DOWNTON ABBEY 1926

Episode 5. Chapter 5.

Mary and Henry

They were a smaller party at Doncaster on Saturday. Robert, Cora, and Ambassador Houghton were driven down in Downton's Rolls, Stark at the wheel in his shining best. Mary and Henry went by themselves in Henry's sports car, top down to the brilliant September sunshine.

"How many cars do we have?" Mary asked idly, not caring a bit that her carefully coiffed hair would probably be unrecognizable by the time they arrived.

"Two," Henry replied. Then he glanced at her. "The sedan and this one. It's a frivolous toy, but I haven't wholly surrendered my love for cars."

"I'm glad," Mary said and meant it. As wary as she was of the sport of car racing, as frightened as she was by it, to tell the truth, she did not want Henry re-making himself according to her precepts. One of the things that had attracted her to both Henry and Matthew was their independence. Nor did she wish to be a wife who crushed her husband's spirit, however convenient that state might prove bytimes.

Henry showed no signs of being crushed. "I know George will be enjoying the White Horse, but we could have brought him along with us today," he said, his eyes straying her way. "He's becoming quite the horseman."

Mary smiled, one of those pure, sweet smiles that too rarely graced her countenance. "He is."

They'd already discussed Tim Grey the night before, but Henry now returned to the subject. "How did a man as generous and open-minded as Lord Merton come to have such a disagreeable son?"

"Two disagreeable sons," Mary corrected him. "Tim is the civil one."

"He's not a very good advertisement for the diplomatic," Henry said. "Why did he want to accompany the ambassador when he knew it would mean seeing his father and Isobel last night?"

"And tomorrow night, too, I understand. Isobel said they've been invited to dine at Cavenham. That will be torture all around. As for why he came to Yorkshire, I think everyone in the Foreign Office is scrambling to gain American favour these days."

"But Tim Grey is so ill-suited to secure anyone's favour," Henry declared.

They both laughed at that.

"I think the place is riven with factions," Mary went on. "In approaching Papa, Shrimpy was acting for one group, but Tim Grey belongs to a rival faction. There are pro-Germans and anti-Germans, but everyone wants to get the Americans on their side."

Henry shook his head. "I heard enough about that kind of nonsense when my father was a Member of Parliament. I wanted nothing to do with it."

"Darling," Mary said after a few moments of enjoying the scenery. "I'd like your advice on something. It's about Barrow."

The St Leger

The St Leger was one of the premiere events on the English racing calendar. But the air of excitement in the refreshment tents before the race - all part of the atmosphere - was intensely electric.

"You couldn't have managed things better, Lord Grantham," Alanson Houghton declared with a boyish enthusiasm that clashed with his professorial demeanor. "To see Coronach in the flesh!"

"To see Coronach win!" Mary added, equally exhilarated.

"Tom and I have a small wager on the outcome," Henry murmured in her ear.

"You bet against Coronach, didn't you?" she surmised, shaking her head.

"I did. The odds are against him, Mary."

"The historical odds, perhaps. But not his own statistics. He'll win and we won't be able to feed the children for a month because of your gambling debts!" She said this with a smile and he laughed with her. Mary stared at her husband for a long moment after his attention had strayed to the crowd. I'm trying, Carson, she said to herself. Teasing Henry was part of that. It was good to be laughing with him. But she had yet to breach the barrier between genuine fondness and those deeper feelings she sought within herself for him.

Well, for the moment she had other fish to fry and joined Henry in scanning the streams of people inside and outside the tent, looking for familiar faces.

"Mary!"

"Tony!"

Tony Gillingham and his wife, formerly Mabel Lane-Fox, had come up behind them. Mary accepted the formal greeting of a kiss on the cheek from Tony and then leaned into Mabel's embrace with more heartiness than she had ever before displayed to this one-time rival - a poor second - for Tony's affections. Then she introduced Henry.

"We met at your wedding," Tony reminded her, grasping Henry's hand enthusiastically.

