In the car while the landscape whizzed by, his mother talked about how much it had changed, then she added, as if it was a good transition to bring it up, "I've asked Miss Pearson to join us tonight as well. I extended an invitation to her brother Boy George."
"Come on, mother, seriously?"
He tried to avoid saying anything more to her as they got out of the car and walked up to the establishment.
"It's only dinner, George."
Dot he would rather handle than Boy. "I can't. I just can't."
He felt his father's arm on his. To indicate to him to grab his arm to help him up the stairs or to settle him down, or perhaps a combination of both? "Come, let's have a nice time."
He helped his mother with their father up the stairs, and a second pair leading to the upper balcony, while one of the servants carried his chair behind them. There were certainly eyes on them. George could feel them boring into his back. He still hated the looks from strangers, but he guessed it was more to do with his making a scene.
He could hear the giggles of his sisters from behind.
When he got to his section, unfortunately occupied by Dot and her brother, and another male individual about their age he didn't know. He saw that Sybie was already there. Relieved, he took the seat next to her.
Across from them, two sections down, he could see his parents. They were with Lord and Lady Denning, Dot and Boy's parents, next to them was Granny Violet and Granny Rachel. Katie and Josephine had their own box along with Connie Thompson and Claire Rothman.
Granny Violet had been under the weather but insisted that she go out, she hardly went anywhere. He hoped it wasn't anything serious. They were still reeling from Granny Isobel's death, two years ago. But on the other hand, she was nearing one hundred.
Dot leaned over to him, noticing where his attention was focused. "It's good to see that your father made it out today. You know, your father is a kind and intelligent man, but it is a shame."
"I don't see it that way. He proudly fought for his country. Where's the shame in that?"
"There isn't."
He ignored her and turned his attention to the stage.
The dinner with the Pearson's had been somewhat palatable; Boy George had actually behaved himself.
"I wonder why they call him Boy George. I hope they didn't name him after Lloyd George." Mary whispered to her husband.
"Imagine your father's reaction if we'd named George after a labor minister. Or so he won't be confused with ours. There are a lot of George's."
"Ours is named after a King."
"You're lucky I wasn't angry with you for picking the name. It ended up suiting him." His seriousness gave way to a smile and the ridiculous look on his wife's face made him laugh, his laugh being contagious made her laugh, as they were brought back to the incident with Lord Anthony, Miss Patmore, and the mixing up of the salt and the sugar.
Jo wondered what her parents could possibly be laughing about, their heads together like school children, doing something naughty. It was always fascinating to her how they always seemed to retain their youthful love. She doubted she'd find out their secret.
Maybe Boy George was behaving himself because of his parents were here or he was afraid of Granny, giving him the eagle eye.
Mary went up to her room to talk with Granny about the estate and the future, so they wouldn't be disturbed. Matthew and Tom were playing cricket with the boys. She could hear their laughter drifting up, carrying through the wind, the girls cheering them on.
She couldn't well talk to Matthew about her concerns and worries, sometimes she just couldn't. So, she turned to the next best thing. What kind of world would their children live in? What will happen if there is another war or another economic depression. Taxes would increase as they did before, only the inflation would be double.
"We almost lost it numerous times. Do you think we can preserve Downton for them? That we can keep their home? I don't even know what it will look like for them." She didn't want to leave the children with tremendous amount of debt.
"It never looked the same to our ancestors. It's changed several times in my lifetime. We must keep changing, keep things up to date and modern for Downton to survive and thrive. You've been doing so for this long, the strongholds you and Matthew and Branson put in place."
"All of that was just pure luck. And do you really think that will work, how long will the strongholds hold out? And then where will we be?"
"Mary, my dear. Do you doubt your husband's intelligence?"
"No. I..."
"After all, he did try to break the entail for you when he first arrived here."
"He...never told me."
"He trusts you. He appointed you agent. And I trust that it is in good hands. Even so, if it comes to losing Downton someday, well it won't be for quite some time yet. All things must come to an end. As for your children, you need to ask yourself what is more important to them, tradition or their happiness."
Mary nodded, toying with her neckless. "But...there's something else isn't there?"
"What makes you think there's something else?"
"Well, I am your granddaughter after all."
"Alright. I might as well tell you. I didn't want to tell you, after it being so close to Isobel."
