DOWNTON ABBEY 1926

Episode 7. Chapter 4.

Violet and Isobel

Wednesday September 29, 1926

"Fire bells in the night. Surely that is one of the most dread sounds there is."

Violet and Isobel were having lunch together at the Dower House.

Though they were often at odds with each in matters of both principle and practice, Violet agreed heartily with her cousin on this.

"It's a miracle they all emerged unscathed," Isobel went on.

"Not a miracle," Violet corrected her. "God had nothing to do with it. It was the perpetrator himself, apparently, who roused Tom."

"That is very peculiar."

"Very."

"I was in a fire once. It broke out in the hospital where I worked outside of London during the war. The South African war. It was a stupid fire, started by an ambulatory patient casting a cigarette stub into a bin of discarded bandages to avoid a telling off by a nurse."

Violet raised her eyebrows inquiringly at this. She would not have been at all surprised to learn that Isobel had been the nurse policing the ward. Isobel ignored her.

"We had an evacuation plan, but some of the staff were new. It was chaos for a while. But no one suffered anything more than smoke inhalation, and not badly at that."

"You have had a life brimming with adventure!" Violet declared. "Wars, fires. And now a society dinner party, so I hear."

Isobel might have bristled a bit at Cousin Violet's ironic commentary on her life in this juxtaposition of war and a dinner party, but was distracted by a different aspect. "And how do you come to hear that? We've not told anyone yet."

"Well, you told the Grey boys and Amelia, didn't you? At that dinner at Cavenham?"

Isobel's bewilderment deepened. "I didn't know you were in communication with Dickie's sons," she said.

Violet favoured Isobel with an almost pitying smile. "The family were not the only ones privy to your announcement. The butler was there. And the footmen. And they talk to other servants who talk to others in their turn. Eventually everything comes to Denker. It's a very efficient network in its way and altogether more reliable than the telephone." She chuckled at the look of astonishment on Isobel's face and moved on.

"May I assume that you have secured the appropriate assistance for such an occasion?"

Recovering her poise swiftly, Isobel gave Violet a self-assured smile. "I took your advice and I believe we are in a position to make a success of it."

"I am very glad to hear it. Am I to be invited?"

Isobel's eyes went round. "Of course! What would a society dinner in this county be like without you!"

"Fortunately, I will never know," Violet said and then giggled.

Isobel laughed with her. "I hear that you took a carriage ride in the park with Dr. Clarkson," she went on. "What prompted you to that?"

Violet's eyes twinkled, in part from fond remembrance of the occasion but also as it opened a new avenue with which to bedevil her cousin. "It was his idea."

"Goodness! That doesn't sound like him at all."

"Mmm. That's what he said of you."

Once more Isobel came over somewhat bewildered, but she brushed by it. "You seem to be spending a great deal of time with Dr. Clarkson of late."

"Are you jealous?" Violet asked.

Isobel only looked on the other woman for a long moment. "It is so very good to see you again, Cousin Violet."

With an expression of immense satisfaction at this remark, Violet drew herself up and said, "Then I must be doing something wrong!"

Once more they erupted into laughter.

Isobel did not linger after lunch. Violet was to have to her regular afternoon interview with Carson and his assistant and Isobel did not want to interfere with that. But then, as she stepped out the gate and saw the two men approaching, other thoughts occurred to her.

Her gaze fell in the first instance on the younger of the two. Had she set eyes on him before? He was almost as tall as Carson, dark-haired, pleasant-looking, and dignified. Yes, he and Carson were well paired, this Daniel Ryder a youthful complement to the older man. Tim Grey's comments flitted through her mind. But it was Carson in whom she was really interested and she hailed him cheerfully.

"Lady Merton," Carson said affably and he introduced his companion.

"May I have a moment, Carson?"

"Of course, my lady."

Although she had never been one for the folderol of titles, Isobel appreciated how easily the address rolled off of Carson's tongue. She knew that he did not easily adapt to the shifting of class lines and that he was an inveterate ally and admirer of Cousin Violet, which meant that he would take the latter's part in any dispute, right or wrong, against Isobel. That he had accepted her change of status was gratifying.

Daniel Ryder excused himself and walked on, leaving them alone. Isobel appreciated his discretion and turned to the former butler.