"Oh, of course."

"Papa and Ambassador Houghton are over there," Mary said, pointing across the tent. The two men were in the midst of a small group and clearly conversing in earnest. "I hope they're talking horses, not politics," Mary added, studying the signs. "And I don't know where Mama has got to."

"Mr. Houghton is here for the race," Henry assured her. "Besides, that's Lord Wollavington they're talking to."

"Coronach's owner!" Mary stood on tiptoe to get a glimpse of him.

"Isn't he Canadian?" Tony asked.

"By birth," Henry said. "But he made his fortune here. In whisky."

"Here's to him, then!" Tony declared, although the glass he raised was filled with champagne.

Henry obligingly seconded the toast.

Mary was interested in the St Leger itself as much as anyone. More so, in fact. She had loved horse-racing since she was a child. In any other circumstances, she would have been at her father's side, drinking in the tales Lord Wollavington had to tell about his fine horses, one of which had won the St Leger in 1916. But today she had a different agenda and was glad to see Henry and Tony enjoying each other's company. She was not at all ill at ease at the sight of her husband chatting with her former lover. Today her concern was Tony's wife.

"How are you, Mabel?" she asked.

Mabel Gillingham was pretty after a fashion, but not a great beauty. She did not, Mary thought, sparkle as a woman should. But she had a self-confidence too often lacking in women - perhaps related to the fact that she had inherited a vast fortune in her own right and had taken an interest in managing it. Mary did not much like her, but she did respect her. And that, she told herself, was as good a foundation for friendship as any.

"Fighting fit," Mabel replied boldly, a turn of phrase that Mary's grandmother might have termed vulgar when applied to and by a woman. But it only made Mary smile.

"Things are going well for you and Tony, then."

"We're living at Gravenhurst," Mabel went on, an allusion to the country estate which had come to her, unencumbered, on her father's death. Financial considerations had obliged Tony's family to move into a smaller house on the Gillingham estate and to lease the main house and much of the land. Mabel could not be expected to live there, not with her own estate at hand. "Tony's taken a page out of your book, Mary. We have an agent, but Tony has been working closely with him. He's determined to take it all on someday."

This was interesting news and Mary filed it away as something to discuss with Tony later on. But now Mabel was her focus.

"And what about you?" she asked, feigning greater interest than she felt. Carson's advice did not have to apply only to a spouse.

This conventional question so dramatically transformed the sometimes aloof occasionally almost haughty Mabel that Mary had to step back, startled.

"Oh, Mary," she gushed, grasping the other's hand in a display of unprecedented familiarity, "I have the best of news! I'm pregnant! You're the first to know. Well," she glanced fondly at her husband, "after Tony, of course."

Mary responded with a genuine smile. It was good news, almost worthy of Mabel's forward behaviour. Before she could offer her congratulations, Mabel was rushing on.

"It's only ten weeks, confirmed but... Well. It's been a hard go for us. We've struggled so long."

Mabel had much more to say on the subject, but Mary only half listened. She'd not thought about this with regard to Tony and Mabel, but they had been married for some time, eight months longer than Mary and Henry whose son Stephen was almost weaned. This wasn't really a story Mary wanted to hear, for a few reasons. The struggle to have a child, wearing at the best of times, oppressively so when there was an inheritance at stake, was debilitating. She remembered the emotional turbulence of her own bout with infertility, those long months when she and Matthew had experienced that wrenching cycle of hope and disappointment. Thinking about it reminded her of Matthew and the full panoply of emotional engagement she had shared with him and that always tore at her heart. But she could not deny Mabel her joy and tried to enter into to it with her. If only she did not have to hear every turn in that long and arduous road as it had unfolded for the Gillinghams.

Across the way, Lord Wollavington, the man of the hour in anticipation of another St Leger win, had moved on, leaving Robert and Ambassador Houghton in a state of exhilaration. This was racing talk at its finest. They had just renewed their champagne from a tray held aloft by an immaculately attired waiter, when Robert was hailed by someone with a booming voice.