What is it Granny? Tell me.
"I'm ill." She took a breath and for the first time Mary detected a faint wheezing sound.
"What? We can go to a doctor. A specialist in Harley Street." She got up as if she meant to take her right then. She would have.
"No. No." She patted her granddaughter's hand. "It's nothing that can be helped. I've been sick for a long time. It won't be much longer now. I lived a long life."
Two months after their conversation, on the 20th July of 1939 the old, seemingly ancient, Dowager Countess, Violet Crawley passed away in her sleep, at the age on ninety-nine, of a long illness as her dear old friend had. Only it was debated if she had died whilst asleep. The maid had found her half-way on the floor next to her bed. It had appeared that she had fallen but there also appeared to be no injury to her body. She hadn't struck the night table. Perhaps gotten up in the middle of the night and didn't know what hit her. It had sure given the young maid a fright.
Mary and Matthew left out any ideals to their children. Josephine was angry, just like she had been with her Grandmother Isobel's passing, which was understandable. She had lost two grandparents in the span of two years. In truth it had more to do with her sister's and father's reactions.
Carrie had the same reaction as she had to Granny Isobel's death. Neither was their father in tears. He and Carrie shared their happy memories of her, as she would want them to. The funeral presession, was one that even Queen Victoria's, as the Dowager Countess left Downton for one final time.
The usual way the Crawley's dealt with grief or some obstacle in their life, they would find ways to keep themselves busy. Their father immersed himself in his law practice and estate affairs, Mary did the same with the former, Katie did her reading (she wanted to be a nurse) while Carrie went on with her normal routine, playing with her dolls and going dress shopping with Grandma Rachel. Josephine teased her for still playing with dolls as Carrie was twelve.
"People are going to think you strange. I gave up playing with dolls when I was nine and started riding horses. Maybe you should do the same. Who would want to be with you if they found out you played with dolls till you were too old? Certainly, Johnny wouldn't."
"You wouldn't...you wouldn't tell him."
"Course I would. But I won't on one condition, if you stop playing with them."
"Johnny likes Katie." Johnny Bates was her friend, but Carrie still had a crush on him and cared what he thought.
Carrie had gone to their mother and cried about her sister being mean. "Am I too old mama?"
"Maybe you are, maybe you aren't. That's for you to decide. For now, though, if it's something you enjoy, then don't let your sister ruin it for you."
Her curls bounced as she nodded, giving their mother a hug. Josephine felt a sting of jealousy. What was there to be jealous about? Carrie is still a kid and it's not like their mother had hugged her any less.
"What if the other kids make fun of me if they find out?"
"Then those kids aren't really your friends."
Life went on for the Crawley household. Josephine would go out riding, and George focused on his schoolwork and when he was finished, he would often join her with their father.
Andy who had just turned thirteen a few months ago, spent most of his time in his room brooding and pouting, when he did come out of his room, he was being a nuisance to everyone, acting out, their father taking the brunt of it. George had been the only one to get through to him. Andy came mopping out of his room, his fringe shadowing his eyes, his arms behind his back.
"Father, could I have a word with you?"
Matthew jumped at the chance. It had been a while since they had a civil conversation and since his son had talked to him. They both left the room.
He was grateful for whatever George had said had somehow convinced him to come out of his room. Everything was peaceful in the household again, especially between father and son. Moments later, they came back. Andy was actually smiling again.
"I told him we were even if he agreed to get a haircut." Father teased, ruffling his son's hair that was already starting to darken.
"I'll take him." George offered. "Afterwards I can take him fishing?"
His father nodded. "Just don't stay out until dark."
George, seventeen, who would be eighteen in a few short months' time, already felt like an adult. He took greater responsibility over his siblings, teaching them things his father wasn't able to do. It made him feel like a third parent, the second man of the house and to his siblings he was sort of a second father. He sort of understood how Sybie felt towards her Uncle, as if he was her second father. She still had to feel an emptiness of where a mother should be, even though she thought as Lucy as one, that place in her heart was not quite filled. He asked her about her mother, his aunt, if she missed her.
"Sometimes I do. But...it's not very deep because I didn't know her, you know?"
That's how he felt about sister, Beth.
"Then I read her diary and I feel closer to her than ever. But then I stop myself and start thinkin' they're just words. I don't want to think that you know?"
