SEASON 8 DOWNTON ABBEY 1926

Chapter 42

Saturday October 16

Thomas

"What happened to you, then?" Mrs. Patmore's forthright demand was echoed verbally by no one else, but the disappointment of his downstairs supporters and the surprise of everyone else was palpable.

Thomas didn't much care. It was a little humiliating to have fallen flat on his face right there at the starting line. The only time he'd ever seen anyone go down quite so dramatically was when Miss O'Brien tripped Mr. Bates that time as they stood in greeting for the Duke of Crowborough. Thomas hadn't been part of that, but he'd enjoyed the sight. When it happened to him he was rather less amused. But the circumstances were hardly comparable. Bates was vulnerable and had got what was coming to him. Thomas, on the other hand, had been in a state of shock. And he still was.

His Lordship's disappointment meant more to Thomas, though the man was a good sport about it. Thomas hadn't given up. He'd regained his feet and sprinted after the other two and would have caught them, too, had they not gotten such a head start. He was only a few feet behind Mr. Talbot, possibly fifteen behind Ryder. If he'd not had that mishap he'd easily have won. His Lordship, Thomas thought, understood that.

"Bad luck, Barrow," His Lordship had said sympathetically. "Better luck next time." And turned to congratulate the winner and then to join his family gathered around a breathless but nevertheless elated Henry Talbot.

They'd all shaken hands, the competitors. Well done. Good show. Bad luck. Henry Talbot's geniality to the man who came first and the man who came last was the same. Daniel Ryder's words were not insincere so much as not particularly friendly. His handshake was firm, his gaze steady, but he quickly turned away from Thomas, slipping back into the welcoming circle of his champions, the Carsons and Molesley and Miss Baxter. The hallboy defected to the victor, too.

There was a bit of ceremony afterward, His Lordship making an announcement, after Tom Branson had quieted the onlookers, thanking everyone for coming, inviting them to help themselves to the trays of pastries and coffee the Downton kitchen had produced and set out, and, of course, formally acknowledging Daniel Ryder's victory and shaking his hand there before them all. But the family didn't linger. The Dowager had gamely watched the proceedings, all bundled up against the cool air, but she disappeared almost immediately into the house and her family followed. Thomas noticed that they did not invite the winner to join them. The race was a bit of fun, involving some co-mingling with the lower orders, but it was over and that was that.

Not that Daniel Ryder minded in the least. It was a Saturday, he wasn't working, and neither was Mr. Carson. Nor Mr. Molesley. So although Mrs. Carson and Miss Baxter remained to help Mrs. Patmore and Daisy and Andy to collect what remained of their baking frenzy after the crowd had thinned, those three men set off toward the village. Perhaps they would have a pint in the Grantham Arms, or maybe even lunch. It didn't really concern Thomas. Like the other members of staff, he had a job to do. Mrs. Patmore might have prepared a cold lunch for the family in advance, but Thomas had to get cleaned up and back in his butler's livery in time to serve it.

An event, even a minor one like this race, assumed the status of a nine days' wonder – or, in this case, a nine hours' wonder. Thomas expected no less and absorbed the comments and looks of the Abbey residents, upstairs and down, for the rest of the day with some indifference. He had other things to think about. Even presiding over dinner that evening, he was preoccupied almost – but not quite – to the point of distraction. He had quite a conundrum before him. It needed sorting and he was prepared to give it all the time it required.

Mary and Henry

"Second best isn't winning. I'm sorry to disappoint you, darling."

Henry spoke matter-of-factly. He had a competitive nature and had given the race his all, but he'd been beaten and there was no denying that. Being a good sport, something which had been cultivated in him almost from birth and honed on the fields of Harrow and Oxford, not to mention on the racing circuit, he had heartily congratulated Daniel Ryder on his decisive victory. He'd spoken to Barrow, too. For all the mishap at the starting line, the butler had almost caught him. He saw no shame in Barrow's misfortune. Accidents happened.

Mary was a different matter. She had had expectations of her husband. And she'd given him fair warning as well. Henry didn't like to fall short in her eyes. After the race, he'd offered some perfunctory words of regret about his performance, but saved a more serious conversation for Saturday night, after they'd retired to their bedroom.

It was a pleasant surprise to find out that he was wrong about Mary. She came to stand before him as he was tugging off his tie and fixed him with a gaze so intense that his unflappable poise almost faltered.

"Nonsense," she said, in that bold, forthright manner she had. "You were superb. You ran like the wind with a grace … well, I hesitate to say it, but with a grace I've seen only at Ascot. You were … beautiful."

Henry's lips twisted into a smile both pleased and amused. "Are you comparing me to a horse? High praise indeed, coming from you."

