DOWNTON ABBEY 1926

EPISODE 9 Chapter 6

Saturday October 23, 1926

On Saturday night, Frank and Frederica Daring came to Downton.

The family met them at the door and, after Barrow had taken her wrapper, Robert took Frederica's arm, to escort her to the library.

Cora followed with Frank.

"It's so nice to have someone in the house who doesn't think orange juice at the breakfast table is a portent of world revolution," Cora said to him.

"And I thought they were our friends," Mary murmured, rolling her eyes. But she was smiling. Henry took her arm and, with Tom, they followed the others.

Mary's eyes followed Frederica Daring.* The last time they had met, they were both a bit harried, what with the politics inside the hall and the rain without. And Frederica had been dressed for business, in a tailored suit. Tonight, she was dressed for dinner at Downton Abbey, in a flowing, pale green creation that Mary was certain she had seen on a catwalk in London. It wasn't her style, but Frederica, who had a fuller figure than Mary, wore it flawlessly. She'd not been mistaken in her first impressions of the woman. Offspring of a younger son, yes, but no less graceful and cultured for all that her immediate family was in business. Frank was a little taller than his wife, who had an inch or two on Mary. He was a broad-shouldered man, bigger across the chest than Henry and bulkier. But the suit that he wore was a superior cut. His hair was straight and brown, a lot like Tom's. And he had a very nice smile, and he shared it easily with Cora as they explored other idiosyncrasies of the English. Altogether, Mary liked the look of both of them.

"Mamma and I have been scouring our memories, but we don't recall seeing you at the presentation courts or during the Season," Mary said, as they enjoyed cocktails served to perfection by Barrow. She thought perhaps that Freddy was a couple of years younger than she was, but it was still an odd circumstance.

"Oh, no," Freddy said promptly. "I wasn't presented and I've never done the Season."

This brought a momentary silence in which the obvious question why not? hung in the air. Tom smiled as he watched the polite Crawleys preparing to change the direction of the conversation.

But Freddy wasn't finished. "I'd met up with Frank before I was to come out. And, apart from the inestimable honour of curtsying before King George, that's what the Season is all about, isn't it? Finding a husband?" She said this without irony.

"My family didn't do the Season, either," Henry said smoothly.

"Where did you meet?" Mary asked. It was perhaps an awkward question, as he was a Canadian, but that made the query all the more imperative.

"At Oxford."

"I was just finishing when Freddy came up," Frank added. "We crossed paths a few times and …that was it."

"Came up?" Cora inquired politely, puzzled.

"I was at Somerville for a year," Freddy said offhandedly. "We married the following summer." She turned to Mary. "They weren't awarding women degrees in those days…."

"That's unfair!" Cora said indignantly.

"Well, they changed that in 1920."

"Unfortunately," Robert murmured.

"…but I should have liked to finish the course," Freddy went on. "Instead, we got married and I left Oxford to be wife and, of course, mother."

"Really, Freddy," Frank said, in affected irritation, "Can't you just admit that you fell madly in love with me and wouldn't wait two years?"

She tilted her head and smiled warmly at him. "Nothing else could have persuaded me." Then her gaze shifted to the others. "You know how it was before the war. Getting married and starting our families was the whole point of our existence."

"I remember," Mary said, with feeling.

"Me, too," Cora put in. "Daughters had to find husbands and mothers had to manage it."

Henry caught Frank's eye. "You'd think it was some awful fate, this marriage business."

"Of course not. It's only that our lives were so circumscribed before the war. And not just by men. All I ever thought about was getting married, running a house, and having children." Mary spoke with the passion infused with disbelief. "I couldn't have imagined running the estate or Freddy doing the accounts of a business, or…." Mary's eyes fell on her mother. "I'm not dismissing the life you had, Mamma. Look at how you've changed since the war. You enjoyed managing Downton as a convalescent home during the war and you seem to have been born to hospital administration work."

Cora had not taken offense. "I don't look back with any regret. Life before the war had a charm and grace to it that this new era does not. I accepted it for what it was and took pleasure from it. But I find this brave new world invigorating and am glad that I have found a part to play in it."

"I loved the life I had before the war period," Robert said emphatically.

"You married before the war, then," Cora assumed of Frank and Freddy. She knew how Robert felt, but wanted to steer clear of his too-easy decline into melancholic nostalgia.