And from the window of her drawing room, Violet looked down on this casual encounter, on two of the people of whom she was very fond, and smiled.

Upstairs Dinner

Wednesday September 30, 1926

On Wednesday night Cora requested a special dinner from Mrs. Patmore's kitchen and prevailed upon Violet to join the rest of the family.

"What is the occasion?" Violet inquired as Barrow adjusted her chair. "Have I forgotten someone's birthday?"

"No, Mama. It's only that Robert is back from London and Henry is going away on Friday to Berlin..."

"I was only gone two days."

"I'm only going for four days."

The two men spoke at the same time and this elicited a gentle laughter around the table.

The atmosphere was lighter than it had been a few days earlier, but there were still those dissonant undercurrents of residual resentment emanating from Robert and Tom toward each other.

"How was Edith?" Mary asked.

An almost imperceptible smile shadowed Henry's face at this question. Mary was determined to deny her father any opportunity to express his reservations, but opening with a query about Edith seemed like a desperate maneuvre.

"Edith is well," Robert replied. "She was reviewing the proofs for the latest edition of The Sketch. That's why she was in London."

"And how are things at Brancaster?" Violet was not at all deterred by the others' determined circumspection. She was quite specifically concerned about the state of Edith's marriage.

"Also well," Robert said firmly, giving her a meaningful look.

"Tell us about your diplomatic adventure," Cora said. Robert had returned too late for tea and had not as yet had an opportunity to expound on the event which he had gone to London to attend.

Her question won her a warm smile from her husband, who was gratified by this expression of support. They had got over the irritation concerning Robert's involvement with the ambassador.

"Ambassador Houghton is a genial host. It was more a social occasion than anything else, an attempt to lay the groundwork for good feeling between key members of the Foreign Office, some tricky members of Parliament, and the American team before they get down to the serious business."

"That sounds like a good idea," Cora said. "That's what Ambassador Houghton was talking about when he was here - building bridges of friendship."

"I'm not sure how successful it was or what I contributed to it, except to keep Lord Ranskill from shutting down the shop when Oswald Mosley came in."*

"Oswald Mosley!"

The whole company stared at him.

"What was he doing there?" Henry demanded.

Robert, who had mastered his astonishment by now, shrugged. "He is quite anti-war, almost violently so," he added wryly. "And he came in the company of one of the staunchest advocates in the Foreign Office for a softening of the Versailles terms. Uninvited, but it was a cocktail party not dinner." He paused. "He's unbalanced, if you ask me."

"The war turned him against war," Henry murmured. "The trenches will do that."

"He switched parties," Robert declared, as though that were evidence enough of anyone's mental deterioration.

"Well, so did Churchill," Mary said. "Twice."

"Churchill didn't join Labour." Robert's tone was acid. It was the most complimentary thing he'd ever said about the man. "Either time. Or do so over Ireland."

A few tense seconds followed. Ireland was a topic never easily negotiated.

"His wedding in 1920 was one of the social events of the year," Cora interceded, attempting to leaven the conversation with something frivolous. "Do you remember it Mama?"

"I'm not in the grip of senility, my dear," Violet responded vigorously. "Of course I remember it. Lord Curzon's daughter. Royalty and diamonds everywhere. But it hasn't stuck."

"Why didn't you leave, Papa? Instead of persuading old Ranskill to stay."

"Because smoothing frictions was precisely why I was there and it was certainly a challenge." An awkward pause followed this remark, reflecting perhaps Robert's awareness of the delicate balance at his own table.

Tom, who in an earlier incarnation might easily have added fuel to the fire by praising Oswald Mosley for quitting the Conservative party over Churchill's eager deployment of the Black and Tans in Ireland, instead offered a balm in the form of another diversion.

"I saw Barrow and Andy out with measuring tapes on the lawn this morning. What's that about?"

Violet looked up abruptly. "Are you planning a social event on the lawn, Robert? In October?"

"Not quite, Mama." Though he spoke to his mother, Robert favoured Tom with a genuine smile for the first time in days, pleased by his tact and restraint, and feeling called to respond in kind. At the same time he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, how butler and footman drew themselves up alertly at this reference to them. Gratefully he abandoned the turbulent subject of Oswald Mosley.

