograph of Sybbie correcting Timothy's hold on a cricket bat and one of Daisy instructing workers in her jam factory. His favourite, though, was of Lady Grantham addressing the attentive male board of the Royal York Hospital. He had never envisioned himself a champion of women. He simply photographed the people he admired.

When Thomas brought him the Society's response, Lord Grantham was still confined to bed. Thomas had been right. At least, that was Dr Clarkson's opinion. He had, indeed, suffered a mild heart attack, and attempting to walk up the grand staircase could have killed him.

Thomas handed over the letter. "It's from the Society, Your Lordship. I'll be off, then."

"No, Barrow. Stay. If I'm rejected, there's always next time."

"Always, my Lord."

There would be no next time. Zeb was an Associate of the Royal Photographic Society. "You did this, Barrow."

Lord Grantham parked his car at the Ripon Post Office as he recalled Thomas's response. "No, my Lord. I had an idea, but it's the execution that counts. Zebedee Villin did this. I admire him."