"June 28, 1914," Freddy declared. "Our honeymoon was shot down, even as we were saying our vows, by the assassination in Sarajevo."

"Not quite, Freddy," Frank said indulgently. His gaze shifted to Henry and Tom. "How was your war?"

"London Rifle Brigade," Henry replied promptly "From beginning to end. Got a few scratches, but came out otherwise unscathed."

"I'm Irish," Tom said succinctly.

"Enough said," Frank remarked.

"I'll say," Robert murmured. "And you, Frank?"

"Tenth Battalion, CEF. First Canadian Division. I'd been in England four years by that point, but I wanted to fight with the men from home."

"Sir Julian Byng's command," Robert intoned. "A good man."

"He was. And succeeded by Arthur Currie, a very capable man, from my neck of the woods. British Columbia."**

"Were you at Amiens?" Henry asked.

"I was."

"The Canadians really covered ground that day."

"We all did. They were crumbling to their knees all along the line."

"I wish you'd been here a few months ago when we had some Germans for dinner," Mary declared. "They were telling us they hadn't lost."

"Let's not revisit that," Cora said politely.

"That reminds me," Robert said abruptly and caught Cora's eye. "Molesley has asked me to say a few words to open an Armistice Day pageant his pupils are putting on at the school."

"What's this?" Mary asked, her gaze shifting alertly to her father.

"Mr. Molesley's class is putting on a pageant," Tom repeated. "Sybbie mentioned it. My daughter," he explained to the guests. "It's not her class, but it seems to have caught the imaginations of all the children."

"But what is it?" Mary pressed.

"Each of the children in Mr. Molesley's class have chosen a name from the Downton memorial and, with the permission of the families and sometimes with their active input, they're going to present a show of remembrance," Tom explained. "On November 11, at the school."

"That sounds grand," Frank said seriously.

"I agree," Henry said.

"I'm not sure I do," Mary said warmly. "Isn't the day sad enough without reliving the lives lost? Molesley used to work for us," she added, with a nod to Freddy and Frank. "Butler and valet to Matthew, my first husband, and his mother, when they first came to Downton. Then a footman for us later. Now he teaches at the school."

"Was Matthew killed in the war?" Freddy asked gently.

"No. An accident." Mary gave them a quick smile, to show that she appreciated the query and was comfortable enough speaking of Matthew.

"How terrible. I'm so sorry."

They passed smoothly on to other things.

"I hope your car is running well," Tom said, a little while on, addressing Frank.

"It's a dream. But I hardly ever get to drive it. Freddy's always got it."

"You exaggerate."

"You drive yourselves?" Cora asked.

"Yes," Frank replied. "I rather like navigating the countryside, finding out-of-the-way farms. I'm the salesman," he added. "Freddy really has no cause to be out and about so much, but…."

"But you drive, too?"

Freddy nodded. "I do. And I like it."

"You ought to give it a try, Mary," her father said mischievously. "That would reduce the pressure on the chauffeur."

"Maybe you ought to, Papa," Mary countered. "We're having a bit of a tug-of-war over who gets the chauffeur and when."

"You make the chauffeur sound like a bone you're both tugging on," Tom said with a laugh.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Tom came to Downton as a chauffeur." Of course, this required further explanations and brought Sybil into the conversation. Another wave of solemnity descended on them all.

"That's just ghastly, Tom," Frank said gravely. "You and Mary. You have our deepest sympathies."

Tom nodded his appreciation.

"I'm very sorry for the loss of your daughter," Freddy added, addressing Robert, whose expression had frozen, and Cora who, like Mary, gave an acknowledging nod. "I shall hug my boys more tightly tonight after hearing of your sorrow."

Her words gave Robert an opportunity to salvage the conversation. "How many sons do you have?"

"Two," Frank replied promptly. "Jared and Gordon. They're eleven and seven."

The talk turned to children for a while. It was a more cheerful subject, although even then death permeated the conversation, as Mary explained about Matthew and George and Tom about Sybil and Sybbie.

Somehow, later in the evening as they sat in the drawing room over drinks, Cora's impending visit to the workhouse came up.

"The one in Ripon?"

Cora nodded. "Yes. How do you come to know of it?"

Frank grinned. "Freddy's making a study of all the local issues. In preparation for her leap into politics."