"Lord Grantham!"

Robert turned to find Cora approaching with two familiar figures. "Look who I've found," Cora said.

"Ah, Lord Sinderby." Robert heartily shook the hand extended to him by the formidable man who was father-in-law to his dear niece, Rose. "Lady Sinderby," he added, in a somewhat gentler tone, turning to greet the woman. He smiled warmly at her. It was Robert's considered opinion that Lady Sinderby was a charming person whose vivacity was rivalled only by his own wife. Her husband showed none of her grace, but his rough manner was almost unnoticeable when his wife was on his arm.

Cora introduced the Sinderbys to Alanson Houghton. "The Ambassador is at Downton for a weekend in the country," she told them.

"The St Leger is the icing on the cake of an already outstanding holiday," Houghton said graciously. "I have had the most charming of hostesses." He smiled at Cora. She nodded in acknowledgment and then looked away.

Sinderby had fixed Robert with an impatient look. "And you're keeping him all to yourself? There are any number of matters one might want to take up with the Ambassador of the United States." He turned a cold eye on Houghton. "What is your man Hoover on about with this business about the rubber trade? Britain's monopoly ensures the equitable distribution of the resource. And they are, after all, our colonies."*

Those who knew Lord Sinderby endured this tirade as they would have a sudden summer storm, pausing in the moment to take what shelter there was to be had and then, when the clouds lifted, carrying on as though there had never been such an interruption. But Alanson Houghton only stared at Sinderby, his face expressionless.

"I beg your pardon," he said, when Sinderby paused to draw breath. The phrase was often employed by one who had made an error but was also, in a different tone, an expression of indignation at another's presumption. Houghton's inflection fell somewhere between the two.

Robert recognized this. The thing could go either way.

"Lord Sinderby is a banker," he said into the chilly void.

"I thought as much," Houghton murmured.

Cora gave him a sharp look. "The Sinderbys are the in-laws of our niece, Rose," she said. "Lord Flintshire's daughter," she added. "She and her husband now live in New York."

Houghton made a non-committal sound.

"Ambassador Houghton was hoping for a few quiet days away from business," Robert put in, not with much hope. In his experience, Sinderby was difficult to derail.

"One can never get away from business," Sinderby said sharply, living up to Robert's apprehensions. "I hope America's generosity toward Germany will be extended to England as well."

"We are working together to ensure a lasting peace in Europe," Houghton said smoothly, though Robert heard a coolness in his voice.

Sinderby scoffed. "The key to European peace is to give the Germans a good thrashing and for the French to develop a backbone. To think that Napoleon was a Frenchman!"

"A Corsican, I believe," Robert murmured. He went on more firmly. "You must have more faith in our European neighbours and our American friends, Lord Sinderby. Indeed, you may find that now that you have an American in the family, your perceptions may shift a little."

"Eh? What?"

Robert leaned toward him a little. "Your grand-daughter. She's a bona fide New Yorker and that, my dear chap, is a transformative factor." As Sinderby worked that out, Robert turned to his guest. "I think perhaps we should take our seats," he said lightly. "Cora?"

Cora, Mary, and Lady Sinderby had abdicated all interest in the men's conversation and were exchanging rather more interesting and less controversial news of their families.

As they moved off, Robert found himself under the scrutiny of his American guest.

"Well played, Grantham," Houghton said, with some admiration. "You knocked the wind out of him with that."

Cora gave Houghton a look, but Robert was pleased that he had defused the situation. "I've a Fenian grandchild myself," he said.

"You weren't that enthusiastic about that connection at the beginning," Cora reminded him.

"Well, I've come around," he said and then glanced at her. Cora was not at all herself today.

"You really do have a talent for calming the waters," Houghton went on.

Feeling chastened by Cora's unstated irritation, Robert said, "Sinderby is a good man. But he can be somewhat abrasive bytimes."