"They're measuring the course for a race.'

"A race!"

Mary, Henry, and Tom exchanged intrigued glances. Cora, to whom Robert had already mentioned the event in passing, looked on in interest.

"What kind of race? Horses on the lawn!"

"A foot race, Mama."

"And who is to run in it?" demanded Mary, surprised by the whole thing.

Robert turned slightly toward Barrow who stepped forward at this subtle summons. "Well, Barrow will represent Downton and he is going to run against Carson's assistant ..."

"Mr. Ryder, my lord."

"Yes, Ryder. The man who's been working with Carson."

"Why?" This novel development had momentarily shaken even Tom from his gloom.

"For fun," Robert said succinctly. "Tell them how it came to be, Barrow."

The butler cleared his throat. "It came up in the servants' hall. We were talking about a footrace at Cambridge University..."

"The Great Court Run!" Henry murmured, nodding. His eyes seemed to brighten.

"Yes. Mr. Ryder, who attended Trinity College and ran the race ..."

"Did he!"

"Henry!" Mary said, in amused reproof. Henry was not usually given to interrupting.

"... was explaining it to us and Mr. Bates suggested ..."

"Daisy," Andy intoned.

"Right. Daisy suggested we might have a run of our own and His Lordship agreed..."

"Why not!" Robert said. "The Downton Abbey Run! And Barrow is to be our man," he added proudly.

Barrow nodded in pleased acknowledgment.

"I didn't realize you were quite such an athlete," Mary remarked, gazing critically at the butler as though assessing him in this new light.

"You've seen him on the cricket pitch," Robert reminded her robustly. "Barrow is always our best player." It was a reference to the annual game wherein teams from the house and the village played an ostensibly good-will match that was actually an intense contest of pride and honour that both sides took very seriously.

"Have you picked a date?" Cora asked, looking to Barrow.

"Saturday October 16, my lady," Barrow said promptly. "It may be a bit cool, but what with Mr. Talbot's trip to Berlin and the need to practice at least a little..."

Later, as they got up to make their way to the drawing room - not dividing, despite Violet's presence and her preference for the formalities - the family group broke into pairs.

"So things are all right with Edith?" Cora asked her husband.

He shrugged. "She seemed herself again. There were no tears or recriminations. She and Bertie are talking, albeit somewhat coolly. She didn't tell me why they'd fallen out, but I'm sure it will right itself eventually."

Cora sighed. Robert did not like to confront problems or have difficult conversations and thus was not an entirely reliable barometer of Edith's situation.

Mary had taken her grandmother's arm and was regaling her with the exploits of George and Stephen. As Barrow opened the door for them, Mary glanced over at him.

"A Downton Abbey race! You certainly have an exciting few weeks ahead of you, Barrow."

Barrow gave her a nod but his expression remained admirably impassive.

As they moved into the Great Hall, Violet fixed an eye on Mary. "What was that about?"

Mary smiled enigmatically. "Nothing, Granny."

"You are very trying, my dear."

Tom and Henry followed the others into the Great Hall, Tom drawing his brother-in-law off to the side for a moment.

"Well done, not rising to Oswald Mosley's defense!" Henry said.

"I've mixed feelings about him myself," Tom admitted. "And I've had the fight knocked out of me for a while."

"Nothing from the police?"

"No." He brushed that away with what Henry thought was almost indifference. "Listen, Henry, why don't you run in that race, too?"

Henry's eyebrows slowly arched.

"I mean it."

"I've not been invited to participate," Henry said, "and I wouldn't want to push in. Besides, Barrow is Downton's man."

Tom shook his head impatiently. "And he can still be. But he said that this other fellow ... Ryder? ... that he went to Cambridge. And you went to Oxford. And I saw the look in your eye when you were listening to Barrow."

"The Great Court Run is legendary, Tom. But ... I'm too old to race. Except in a car," he added with a grin.

"I'll write to Mr. Churchill and tell him you're ready for your old age pension, then. Henry! Barrow is only a few years younger than you and you're in as good shape, if not better. You could win!"