"Frank." Freddy cast him a disparaging glance. "I try not to mention that on a first date."

"Tell us," Mary urged. "It won't be too great a shock. I met you at a political rally, after all. Were you evaluating the opposition?"

"Not quite. But I do have ambitions. I understand Wilson won't be running in the next election. I want to make a bid for the Conservative nomination."

"Crikey!" Robert exclaimed. "A woman MP from Yorkshire!"

Freddy levelled a quelling stare at him. "Why not?" But she turned back to Cora. "What did you have in mind about the work house?"

Cora elaborated on her interest in the Health Minister's scheme and her desire to see the situation firsthand. "He's not included the Ripon workhouse among those to be reformed and I wanted to look into it myself."

"I'll be interested in what you think once you've been there," Freddy said.

"And we've been trying to discourage Mamma," Mary said. "A Crawley in a workhouse."

"It's not like she's planning to move there," Freddy countered, winning a smile from Cora.

"It's a tough slog, running for Parliament," Henry mused. "My father was an MP for St. Pancras for several years."

"I don't think I'll be voting for you," Tom said, with a grin.

"Do we let Irishmen vote?" Freddy responded, in the same spirit.

"Would you like to see a woman prime minister?" Robert asked cautiously, feeling on uncertain ground in a conversation about women at Westminster.

"Not as an end in itself, no. But I think that as a matter of economics, it's just stupid to keep half the functioning brains of the country out of government."

"There's a sentiment I agree with," Mary said forcefully.

"And I. And it's one we've heard before," Cora added. "Remember Gwen Harding who came here last year? Her husband was on the board of Hillcroft School."

"Gwen," Tom noted, in an aside to the guests, "is a living example of progress. She started here as a maid, went on to work in an office, and…."

"Got married," Mary finished flatly.

"I've heard of Hillcroft," Freddy said. "It prepares women for office work in business and government and professional services like solicitors' offices – secretaries, accountants, bookkeepers, and the like."

"Yes. My sister, Lady Rosamund Painswick, and my daughter, Edith, Marquess of Hexham, are both on the board," Robert put in.

Mary was distracted. "Why did Aunt Rosamund go back to London this week?" she asked her father. "I thought she was here…for a while." She gave him a meaningful look.

"Oh, some problem at the house. She'll be back for a … longer stay … next week. After the dinner party," he intoned.

The Crawleys all exchanged a pained look at this. Mary undertook to explain.

"My mother-in-law … Matthew's mother … is Lady Merton. She and Lord Merton are holding a society dinner party on Friday. They're not keen on such functions, so it may be a bit … original."

"They'll do just fine," Tom cut in, rolling his eyes a little at Mary. "Isobel has run a hospital. She can put food on the table for a dozen people." He just shook his head as Mary, Robert, and Cora glanced at each other once more. "It's just not that complicated," Tom grumped, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "Henry, help me here."

"How can they go wrong?" Henry said. "Don't they have Carson running it?"

"Carson is our former butler. Retired," Mary said.

"Carson has thrown a wrench into the works," Robert declared. "He's persuaded Isobel to invite Larry and Amelia Grey."

"What?!"

"Yes. Mamma had it from Isobel. It's going to be a disaster. And we have to attend."

"Why would Carson do that?" Tom was puzzled.

"I don't know. I'll get the story from him on Monday. But I think it's crackers." Robert shook his head.

Mary seemed torn. "Well, if Carson thinks it's a good idea, … I'll bet on him."

"What a surprise," Tom muttered.

Henry smiled.

"Your former footman, your former housemaid, your former butler …. You seem quite involved in the lives of your servants," Freddy observed.

"We have been blessed with very fine people," Cora said promptly. "Several of them have been with us for decades." She turned to Barrow who, until this point had been doing his job so smoothly – pouring wine and keeping an eye on his two footmen – that he'd met that standard of perfection known as invisibility. "When did you come to us, Barrow?"

"1910, my lady," he replied.

"As a footman," Cora went on. "And now he's our butler. Barrow even managed Downton when it was a convalescent home during the war. After he was wounded."

"Good man," Frank Daring murmured, with an approving nod.

"Carson, who he replaced, had been my butler for thirty years," Robert said emphatically. "As Cora says, we have good people."