He didn't. He wished he had something of his baby sister. Maybe a blanket of some sorts, but that's what they had wrapped her in, in her tiny coffin, so that she wouldn't be cold. It didn't make much sense to him then. Why would she need a blanket in the ground if she wasn't there? Now that he's older he knows. To give the illusion she was alive, to not have to see her body, swallowed up in the yellow swaddling, like the cotton in their Easter baskets. He didn't want one after that and had tossed it across the room.
He remembers that day well. The day they buried their sister and the days and months after. Their parents didn't sit side by side with each other at the funeral, while he and his siblings were in the back with the nannies and the rest of the servants. He wanted to go to his father, for he was the only one he could see in the mass of black, but Nanny Wallace wouldn't let him and told him to behave. His parents were hardly in the same room for a long time afterwards, (mum up in her bedroom 'too tired to play' but even when dad was tired, he still played with them.
Jo says she doesn't remember much or the funeral at all except their parents hardly speaking and sleeping in separate rooms. "That is normal thought. I do remember that Papa was ill a lot a year after."
He didn't take responsibility for Jo of course because he knew that she could look out for herself, and they were only a year apart. Andy and Carrie were still young and innocent. With how things were going, in Germany and with the Jews, they were on the brink of a revolution.
They were too young to know the real possibility or reality of war. George knows because he sees what it's done to their father. Jo probably sees it too. Between them, it goes without saying.
That's why he had wanted this last year to be a kid. He had to look out for his siblings for so long. But now war was coming. He didn't know when. But when it came, he would be ready. For now, he wanted to just simply sit back and enjoy the fresh air and the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, spend time with his brother.
They weren't having any luck catching any fish.
"Why don't we go up higher on the rocks," Andy suggested, so we can see where the fish are."
"Dad told us not to."
"I know. I know."
"It wouldn't be proper." They both said at the same time, bursting into laughter. Their father used the word a lot, and so did nanny (in a more direct manner) so they tended to use it in jest.
"But he only told us that because he can't follow us up there. But he's not here. So why not?" Andy gave a shrug.
"Because we could fall. They're a bit slippery on the top from the rain yesterday."
They tried recasting their lines again, waiting in silence.
"Georgie, if you go off to war, will that make me the second man of the house?"
George paused, thinking for a moment. "I don't know if there will be one. We'll have to wait and see." He hated lying to his little brother, whom looked up to him. Even though he'd get jealous when it seemed George was getting more attention.
"Why did they have to die?"
"What do you mean?"
"I understand Granny Violet, she was ancient!"
"It was their time. Granny Isobel was sick."
"Grandpa Donk and Grandma Cora weren't that old. I barley remember Donk and I don't remember Grandma Cora at all."
"Well, first off, Grandma Cora died before any of us were born, so of course WE'RE not going to remember her."
"All right. You don't need to be so smart about it." He pulled back his line.
"It just happens."
"Yes. Caught one!" Andy took it off the hook and put it into the fishing pail. "What about Granny Rachel?"
"What about Granny Rachel?"
"She's getting old."
"You don't have to worry about her. I have a feeling she's going to live for a very long time yet. Like Granny Violet."
"Dad's not old. And he can still die. He can get sick easy. That's why he didn't come with us. Remember when I asked nanny if he was going to die?"
"And I'm going to tell you what she told you. He's not going to."
"But you might, if you go off to war. But it will be alright. No Jerry's are going to take you down!"
He didn't get it. It was still a game to him. Geroge clenched his jaw, staring out onto the lake. He recalled how anxious his father had been to bring them here when they were younger, even with the nanny present. How frightened he had been when he had lost sight of him and Andy. But they had been found safely.
How would his father react when he went off to war? Most likely outcome was that there was going to be one, there was no escape from it in sight, though his parents wanted to live in denial and assured there wouldn't be.
No one would change his mind. His decision was already made. He wouldn't wait to get called up. He'd storm down to the nearest war office. They would understand. He was doing it for his little brother so that one day he might not need to fight, for his sisters, and for all of them. For honor, for duty, for King and Country, and above all, to finish what his father started.
Sybie still wanted to attend the July Season, despite her great-grandmother's recent death just mere weeks ago. They were out shopping for material for her new dress and a fitting. Her Da had dropped her off at Bates's shop. He had some errands to run.