"I'm comparing you to perfection, darling," Mary said bluntly. "Perhaps a Greek god reference would be more appropriate, but given my education, I'm more familiar with equestrian comparisons. I apologize for this display of my intellectual shortcomings, but the sentiment is sincere." She slipped her arms about his neck and for a long moment they lost themselves in a deep, lingering kiss. "I was so proud of you."

"Imagine if I'd come first," he murmured as they parted.

Mary raised her eyebrows at him and turned her back to him that he might unlatch her necklace. "I can't say I was as invested in this footrace going in as I might have been in a horse race, but … the atmosphere this morning was quite energizing. Papa thinks we might do it again next year and I agree with him. Only we'll do it better. This was a bit haphazard."

Henry placed the necklace carefully on her dressing table. "Perhaps, but it did resolve the question as to who was fastest."

"Not at all," Mary said firmly. "You were a close second and Barrow came up well despite his unfortunate start. I wonder what that was about."

"Does it have to be about anything?"

"Yes, it does. This is precisely the kind of thing Barrow likes to get right. He's sensitive about winning and losing. Like me."

"Sensitive? Is that what you call it?" He was teasing her and she knew it.

"All right highly competitive then. We don't like to lose. More than most people. But I sense a bit of an animus between Barrow and Mr. Ryder."

Henry busied himself for a moment undoing the delicate fasteners on Mary's dress. "Is it hostility, do you think, between those two?"

"What do you mean?" Mary asked, not paying much attention. "What else could it be?"

Henry didn't answer and Mary looked up abruptly, catching his eye in the mirror. "Henry?"

"I know nothing," he protested, but with a bit of a mischievous air.

Mary stared at him for a long moment. "Oh," she said finally.

Sunday October 17

Molesley and Barrow

"What are you doing here?"

Several rejoinders came to Thomas's mind at this almost belligerent greeting from Mr. Molesley. And it's a pleasure to see you, too. Or I thought I might get over the threshold before we got down to business. Or perhaps You're always such a welcoming person. But Thomas restrained himself. It was wholly understandable that Molesley should react so coldly given Thomas's cutting remarks the last time they'd met. Besides, Thomas had come to the school teacher's cottage on a mission and he was not going to let Molesley deter him from it.

"May I come in?" A light rain was falling on Sunday afternoon and Thomas did not particularly want to conduct this conversation in the wet.

Molesley hesitated as though he really might deny Thomas entry into his house. But then he moved aside and gestured for his visitor to step inside.

It was his innate decency and good upbringing, Thomas thought, that impelled Molesley to respond thus rather than slam the door in Thomas's face. Politeness had its purposes, of course, in smoothing interpersonal relations, but it was a weakness, too, no more clearly demonstrated than when exercised by Joseph Molesley. But noting the schoolteacher's vulnerabilities was not why Thomas was here either.

He'd never been in Molesley's cottage. No surprise there. They had nothing to do with each other except for the exigencies of service that brought them together. He suspected Molesley felt Thomas's presence was fouling his home somehow. No matter. Thomas didn't care. He did take the opportunity to look around, though. Curiosity was his middle name.

It was a neat little dwelling, sparsely furnished with worn items, but welcoming all the same. Clearly Molesley had been hard at work - a table drawn up near the sitting room fire was covered with school papers. There was no sign of the fact that a boarder shared the lodgings with Molesley. Daniel Ryder, it seemed, left no discernible tracks. That didn't trouble Thomas either. He already knew what he needed to about the other man and it was that very knowledge which had brought him here today.

"Alone, then?" he asked, as though he had expected to find Daniel Ryder here.

"Mr. Ryder is out for the afternoon," Molesley replied circumspectly.

"At the Carsons', I expect," Thomas said, not waiting for confirmation. "He seems to be a favourite of theirs."

"Mr. Ryder is a very nice man," Molesley said firmly. "He is a favourite with several people at Downton."

Unlike me, Thomas supposed.

"What do you want, Mr. Barrow?"

Molesley's forthrightness took Thomas just a little by surprise, although it ought not to have done. The man whom he had always thought of as a spineless worm had learned to turn once Miss Baxter had come into the picture and given Molesley a fair maiden for whom to play gallant knight. It was a certainty that Molesley had been brought up on the novels of Walter Scott. Thomas was not, in this instance, ungrateful for Molesley's behaviour. He wanted to come to the point too. So, drawing from the depths of his being all the humility and remorsefulness he could muster, he faced the other man with a grave demeanour.

"I've come to apologize, Mr. Molesley. When you mentioned to me a week and more ago your plan to produce a pageant to honour Downton's war dead, I responded meanly. I won't make excuses for my unkindness because there is no excuse that can justify my harsh words. I can only ask that you forgive me for it and accept that, having thought a great deal about the idea since you mentioned it, I have come round to the value of your project. But I want to apologize more specifically for challenging your war record. I know nothing of your circumstances during the war. I had no right to make assumptions. I hope you will be able to forgive my behaviour."