"And good people are worth their weight in gold," Freddy agreed, nodding thoughtfully.

"Is that what you pay your workers in, Freddy? Gold?"

Freddy's alert grey eyes fastened on Tom, who grinned impudently. She smiled. "Of course not. How would the grocers make change for them? But we do pay well. Pay well and you get back … well, not a hundred-fold, but quite a good return. If your workers believe they are valued, they work hard and take pride in their work and produce well."

"That's an interesting approach," Tom said, a little more seriously. "There aren't many manufacturers who think the way you do."

"Henry Ford," Freddy said succinctly. "Put money in the pockets of your workers and they buy things. In our case, many of them have come in off the farms. Their families buy our machinery. It's only good business. I can't help it if other businessmen are fools."

"No unions, though."

"Oh, what do you need a union for if you treat your workers properly?" Freddy asked, perplexed.

"I believe that's a question I've pondered for years," Robert declared.

Thomas and Daniel

Thomas glanced at the clock. It was late. And it had been a long evening with the dinner party upstairs. But he had a full day ahead of him tomorrow, too, and Daniel didn't come to the Abbey on Sunday. What Thomas had to tell him couldn't wait until Monday. Pulling on his coat, Thomas put his head into the servants' hall where he found both of the footmen.

"Going out for a smoke. Don't lock the door on me. I'll lock up when I get back."

Andy nodded agreeably, not lifting his eyes from the book in his hands. Once he'd learned how to read, Andy read whenever he could.

Lewis only stared meditatively at Thomas and said nothing.

"Right, then." Thomas left, shaking off the unease that Lewis's indifference stirred in him. The man hadn't put a toe out of line since Thomas had returned from Berlin and read the riot act to him. He'd gone back to being perfect again, even to the point of polishing silver 'til every piece in the house gleamed. But there was such a deliberateness about him. Working with him left you with a constant sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Thomas shook off his concerns about Lewis. It was easy to let his job take him over, become all that he was. It had been nice, the past few days, having something … someone … outside of his existence as butler to talk to. He'd known – because Mr. Carson had told him, and because he had eyes of his own, too – that the butler stood apart and that such a life could be lonely. Mr. Carson had found a way to ameliorate that with a thousand and one nights of sherry with Mrs. Hughes, as she had been then. Thomas knew he wouldn't have that kind of outlet, and he accepted it. And how was the solitary life of a butler going to be new to him anyway? But a few nights of amiable comradery with Daniel Rider had shifted his perspective. He enjoyed having a friend.

Tonight, though, he had information for Daniel.

"I hope you're not going to make a habit of this, Thomas," Daniel said, a little grumpily. He pulled his coat tightly about him as he joined Thomas in the lane, awakened by gravel at his window again. "I've never been a night owl."

"I don't know," Thomas said airily, in response to the first statement. "I might. Smoke?"

"No, thanks. Are you just restless, then? I would have thought the dinner party would have worn you out."

"It wasn't a dinner party. Only two guests. Can manage that without thinking. You should be more appreciative. I'm sacrificing some sleep to save you from disaster."

"What?" Daniel was suddenly alert.

"You've not offered your services to Mr. Carson yet. For Lady Merton's party. Have you?"

"No. I was going to do that tomorrow, over supper."

It was difficult to have a private conversation at the Abbey, but they'd managed a session on wine pouring without drawing any undue attention. As Thomas had anticipated, Daniel's natural pois and good manners had made him a natural.

"Well, it's off."

"Why?"

"Because Mr. Larry Grey is going to be there. He's Lord Merton's son." In the moonlight, Thomas saw Daniel set his jaw firmly.

"I hadn't put that together."

"No. Well, they were talking about it at dinner tonight."

"And you think…."

"Mr. Grey has twice almost brought the roof down at Downton," Thomas said emphatically. "I don't doubt he's looking forward to wreaking havoc at Grantham House."

"What…."

"He hates his stepmother. She's not quite the wicked witch of the west, but …."

"Then why invite him?"

"Apparently, it was Mr. Carson's idea. His Lordship was a bit doubtful, but Mr. Carson was here both times Mr. Grey got out of hand, so he knows what he's about. I think he's got something up his sleeve. Mr. Carson wouldn't throw a viper into the mix unless he could handle it." Thomas drew deeply on his cigarette and then exhaled a stream of smoke. "Thing is, he doesn't know about you. And Grey does."