"Are you sure you want to do the Season this year?" Aunt Mary asked her. "We're still in the mourning period. At least six months."
"I think it's what she would want. I want to honor her memory."
"I can't think of anything more suitable!" Mary agreed.
"Besides, there might not be one next year. With all this talk of war."
"You're still not going to school for your medical training?" Aunt Mary changed the subject.
"Oh, I still am. They're going to need more nurses soon." What she didn't tell her aunt was that she wanted to go to medical school to be a doctor. But she might have to put that off. If war did break out, she would join the war effort as a nurse and then afterwards peruse her career as a doctor. For now, she wasn't just Sybie, the daughter of the late Sybil and Tom Branson, she was a lady.
Aunt Edith was sitting next to the fire in the Bates' parlor, Carrie sitting next to her. Kate had Sybie step on the platform to start hemming the dress. Sybie was quite tall for having short parents, the fabric still quite long, Kate having over measured. She had done so on purpose. They might ration fabric for soldiers' uniforms, or the scraps could be used for bandages, or she could make lucrative headbands. She couldn't wait to tell Mama and her sisters and cousin about her plans. Mama and Sybie would be thrilled and on aboard with the bandage idea. That would go over with the women of the Women's Institute, of which their mother was now in charge of.
"Hold still, Sybie or I'm going to poke you with this needle." When Kate finished, she admired her work.
"You did a fine job on the dress Kate." Carrie admired. "Johnny Bates will love it when he hears you made it."
"Why would he care? I'm not interest in Johnny Bates in the least."
"You're turning down a perfectly good beau." Carrie said.
"If he's so good, why don't you go with him then?" Carrie's face turned red, and Kate instantly regretted it. She knew that Carrie had a thing for Johnny, but he had a fancy for Kate. Johnny meant well but it sometimes came a nuisance to Kate to the point she had used Lord Wroughton to get Johnny to back off. It was out of respect that he did.
Sybie Crawley-Branson was presented to the court in front of the Queen and King, and their daughter, Princess Elizabeth. She even danced with the young Duke. She even danced with Boy at her coming out ball.
Her Aunt and Uncle watched her with admiration and delight, as if she was one of their own daughters. In a year or two, their own daughters, Josephine and Katie would be attending their own season. And perhaps by the time Caroline had hers, it would be Princess Elizabeth, the future Queen, to present her.
Connie Thompson sitting beside Jo, leaned into whisper in her ear, "I think it might be love at first sight."
"Whoever believes in that needs to get their eyes examined." Josephine retorted back. Both girls erupted into laughter.
The past few months, she had done nothing but sit around, waiting on never ending calls from suitors, she finally became fed up. Boy had even proposed to her at one of the dances.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said, will you marry me." He looked a bit put out, that he had to ask twice.
"No, of course not. You weren't serious, were you?"
"I don't see why it's such a silly question." He said through gritted teeth.
"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"It takes a lot of courage for a chap to ask a girl and then be laughed at in his face."
"You couldn't really have thought... did my aunt put you up to this?"
"I wouldn't marry the likes of you even if you were my only choice."
"Feelings mutual." No love was lost. At least on her part. She could tell his pride was hurt.
"What's this I hear, turning down Boys proposal?" Her aunt later asked, after everyone had gone home.
"Sorry, if it upsets you but I'm not going to marry Boy Pearson just to please you. He's absolutely vial. The world has changed auntie. I want to live my own life, earn my own living, chose my own friends. I want to share a flat with some other girls and go to the pictures with them and mend my own stockings and cook sausages at the end of the month when the money's low and sit by the fire and talk about books and poetry till the early hours. I have enjoyed the season with you, the parties, the dances, and everything, but to me it's like a holiday, not real life. I want to get on with my real life."
"What about the Villa? Granny left it to you."
"I'm thankful that she left it to me. She didn't want me left with nothing. I loved our holidays there growing up, but I have no use for it. I can let it to Lucy and Da to use. Though they most likely won't use it, they'll surely let it to you. I will probably still come see you and the family on summer holidays, after everything settles down."
"If it doesn't, will you stay?"
"Of course."
She was really the best and worst of her parents. Mary thought.