Henry thought for a minute. "I'm going to be seeing a lot of Barrow this weekend. I'll talk to him about it, but I'm not promising anything. And I won't push in on them. If Barrow and company don't agree, I'll stay on the sidelines and cheer for ... What is Carson's man's name again?"

They both laughed at this.

"What about you, Tom? Why don't you think about it?"

"I could never run."

John and Anna

Thursday September 30, 1926

Anna had never been to the Dales.

As the flat land gave way to the ridges and slopes and valleys, criss-crossed with narrow lanes lined with hedgerows or stone walls, the hillsides dotted with sheep, she gasped. Beside her on the wide bus seat John Bates stared at his wife, enjoying her rapture. He had been here before.

"We're lucky to have the sun," he remarked. "It poured the two days I was in London with His Lordship. The Dales are dramatic in any weather, but everything is better in the sunshine.'

Anna was hardly listening to him. "How is it I've never come this way before? It is magnificent."

John grinned.

They had not brought Robbie with them after all. The very suggestion of such a trip had prompted Nanny to protest, but they could easily have ignored this. Neither Anna nor John felt compelled to yield to the tyranny of the Downton nanny and had at different times pondered the willingness of Lady Mary, Lady Edith as she had been then, and sometimes even Tom to do so. It was the practicalities that defeated the Bateses in this instance. The day would be too long for him, they could not count on the weather to cooperate, and they wanted to give the inn a thorough examination.

Taking her eyes from the scenery for a moment, Anna turned to her husband. "It would have been our first trip together as a family," she said, missing her little boy.

"We'll go to Thirsk for an afternoon together. It won't matter to Robbie."

Anna rolled her eyes at him. "I meant doing something meaningful for our family, together. Not just getting out of the house." She sighed a little. "Did you tell His Lordship where we were going and why?"

"I did. He wished us well."

This set the right tone for their excursion and as the bus wended its way along the country lanes, dotted with lay-bys for oncoming traffic and the occasional sheep, they chatted of matters pertaining to their life outside of Downton.

"Another name!" John groaned, when Anna patted her slightly distended belly and asked if he had any ideas. "It took months to come up with the last one."

"It's hardly an onerous task," she said, frowning at him. "Just don't reject every suggestion this time."

"But names are important," he countered, staring into her mesmerizing grey-green eyes and trying to focus on the conversation. "They're with you for your whole life and yet you have no say in your own name. There's something askew about that."

"Let's let Robbie decide!" Anna suggested.

"Didn't you hear what I just said!"

"We can come up with a list of names and he can choose from among them."

John shook his head. "If our child is going to object to his ... or her ... name, I think only we should be to blame for it."

"John!"

They were enjoying the freedom to engage in such frivolous banter.

"And how are you going to like being the proprietor of a hotel?" Anna asked mischievously. "You who doesn't enjoy the company of others."

"I do enjoy the company of others," he protested, persisting despite Anna's eyebrow which arched sceptically. "Just not of all others. Besides," he added, "there are so many other advantages to a different kind of life that I think I can adjust to the few less attractive aspects."

"You do know you're going to have to smile at people when they come in the front door?" she teased. "Because usually you're wearing a fierce glower that would drive the faint-hearted away."

"It didn't work on you."

"I'm not faint of heart."

"No," he agreed, his bright eyes smouldering with adoration. "You're not." He drew himself back to the subject. "In my own hotel, I will greet everyone with a smile and a friendly word," he assured her. "Or train our children up to be genial clerks, while I occupy myself with the books and the upkeep."

The bus rumbled to a halt at a crossroads and they saw the sign for Grassington. His own excitement building, John glanced at Anna and saw a look of what he thought was apprehension in her eyes.

"Are you having second thoughts?" he asked momentarily jarred.

"No! What I'm having is butterflies! This has been a long time coming, John."

The line on his forehead faded and he grinned again. "You've been very patient," he said softly.

"I've had faith," she responded and then leaned toward him, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss.

"This is it!" John said a little while later as the bus began its descent down a slope into the village. Within moments they were alighting onto a cobblestone street in the square and looking around, much pleased with what they saw in the familiar limestone buildings and beguiling shops.

John, distracted by the surroundings, stumbled on the rough stones and almost lost his balance. He looked up at Anna. "England is not a country for the imperfect."