"You think Grey'll say something?"

"His brother couldn't even say good morning to you without making provocative remarks. Mr. Carson may be able to keep the lump from attacking Lady Merton, but you're open season."

They walked on for a moment.

"Damn," Daniel said finally. "I thought I'd gotten away from that. And I wanted to be of use to Mr. Carson."

"I know," Thomas said, trying to be sympathetic on both counts. "But it's not entirely a wasted effort. You could get a job as a waiter now." Thomas said this cajolingly, trying to get a smile out of Daniel. "Look. It won't be the end of the world for Mr. Carson. He'll have one of the footmen do it. It won't be perfect, but he's dealt with worse." Thomas lowered his voice and leaned toward Daniel conspiratorially. "During the war he had to have maids in the dining room!"

This did elicit a laugh from Daniel and Thomas grinned.

"You're an awful man, Thomas."

Thomas just smirked.

They walked on.

"Tell me about Berlin," Daniel said suddenly.

"What?"

"Berlin. You were so looking forward to it." He smiled when Thomas stared at him. "Come on. You were. Who wouldn't? Opportunity to go somewhere and all that. But I had a feeling there was more to it than that."

"Have you been there?" Thomas asked, stalling.

"No. So, out with it."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Out with it is right. Everything was out, all over Berlin!"

They laughed again.

"Did you want to stay there forever?"

Thomas's laughter faded to a weak smile. "Apart from the fact that I have a job that keeps me fed and that I don't speak German…."

"But if…," Daniel persisted. "If…."

"It was … a bit of letdown, when I came back, but…." Thomas hadn't had to think it through before, hadn't had anyone with whom he could talk to about it. "… I don't think it's for me. I mean…" He glanced at Daniel, ducked his head a little, feeling sheepish. "I'm from Manchester, and all."

Daniel gazed at him in mock seriousness. "Are you confessing that deep down, in your heart, where no one can see you but yourself, that you, Thomas Barrow, are a buttoned-up, humourless, stiff-upper-lip kind of Englishman?!"

Daniel's teasing brought a rueful smile to Thomas's face. "It was just …." He tried to find the words, his eyes going round with a sort of bewilderment. "…wild! Insane! Men dressed up as women. Women dressed as men. And you couldn't tell! I fancied this bloke and he took hold of my hand and …. He was a she!"

This knocked them both over with laughter.

"And you didn't convert?" Daniel demanded, gasping.

"I wanted… I just wanted to run away!"

"What did you do?"

Thomas erupted in laughter again. "I did run away!" he choked out.

In the night around them, they could see their breath, frosty in the crisp air. Above them, the stars shone brilliantly, outlining the dark, bare trunks of the trees that lined the path.

"It's not for me," Thomas said at last, reining in his amusement. "All that make-up and wearing women's clothes and the exaggeration of … everything!"

"It wasn't all like that?"

"No. It wasn't. And Erich … he's the one who invited me. He was here a few months ago with his employer. Some baron…. Something. Erich is a smart, warm man. And he showed me around, did his best to … you know, help me along. But … he wanted to show off, too. It was all so …." Thomas struggled to find the right words. "…. foreign!" he said at last, and that had them convulsed again.

"Not so cosmopolitan as you thought you were," Daniel declared.

"Urbane. Not cosmopolitan. And I am. Urbane. I never claimed such … worldliness." He paused and gave Daniel a searching look. "You don't look like you're cut out to enjoy such a crowd either. Am I right?'

"Yes, you are. I'm veddy, veddy English. And proud of it."

They walked in silence for a moment.

"Did you go dancing?"

"Yes."

"Are you any good at it?"

Thomas snorted. How could anyone think otherwise? He stopped and held out a hand. "May I have the honour?"

Daniel shook his head. "I'm not really dressed for it."

"Come on!" Thomas seized his hand, put his other hand to Daniel's waist, to the extent that he could find it, muffled in his great coat, and led off.

"Foxtrot," Daniel noted, speaking over Thomas's off-key humming. "You can dance, Mr. Barrow. But you can't sing. Can you do anything else?"

"Everything else!" Thomas called back.

They tripped over each other.

"It's my boots," Thomas said.

"It's your clumsiness!" Daniel laughed. "Let me lead!"