Feigning a headache Sybie dismissed herself to her room. Minutes later she snuck out, meeting up with Claire Rothman. Sybie had an interview for a scholarship. It had gone so horribly wrong. The professor had asked her intimate questions about the male anatomy and how she would treat the injuries. She went into full detail but then he cut her off.
"Might I stop you right there, Miss Branson. Are you not a virgin?"
"Yes! I am." How dare he put that into question. But she held back her father's Irish temper. She didn't want to ruin the interview, even if it meant enduring a little misogyny.
"Then how would you be familiar..."
"My Uncle's medical books, they belonged to his father. He was a doctor. His father, not my uncle."
"All outdated." He ticked something off on his notepad.
Sybie cleared her throat, indicating that she was not finished and that he should not give up on her yet. "It did spark my interest in medicine and my mother was a nurse in the first war. She took care of my uncle when he was injured. I'd seen him undressed by accident once, when my aunt was tending to him. That's how I know, since you were asking." The last part had come out ruder and condescending than she had intended.
"I think that will be enough for today."
She slammed the door shut on her way out. Steaming in her woes, she did not notice the commotion on the street, or lack thereof it. There was a dead silence as villagers milled about, reading notices on shop windows. Claire came running over to her.
"What a complete misogynist! I gave him all the answers he wanted."
"You didn't get it?"
Sybie shook her head. "It's because I'm a woman." Maybe she should have mentioned her uncle was the Earl of Grantham. No. That was beneath her, to call rank. "Maybe I'll have better luck in Boston after all." She turned to her friend sensing that something was wrong, "What? What is it?" She finally noticed the people milling about like headless chickens.
"Sybie...Germany's invaded Poland."
Jo went into the study, knowing that was where his father retired to in the afternoons. He told her she was more like her grandmother, more than anything, "more than your mother actually." He showed her an old daguerreotype that had faded with time, but you could still trace out the elegant features of an elegant lady.
"I miss her."
"I do too. We all do."
"What are you all talking about?" George asked as he entered his father's office, which was really just the room next to his dressing room.
"Nothing. Just reminiscing." His father smiled and looked down at the papers on his desk to sign them.
Tom came rushing into the study, newspaper in hand.
"What the blazes...don't tell me the house is on fire." There was concern in Matthew's voice.
"Haven't you heard?" Tom thrust the paper down on to the desk. Caroline came into the room with Jay and Sybie, and then Mary.
"I heard the commotion." Mary explained.
"Germany's invaded Poland." Tom said. Carrie moved over to the paper to see.
"What would that have to do with us?" Mary asked.
"Other countries might be invaded." Her husband replied. "France. Then they might come for England. If they do..."
"It's not if, it's when." Tom was adamant.
"I heard something called the magno line. It's got to hold right?" Carrie was more interest than worried or frightened. "Tutor's been teaching me about France."
"It's called the Maginot line." Jay corrected.
Carrie already lost interest. "Look here, Sybil. They're already asking for nurses for the Red Cross."
Sybie rushed over to snatch the paper, reading no more than a few lines before shouting, "I'm applying straight away!"
"Goodness, Sybie, whatever for?" Her Aunt replied, exasperated and appalled. "We're not at war..."
"Not yet. But I could train, since I didn't make the scholarship. I can at least learn and then apply to the University of Boston after the war!"
"There's not going to be a..."
She continued reading. "Recruiting tomorrow morning at the hospital..."
"There are other ways to contribute from home." Mary continued.
"I say go for it." Tom encouraged.
"You want to encourage my poor dead sister's only child..."
Jo snatched the paper from Sybie. "There's a lot of qualifications on this list and you've got none of them."
"That's why the sooner I can start my training the better."
"I hope you do stay. Apply when and if war is declared." Matthew, who had been silent, finally spoke.
"Thank you, darling." Mary turned back to her niece. "You can find something to do here, safe at home."
"I'd be perfectly safe Auntie. It's not like I'd be out on the front lines straight away if it does happen. But I will think about it."
They sat down to an early dinner, Bertie giving them the latest updates, along with Evelyn as they were both members of parliament.
"Neville is making a statement in the House of Commands at half past seven." Bertie said as he sat down, the footman pushing in his chair. He was referring to Neville Chamberlain, the Prime Minister.