But there was no pity in her loving gaze. "You'll get used to it," she said brightly. For Anna the glass was always half full.

The inn they sought was just off the square. "A nice central location," John mused.

"The Devonshire Inn," Anna said, recalling the name. "Why Devonshire? We're a bit far from Chatsworth."

"The Devonshires are everywhere," John intoned. "Bolton Abbey is only a few miles down the road. But I don't mind them sharing the name of my establishment."

Anna groaned at his feeble humour.

The Devonshire Inn was a long, low building, two storeys in height, made of the familiar Yorkshire limestone. There was a great fireplace in the dining room and electric lighting throughout and five bedrooms upstairs, with a stable fallen out of use at the back that the owner argued persuasively could be transformed into an additional wing. Anna tested all the beds while John examined the window frames and fireplaces and inquired about fuel costs. The staircases were solid and well lit and, Anna was glad to see, had good railings, not that John would have to climb them often. The family's living quarters, another two rooms and a bath, were off the kitchen.

Mr. Hadley, the current owner, said business was fair but that he was no longer up to the work involved in such an enterprise, an assertion made believable by his agonizing climb to the rooms above. He opened the receipt books to them to show how business fluctuated with the seasons, but suggested that two robust young persons such as themselves could expect to improve that.

"It's a family village," he declared solemnly, on hearing that they had one child and were expecting another. "My own family thrived here." But his voice saddened and his eyes went a little misty at that and they did not press him.

And when they had seen all they could see and asked every question imaginable, they took their leave, promising to consider the place and send word by the first of the week following.

"We ought to have had lunch there," Anna said, taking his arm as they turned into the square again.

"I want to get a sense of the village," John countered. "It isn't just about the soundness of the building or the potential of the business. We're going to live here, in this village. I want to know something of what our life will be like." He paused and then went on. "Will there be a nosy post-mistress like Mrs. Wigan? Do the great family exert any influence here? What is the market like?"

Anna, enjoying watching him rattle these things off, smiled at him. "We'll have to look out our own suppliers, just as Mrs. Patmore does."

"Exactly. Is there a local football team?" he added and then grinned as Anna groaned. She was not an admirer of sports, though he suspected she would have developed an interest had he been capable of involvement. "We do have a son," he reminded her. "Maybe we'll have two. Or six."

She groaned again. "Then let's make sure they have a doctor!"

They found a pub and settled themselves in to a nice meal.

"It's also good to know what the competition has to offer," John murmured, looking around with a critical eye.

"We can do a lot of the work around the hotel, but we'll need a good cook," Anna said.

"We can hire Daisy," John said playfully. "She's always talking about leaving Downton."

"I think she has someplace a little livelier in mind than Grassington."

"Whereas a quiet life will suit me just fine.'

Well, she agreed with him on that.

After they had toured the streets they made their way to the banks of the River Wharfe.

"I think this is what Downton is missing," Anna said, huddling into John against the cool breeze. "A river."

"There's water at Downton. With my old leg brace sitting in it somewhere." He grimaced at the memory of himself and Mrs. Hughes, as she was then, dispatching his flawed dream of becoming whole again into the shimmering waters of the lake. He had faced something about himself that day. And accepted it.

"But not a river. Rivers flow, move on. Your brace would have been swept away in a river, never to be thought of again."

"That wouldn't change anything."

"John," Anna said, after a while. "You said what you were doing for the Dowager wouldn't affect us. Will it affect them? The family?"

He considered for a minute, pondering the parameters of his commitment to discretion. "That depends on the Dowager."

"I hope it's nothing ... bad." A little line of worry creased Anna's brow.

He shrugged. "I couldn't say. They have other troubles enough at the moment. Do you know, His Lordship thinks Mr. Branson is being obstructive about the fire investigation, although perhaps 'obstructive' is too strong a word for it."

"Why would he want to do that?"

As they strolled on, traversing the river's edge and then turning back into the winding streets of the village, their conversation ranged over recent developments at Downton - Mr. Molesley's commemoration project, the 'great race,' Daisy's endless vacillations on her future, the impending visit of Mrs. Patmore's sister. And the upstairs considerations - the challenges for Mr. Branson of life at the Abbey once more, His Lordship's not-quite-muted horror at his grand daughter going to the village school, Her Ladyship's awakening social conscience.