But they had only taken a few steps when one or the other slipped on some loose gravel and down they both went. Sprawled on the ground, looking at each other, they grinned.

"Ouch," Thomas said, rubbing the gravel from his palms. "I'll have scrapes on my hands tomorrow, thank you."

"Well, only on one hand," Daniel noted, for Thomas always wore a special covering on his old wound. "Wear gloves."

"Butlers don't wear gloves."

A few seconds ticked by in silence while they caught their breath.

Daniel looked up abruptly. "What was that?"

"What?"

"Any wildlife about?"

"Do you mean does His Lordship have any wild boars running about the woods?" Thomas shook his head. "City boy." He scrambled to his feet and held out a hand to draw Daniel up, too.

"You're from Manchester."

"Yeah, but I've not lived there for years."

"Let's go back," Daniel said, the levity fading from his voice. "You've got to work tomorrow, even if I don't."

Thomas was enjoying himself, but Daniel was right about tomorrow. They started on their way.

"So… how would it have worked," Daniel began, "if the Duke of Crowborough had taken you on. I mean…."

"It's all a little hazy now," Thomas admitted, casting his mind back fourteen years, though it seemed like a lifetime ago. "But I think it might have gone like this. …."

Mary and Henry

"I knew I was going to regret wearing this dress," Mary said. She was standing in the middle of the bedroom, her head bent forward, while Henry negotiated the difficult clasp at the back of her neck.

Henry wasn't perturbed by Mary's impatience. He worked away at it. "There. I've managed it."

"You're very cool under fire," she said, acknowledging his unflappability.

"I've had a little practice." He dealt with the remaining buttons deftly. "You looked smashing tonight."

Such compliments were never issued in vain. Mary flashed him an appreciative smile. Nor were they insincere. There was an admiring sheen in his eyes.

Mary stepped out of the dress and into the dressing gown she took from Henry's arm. "You're getting very good at this."

"Anna's given me a few tips."

Her smile broadened at the smouldering look he gave her. She went to sit on the end of the bed.

"Do you think Freddy's got any hope of getting the nomination?" As she spoke, Mary's eyes were fixed on her husband who was now peeling off his formal evening wear. He did not always use the dressing room and Mary, who liked to look at him, didn't mind this in the least.

"I don't know," Henry replied, frowning thoughtfully. "The situation is fluid, so there's an opportunity. Connections are important, but it sounds like she's been working on those for years. Her uncle is prepared to offer financial support."

"That's awfully progressive of him."

"I doubt Freddy would have gone to Oxford or emerged as the financial mastermind of the manufacturing operation if there wasn't some progressive impulse there. And she does have a way about her. She won't be stifled on the hustings." He paused. "But she is a woman and that means something."

"Would you vote for her?'

He shouldered out of his dress shirt and smiled at her in that beguiling way he had, with just one corner of his mouth turned up. "I would." He slipped on his silk pajamas. Mary was distracted by the way the material flowed fluidly over his body.

"Was dinner a success, darling?"

"Yes. I think it was. Freddy and Frank were good company. Mamma and Papa liked them. Tom and Freddy managed to disagree with any dishes being thrown. I think I might introduce Freddy to Granny."

It was still possible to do that, almost. To think of Granny as she always had done. But then the shadow fell and Mary almost faltered, forgetting what she was saying.

Henry came to her side with swift strides and, leaning over, kissed the top of her head gently.

She nodded into his cheek. "Thank you." She tilted her head back to look at him. "Henry, I think I'd like to … become involved … if Freddy goes through with it." She looked up, searching his face, trying to read that inscrutable countenance.

"In the campaigning?"

"Yes. I think I'd like to know more about politics, and how better than to … do it." She grew more animated as she spoke. "And while I don't go for women candidates solely on the grounds that they are women, I do think Freddy's got something to offer. I'd like to be part of it."

"It's a tough world, politics," Henry said slowly. He paused to watch as she discarded her dressing gown and then crawled across the bed. "But you're a good ally in a fight."

She grinned appreciatively at that.

He went round his side and slipped in beside her. "You didn't seem very enthusiastic about the school pageant on Armistice Day."

The glow that had enveloped Mary now suddenly dissipated. "Were you?"