Thomas spoke plainly and affected as frank a manner as possible. He held Molesley's gaze while he delivered his speech to enhance the veneer of sincerity in his words. And when he had finished, he continued to do so, as though awaiting justice at his hands.

Molesley was taken aback. That was obvious. But he was wary, too. "I appreciate your sentiments, Mr. Barrow," he said formally. "Thank you for saying so."

Thomas let the silence lie for several seconds. "Right. Well. I'd add that if there was anything I could do, but I think you've all the help you need, what with Miss Baxter and Mr. Ryder such eager supporters."

"They…are…helpful," Molesley said, in his usual halting manner.

"Lovely. I'll be off now, then," Thomas said, his countenance brighter. "I'm glad to have that off my chest." He headed for the door with Molesley trailing hesitantly along behind him, perhaps not sure he could believe what he'd heard.

Thomas wouldn't have minded that. He liked people to be unsettled. They were easier to manipulate that way.

"I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Molesley. At the Abbey. For tea, perhaps. I'm sure Miss Baxter would like that." And without giving his host an opportunity to respond, Thomas stepped outside, raised his umbrella against the rain, and was off.

Monday October 18

Carson and Robert Crawley

It was raining on Monday morning, raining very heavily. This did not deter His Lordship from appearing at Carson's door but it did oblige them to abandon their plans for a walk and settle instead in the sitting room with the papers. Both men were a little damp from the weather. Carson had gone to the village for the papers and His Lordship had walked down from the Abbey. The dogs were wetter still, not having had the benefit of coats, hats, and umbrellas. They had made a bit of a mess at the front door but then settled down together by the fire, Shep setting an example of decorum which Tia'a, surprising everyone, followed. Carson had tea at the ready and His Lordship welcomed a cup to ward off the chill. But the first thing Robert Crawley did after doffing his outside things was to hand Carson a crisp pound note.

"Congratulations, Carson. Your man ran well."

"Thank you, my lord. I believe he did."

Later, when Carson recounted the scene to his wife, she frowned at him. "And you took it? A pound note off His Lordship?"

He couldn't imagine how she could think otherwise. "It was a debt of honour, Elsie. A gentleman always pays his debts of honour and must be allowed to do so." He wondered that she still found such things beyond comprehension.

That business accomplished, the two men took their usual chairs – His Lordship the wing-backed chair to the right of the fire which was in other circumstances the one Carson favoured, and the former butler the chair across from it where Elsie usually sat. Lifelong habit had discouraged Carson from sitting in His Lordship's presence, but things had changed a bit with retirement. Now they did sit together, in the Carsons' cottage, at the Grantham Arms when they ate lunch there, and on the benches around the estate. Carson could not admit to ease in doing so, but he had gotten used to it. And it had been at His Lordship's insistence. The dogs sprawled between them and the fire, the fine grating barring sparks from flying onto their feathery coats.

They'd spoken of the race directly afterward and of Barrow's false start, but it was a compelling topic and they could not help but return to it at least briefly.

"I had high hopes of Barrow," His Lordship admitted. "It wasn't like with Molesley and the cricket. With Barrow there was something solid to stand on." He missed the incredulous look on Carson's face. "Still it was a bit of fun, the results notwithstanding. Someone had to win and someone to lose. Mr. Talbot acquitted himself very well."

As he had. Though Daniel Ryder had won, Henry Talbot had been a close second, and Barrow had almost completely recovered.

"I suspect Mr. Barrow would have made a better showing but for tripping at the start," Carson said generously. He remained convinced that his favourite would have triumphed even had Mr. Barrow not been so handicapped, but the race was over now and the nature of such games required good sportsmanship.

"Well, we shall mount a bigger event next year and see what happens."

"Do you mean to go on with it, then, my lord?" Carson was astonished.

"You saw how many from the village showed up. And that crowd of boys racing up and down the drive suggested to me, anyway, that there was an interest in such pursuits. Yes, I think I'd like to make an annual event of it. We'll see."

What Carson had noticed about the village boys was the mess they'd made of the gravel. Estate workers had been out raking on Sunday afternoon to put it right. When he'd pointed this out to Elsie, she had, as usual, put a different cast on it. "Were you not a lad like that? Would you not have been challenging your friends and bursting with pride when you beat them?" And then he did remember like contests a half century ago and his disapproval of youthful antics diminished.

"The Dowager suggested a run through the village instead of around the Abbey, as something slightly more challenging and more worthy of a morning's holiday," His Lordship said, breaking in on Carson's thoughts.

"I hadn't thought the Dowager much of a patron of sports," Carson replied thoughtfully.

"No. She isn't. I've no idea what prompted her to such a thought." His Lordship paused. "How do you find Her Ladyship these days?" It was not an innocent question and they both knew it.