"I wouldn't go quite far," John said of the last. "Curiosity more than conscience, I think."

"She's going to visit a workhouse, John. Who do you know who's done that?"

"People don't usually visit workhouses. They go there. And don't come back."

The bus was on time and they were ready for it, having strolled the lanes of the village and walked past 'their' inn several times.

"It's two hours from Downton," Anna noted, as the bus accelerated up the hill. "And it'll be difficult to get away for a whole day, for a while anyway."

"Perhaps," John said slowly, "Lady Mary will come to visit you."

"I do hope so."

Thomas and Daniel

Thursday September 30, 1926

"Mr. Barrow?"

The voice came to him out of the darkness. He turned toward it and saw a shaft of light from the open doorway of one of the cottages and then it was gone again and Daniel Ryder was coming into the lane where he stood.

Thomas drew deeply on his cigarette and the lit end glowed.

"You won't win a race with that bad habit," Daniel said, joining him in his casual stroll. And then, smiling, took one of the cigarettes Thomas offered him.

He ought to be back at the Abbey, tucked up in his bed under the eaves and trying to get some sleep that he might be rested for the grand adventure that was to begin tomorrow. Berlin! Erich! The prospect was exhilarating beyond belief. And yet he was restless, unsettled, and so had opted for a walk in the cool of a September night. He had eschewed his usual haunts - the cottage row of happy couples or the cobblestone streets of the village - in favour of a different lane and a different row of cottages, among which were the few reserved for local school teachers.

"I'll beat you," Thomas said easily, confidently.

"I don't think you will."

"Well, that's why we're having a race, isn't it?" Thomas blew a stream of smoke. "Were you looking out the window?"

"I was. I enjoy the night sky in the country. You can really see the stars. I suppose you were too excited about your trip to sleep."

"In a way. I've never been to the Continent, except during the war, and that doesn't count."

"No," Daniel said gravely. "Not really. Will you have much time to yourself? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the duties of a valet."

Thomas filed that information away. "I'm sure I will. Mr. Talbot has never had a valet. I don't really know why he wants one." They walked on. "So how is it, living with Mr. Molesley?"

"You don't think much of him, do you?"

"No." Thomas saw no reason to dissemble. "Do you?"

"I do. He's a very pleasant sort. And quite well read in history and literature."

"So you've found a soulmate."

Daniel stopped. "What is it, Mr. Barrow? You don't like Mr. Carson. You don't like Mr. Molesley. Why so hostile?"

"I'm not hostile," Thomas corrected him. "I've worked with both of them. You haven't."

"Is there no one at Downton you like?"

Thomas didn't answer and they moved on again.

"Why are you out for a walk in the middle of the night?" Daniel demanded suddenly. "You're going Berlin in the morning, one of the most exciting cities in the world, on a holiday almost, and yet you're wandering the back lanes of Yorkshire like a lost dog."

Thomas bristled. "I..." It was only what he'd been asking himself. Thomas could be introspective but he wasn't given to unburdening himself to others. Miss O'Brien had been something of an exception, although that had gone sour in the end. Eventually he'd enjoyed camaraderie with Jimmy Kent, but Jimmy was someone to pal around with, not confide in. Miss Baxter was different yet again, but not one for his deepest confidences either. What it is - the words thundered in his head - is that I'm going tomorrow to Berlin, one of the most exciting cities in the world, and I've got no one to share it with, no one who can be excited for me, no one I can tell about it when I get back! And he hated that.

He drew himself up with dignity. "I've got to get back to the Abbey." And then he turned around and disappeared into the darkness without a backward glance.

*Author's Note: Oswald Mosley - Great War veteran; unsatisfactory husband to one of Lord Curzon's daughters and lover of another, and their stepmother; youngest member of Parliament to that point to take up his seat; party switcher - from Conservative to Labour; and later, in the 1930s, the acknowledged leader of the British Union of Fascists - was named by a BBC poll as the "worst Briton of the 20th Century." His presence here is name-dropping entirely for the purposes of stimulating conversation amongst the Downton players and the further revelation of their characters.