"I believe in remembrance. And when the history is written, it will be all generals and battles. That's important. But I like the idea of Downton knowing about the men of Downton, too."

Mary sighed and turned her head away. "Whenever I think of the war, I think of Matthew," she said and there was sorrow in her voice. A few seconds ticked by and then Mary's gaze swung around to her husband. "I'm sorry, darling. I know you were in it, too."

But Henry shook his head, relieving her discomfort. "Of course, you think of Matthew. You went through it with him. You lived it through his eyes. There's nothing wrong with that."

The thought of Matthew made Mary feel wretched and she wrapped her arms tightly about herself. "I feel very lonely all of a sudden," she said in a hollow voice.

"Darling." Henry drew her into an embrace.

How comforting his arms are.***

Robert and Cora

"I quite like the Darings," Robert said, coming into the bedroom.

Cora, already tucked into bed, gave him an appraising look. "Both of them?"

He considered as he discarded his robe and drew back the bedcovers. "Yes," he said firmly. "I do like Freddy."

"But would you vote for her?" Cora asked mischievously.

His shoulders heaved. "I just might. She is a Conservative, after all. She's sound there." He knew that pleased Cora. "It was very pleasant to have a dinner party where the conversation was engaging and the guests relatively like-minded."

"Frank was a Rhodes Scholar," Cora said.

"What? He didn't say."

"No. Well, he's modest."

"He's a Canadian," Robert corrected. "We'd have heard all about it if he'd been from Chicago."

Cora sighed. "I'm glad you're going to meet the Dominion Ministers next month. Maybe it will shake you out of some of your imperial stereotypes." She snuggled up beside Robert. "Imagine Freddy at Oxford!"

"I'd rather not."

"Robert. Would you not have liked to have seen your own daughters have every opportunity?"

"My own daughters have managed to overcome all the alleged obstructions and restrictions involved in being a woman and done very well for themselves. We have .. had a nurse, an estate manager and a national magazine editor, on top of marrying well … one of them twice … and having children. I defy anyone to match that record."

"Your daughters are women of privilege. And they had good luck. Unions exist because very few employers are generous or even fair, and equality of access to things like Rhodes scholarships and Oxford would even the playing field for women – and men – without those privileges."

Robert stared at her as though she had two heads. "What on earth are you saying? I can't even blame this on America. You sound like Karl Marx."

"Karl Marx's wife had a dreadful life," Cora said, ignoring his shock, which she thought more feigned than serious. "Poverty. He was once arrested for selling the family silverware."

"There's a story you won't hear Tom telling," Robert said. "Really, Cora, where do you come up with these things?"

"I read," she said simply, and drew him close again. "You seem to be getting along with Tom again."

"Well, how can I stay angry with him? There's no point."

"That's an admirable philosophy. I hope you preach it at your diplomatic dinners."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not a diplomat. I am a non-confrontationalist."

"You've had your moments."

The unwelcome image of Miss Sarah Bunting flashed through his mind. "And regretted everyone single one of them."

"I think we may have cause for another next Friday. What was Carson thinking?"

"I don't know. It's not as though he doesn't know what Larry Grey is like. I'll ask him on Monday." He turned on his side, toward her, and reached out to stroke her cheek. "Do you know," he said, in an entirely different tone, "tonight's dinner has given me an idea."

"Are you going to pay the servants more?" Cora teased. "Going to challenge Freddy for the nomination?"

"No," he said languidly, reveling in the softness of her skin. "I shan't tell you. It'll be a surprise."

*Author's Note 1. I admit that I came up with the character of Frederica Daring after watching Last Tango in Halifax for the twentieth time. When I think of Freddy, I think of Sarah Lancashire at 32.

**Author's Note 2. Julian Byng, 1st Viscount Byng of Vimy, was the commander of the Canadian Corps for a year, June 1916-June 1917, and overall commander at Canada's greatest military victory, Vimy Ridge, hence his title. He was later governor general of Canada. Byng was promoted and replaced in command of the Canadian Corps by General Sir Arthur Currie, one of those colonials who made good in the war. Currie had no formal military training beyond participation in a peacetime militia unit. But he was a superb student of military matters and was capable of independent thought, something lacking in the British High Command during the war.

***Author's Note 3. I don't know about Mary, but I've talked myself into loving Henry. And that was an uphill climb from what we were handed in the series.