"I was wanting to see it in the peer's gallery." Evelyn said, waving his fork for some reason, "I may have to leave before desert."
George leaned over to ask to father. "What do you think will happen, father?"
"I don't know. Of course, we would like to avoid a war..."
He knew his father wouldn't admit that there could be a war, because that would mean that he failed, at least to him.
"If there is a war the government will ask the owners of large country homes and estates to put them to use of the military's disposal." Evelyn motioned for more food to be put onto his plate. "We already offered up our stables." Evelyn could sometimes be a snob, but he never knew when he was being one. That's how the family saw him, but he was a nice man had a good heart. And George and his siblings enjoyed having his son, Nathaniel around. He would be in the kid's dining room, the night nursery with Caroline and Andy. One more year and he'd be able to join the table. George bet he couldn't wait.
"Interesting that you mention..." Bertie began, "I was thinking of offering Brancaster as a training ground, it's a pretty good size for a flying field."
Edith gave her a husband a weary look that said she hadn't approved.
Mary had to put her two cents in. "And I think Downton must once again, set an example, maybe a convalescent home, as it was in the first war."
"You mean soldiers, coming to live here?" Jo sounded horrified. Because she was, she couldn't imagine dirty, stinky men wondering about where she normally frequented, coming and going as they pleased in what was her home. It did help her father, but she didn't want to see them, thrashing about in their sleep, staring blankly. No one knew that she knew. It was better to be the selfish ice queen everyone perceived her to be. The only ones she couldn't fool were her father and own brother, and Granny Violet, but she was gone. Maybe Billy Morrison but he didn't give two figs. She was just that 'girl with a crush' to him and nothing more. Did she want him because she couldn't have him? Was there an attraction there? She was scared of that too.
No one was going to see that she was afraid, even though her father had taught her it was ok to be, it didn't mean she was going to show it.
"We may have no choice." Her mother replied.
"We may preserve a small portion of the house..." Her father began.
"I don't want a small portion of the house. Not even a small bit. Strange men living under the same roof? I am a Lady!"
"You sure are not acting like one." Retorted Mary. "It helped your father a lot in the last war."
"I don't give a sodden damn." Jo got up and left, throwing her napkin down, her chair screeching. Mary pushed her own chair back about to go after her, but Matthew grabbed her wrist, whispering between her teeth. "Let her go."
"Sorry about that, chaps." Matthew apologized to their guests. "Where were we?"
There was a clattering of cutlery. George spoke up.
"I heard this war was going to be an air war. Perhaps I'll join the air force."
His mother turned on him next, but it was out of fear more than anything. "No! No, you will not! You know I don't trust those things."
"They're making a lot of improvements now, less likely to plummet back down as soon as you go up! What do you think dad?" He looked to his father.
"I think you shouldn't be quick to judgment. We still don't know anything yet. If it does happen, don't make a decision until we've talked some more."
"Very well, father."
Matthew then excused himself. "Well, I'm going to have to cut this short, gentlemen. I'm feeling rather exhausted."
"Don't mind it at all." Bertie said, understanding.
"We'll be leaving shortly." Evelyn added, then looked at the clock. "Golly, it's about that time." They were getting up to leave, being helped with their jackets, retrieved by the footmen. Matthew took the opportunity to sneak his wife a kiss, kissing her on the forehead, and touching her hair.
"Sorry dear that I'm leaving in the middle of your lovely dinner."
"Of course."
"I made your dinner gloomy." He patted and smoothed her silky strands.
Mary watched him limp as he walked away, a grim reminder of the last war and what was likely to come, vaguely aware that Evelyn was speaking to her, obstructing her view from Matthew.
"It would be alright for Nathaniel to stay?"
"What?"
"Would it be alright if I retrieved him in the morning? I don't know how long we'll be."
"He'll be fine in the night nursery. Caroline will enjoy a little sleepover! She'll be absolutely over the moon!"
The rest of the dinner was gloomy, just her and George. He quickly finished and she was the only one left at the table.
Morrison had the desert served, realizing it was only her, he decided to bring it anyway. Mary picked at the jello, poking at it relentlessly with the spoon, staring at it and then the wall till the pattern of the wallpaper blurred into a mass of undefinable oblong shapes. Suddenly she picked up the bowl and threw it, a smidge of it's contents landing on the portrait over the fireplace of one of the Earl's, too miniscule to see, that only the trained eye of a maid would be able to see it and all over the floor.