"She is as intellectually robust as ever," Carson said carefully. "But I take care not to tire her." He had confided more fully in Elsie his fears for the Dowager's increasing frailty, but still felt constrained by loyalty on both sides when it came to conveying his concerns to His Lordship.

But he did not have to be so blunt with Robert Crawley, who had perfected the art of interpreting his former butler's discretion. A look of resignation came over him and he reached glumly for the papers. Carson had done his best to keep them from the wet on the walk home, but had not had the time to iron them as they did at the Abbey. His Lordship didn't mind.

Carson's mind remained on the Dowager. There was the question of those letters she had given him, the letters to – and possibly from – His Lordship's father and …. Well, he didn't know who the other party of those letters was. He'd not looked at them, but put them away upstairs. She'd said when he was ready, whatever that might mean. He did not really want to know what they concerned. But why had she given them to him? The Dowager had not mentioned them again, seemingly content with the instructions she had imparted. But he was perplexed. And did not think it right to raise the matter with His Lordship.

Women were such puzzling creatures. What had possessed Elsie to take an interest in Dr. Clarkson's welfare? Why must she keep it a secret? Not that he suspected anything wayward there. It was only that he could not see a reason for her discretion. The matter with the Dowager was different. He could well imagine reasons to keep family secrets in the shade. But afternoon tea with the doctor? He'd accepted Elsie's assurances about her health, but he still found it all unsettling.

"Lady Mary is aggravated with me over the chauffeurs."

His Lordship's words broke into Carson's thoughts once more.

"I don't court her disapprobation lightly, as well you know. But I did think we should try to manage with just one man." His Lordship paused. "Perhaps I should drive myself."

Whatever his own preoccupations, this suggestion animated Carson. "Surely not, my lord! It would be unseemly." Catching His Lordship's eye, Carson wondered if the man had just tossed this out to get a reaction from him. Robert Crawley was given to mischief occasionally.

"Mr. Talbot offered to give Lady Mary driving lessons," His Lordship went on.

"Lady Mary has always been independent," Carson responded, and added, almost without thinking, "It might give them something to do together."

His Lordship's playful countenance dimmed somewhat at this remark. He gave Carson a searching look. "Hmm. Perhaps." He paused. "Perhaps I should offer to teach Her Ladyship then," he said. "Between her hospital work and this new determination to take on Mr. Chamberlain, and on my side the estate and this business with Ambassador Houghton … well, perhaps it would give us some time together." He smiled as he said this, but Carson sensed a hint of resignation here, too.

"Is Her Ladyship still intending to visit the work house in Ripon?" Carson said this delicately. He was horrified at the notion, possibly even more so than His Lordship. The idea of Her Ladyship in such a place was as shocking as Elsie – Mrs. Hughes as she had then been – visiting that reprobate Charlie Grigg there.

"Oh, yes," His Lordship said. "It comes from her interest in the welfare of the poorer classes and I must say, she's been doing her homework on the issue. I'm with Chamberlain on the work houses. They are a blight on our nation and the sooner we are rid of them the better."

"And Her Ladyship disagrees?" Carson could not imagine it.

"She says it's complicated," His Lordship said drily. "Hence the need for closer investigation."

Carson thought it best not to pursue this any further. He did not want to speak critically of Her Ladyship.

"Tell me about your work," His Lordship said abruptly. "How's the family saga going?"

Carson spoke easily on this subject. He related the progress he was making with the family papers, omitting mention of the unsettling bundle of letters; elaborated on the research Daniel Ryder was doing to establish a broader context; and commented fulsomely on the interviews he had conducted with the Dowager.

"My mother is very pleased that you have undertaken this, Carson," His Lordship said, almost gently at the end of this disquisition. "She told me so only the other day."

"I am enjoying it very much."

"Yet you don't sound so convincing as you have done," His Lordship noted, and a line or worry creased his forehead.

Carson realized His Lordship would be thinking of his mother. "Not at all, my lord. It's not the work that is on my mind."

"Not anything at home, surely."

This was, perhaps, a leading statement, but Carson did not see it as unwarranted or excessive interest but rather as concern. And though he would not have raised it directly, he was not unhappy for an opportunity to explore the unease he felt with someone much more experienced in the field.

"No. Not really. It's only that …." He didn't quite know how to phrase something for which he had such a weak frame of reference. "There are things about marriage that confound me."

His Lordship did not laugh at his words and Carson was grateful. Instead Robert Crawley came over with a sympathetic look.

"Well, you've taken up membership in a very large club in admitting that, Carson. And I cannot be of much use to you in resolving your bewilderment. We're all on our own there. There is one thing I've learned though and you may find it helpful." He paused.

Carson waited expectantly. He would welcome any guidance at this point.

"We must woo our wives, Carson," His Lordship pronounced solemnly. "Not just in the days of courtship, but every day we live with them. We must woo our wives."