Houghton sighed. "Aren't they all," he said mildly.

Cora just stared at him.

Mary and Henry Again

Coronach won.

"By almost six lengths! I'm sorry, darling," Mary said, after the initial elation of the victory had passed. "Now you'll have to pay up to Tom. Fancy him being a better judge of horseflesh than you."

Henry shrugged good-naturedly. "I relied on statistics, he just took the other side." He tucked Mary's arm through his as they made their way through the throng to their car. "I enjoyed seeing you quivering with excitement as he started to make up that bad start. That was worth every second of horse talk."

Mary gazed at him for a long moment, appreciating his languid demeanor that did not quite mask his intense feelings. He loved her. And he deserved the best from her. Well, if she failed it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

"We're to meet Mama, Papa, and Mr. Houghton at the inn. Tony and Mabel will be joining us. Fortunately the Sinderbys won't."

"Don't you like them?"

"I like her very much. But Lord Sinderby will be himself. He's interesting and he's accepted that I can hold my own with him. Always," she added giving Henry a knowing look, "something to be appreciated in a man. I doubt he would have let go of the politics, though, and Papa didn't want that."

"Your mother hasn't had a very good day, I think," Henry observed. "I'd have invited her to accompany us, but the car's too small."

Mary nodded, frowning a little. "I noticed. She was herself when chatting with Lady Sinderby, but she's been quiet otherwise."

"And what about you?" Henry asked abruptly. "You were happy enough to see Lady Gillingham when they arrived, but the glow wore off rather quickly."

Mary was impressed with his perception. "They're going to have a child."

Henry nodded. "Tony told me."

"It's all she can talk about," Mary said, not bothering to disguise her glumness.

"It's good news," Henry said. "The best news."

Mary's smile warmed again. Henry was a loving and attentive father to both of the boys. "Of course," she said swiftly and was distracted for a moment. "I wonder how Stephen is. This is the longest I've been away from him since he was born."

"He'll be fine," Henry assured her. "And we'll make it an early night."

She appreciated that and returned to her subject. "Having a child is important and exciting, especially when you're in need of an heir. But it's not the only thing in the world. I hope I didn't bore everyone silly talking about the imminent event when I was pregnant."

"You're not everyone."

"Thank you. I think."

Henry laughed. "It's a compliment."

They had reached the car and he opened the door for her. "You were on a fishing expedition today, I think."

"Yes," Mary said, a little bleakly. "And I came up empty-handed."

*A/N. Lord Sinderby is here referring to Commerce Secretary Herbert Hoover, who in the Republican administrations of the 1920s was the "man who did everything." Mr. Hoover, alas, became President just as the Great Depression descended and his inability to communicate to his nation his deep concerns or to emote effectively, as well as a recovery attempt that fell short of the mark, led to his election loss in 1932 to the dynamic, charming, and eminently more personally appealing Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Roosevelt tackled the Depression head-on, massively expanding those programs Hoover had introduced and introducing scads of his own, under the title "The New Deal." It changed the United States forever. But Hoover never recovered personally or in terms of reputation from his four years in the White House, the only bad four years he ever had in his very long life.

The other point here is about the rubber industry. By the 1920s the British Empire encompassed almost all the regions and territories in the world where rubber was produced. There are the colonies to which Lord Sinderby refers. Naturally in a world that is embarking on the "age of the automobile," control of rubber is important. In the mid-1920s, indeed, even as Ambassador Alanson Houghton is visiting Downton here, Britain and the United States are engaged in an acrimonious exchange over this rubber supply. British has almost a monopoly. Other nations have access, but through Britain, which annoys nations like the United States that want to exploit these territories/regions for themselves. That is the dispute to which Sinderby refers here. The United States, he implies, may complain about it, but the fact is that Britain gained control of these colonies first. He's complaining to the wrong man. Houghton is instrumental in ironing out these conflicts.