"Damn it." She shouted as she had flung the bowl. After she took a few breaths to get herself under control she bent down to pick it up.
"My lady, I can have that taken care of for you."
"No. Everything's fine. I'll get it."
She wet a napkin and started scrubbing at it, only making the orange stain darker till it blended in with the carpet till she couldn't tell where stain and carpet began. She ruined it.
Everything was ruined. Her dinner, that she had wanted to go well, which might have been the last one before her son might go off to war. "It's ruined." She wanted her father, she wanted her Granny, she wanted Carson. She thought she heard his gravely voice. "Carson!"
But it was Morrison. Her body racked with sobs. Her dear husband. What were they going to do? How could they make it through it all again? If he relapsed? She thought it would be over; the war to end all wars. Now her son, her niece was facing the possibility of being in the thick of it.
"I'll take care of it, my lady. You go up and rest with his Lordship. I'll inform you when the others have returned."
George, Katie, and Josephine were waiting in the drawing room waiting for their parents with Aunt Edith and Sybie, waiting for Uncle Bertie and Evelyn to come back with the word from Chamberlain, whether they would be at war or not. The youngest Crawley siblings and cousin were asleep, blissfully unaware, for the time being. Jo had rung for tea to be brought up, to calm their nerves.
Their mother came back down but their father was still in bed. "He won't be coming down. He's too tired."
Bertie was let into the room moments later. Kate turned around, in the middle of talking to her aunt, trying to crank her neck, half of her still facing her.
"Neville has gone back to ten Downing Street. But most of the cabinet's hold up."
"Evelyn's not with you?" Mary asked.
"He's hold up with the cabinet."
"Course he is." George scoffed. "The old snub-nosed tosser."
"Aren't you always standing up for this sort of thing?" Jo reminded him.
"Oh, yeah, right. I just feel like swearing at someone."
"That's the Irish mic in ye." Uncle Tom said.
"We're not Irish."
"But it rubbed off on ye din' it?"
"I think I had more of a hand in that." Sybie replied.
"Alright, what did Chamberlain say?" Tom asked.
"Nothing. He didn't come to a decision." Bertie said. "That's why the cabinet shut themselves in. They want Chamberlain to send an ultimatum to the Germans. Neville must declare war or resign."
It was the morning of the 3rd of September 1939. The family and servants were hovered around the radio, waiting for Chamberlain to speak. At 11:15 a.m. the deadline passed for the Germans to withdraw from Poland.
"I am speaking to you now in the cabinet of ten Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note, stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o'clock that they are prepared at once to withdraw from Poland, a state of war will exist between us."
Mary's heart began thumping faster in her chest with each sentence Chamberlain spoke, hoping that he would say that there would be peace, that there wasn't going to be war. He'll say they came to an agreement, that peace remained between them, the Germans were pulling out of Poland as we speak.
Then they could rejoice and get on with their lives and laugh how silly this was. It was almost dashed at once as she thought of the seriousness behind Chamberlain's tone as if he was trying to remain calm.
"I have to tell you now..."
Please be wrong. Please be wrong.
"That no such undertaking has been received and consequently...
Oh, just get on with it.
...this country is at war with Germany."
Mary's face went pale, her heart hamming even faster now, her gaze immediately going to her oldest son, while her husband remained stony-faced.
They all stared at the radio as if it were a foreign device. The cook, Ms. McKenzie, who had lost her two brother's and a fiancé in the last war, let out a cry, excused herself and left the room.
A cold chill went through Matthew, settled into his bones, the cold chill of France that never left him. He reached over to turn off the wireless. "Well, that's that then." He said.
The children began to speak at once,
"Papa, what do you think..." Kate asked anxiously.
"What are we going to do, Papa?" This from Carrie.
"What happens now?" Josephine wondered. "What will we..."
"What? Will this mean..." Andy starts to ask, I'll be the second man of the house now?
"I guess that means that I'll have to go..." George began.
They all fell silent when Matthew raised his hand, "I think...George and I should go for a nice walk. Don't you George? Let us go before the day spoils, before the storm hits." He wasn't just speaking in the literal sense.
