A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews of the last chapter.
November 1920, part two
"I'm sure if you have anything planned you could still do it from the Bowens house" James peered over his tea cup at his wife.
"Whatever could I possibly have planned? Other than the weekly lunch at the Shelbourne and the occasional shopping outing what do I ever do?" Victoria countered.
Sitting his teacup down, James picked up a piece of toast and slathered it with marmalade. "I thought maybe you'd invite your friend Lady Sybil over for lunch or maybe tea."
"That does sound rather nice."
"I'm sure Mrs. Bowen would be delighted to host both of you for lunch."
And report back to you everything we said thought Victoria. She dropped her toast onto her plate. "I'm sure she would. But Sybil and I have so much to catch up on and it wouldn't be fair to Mrs. Bowen to have to listen to us prattle on about things and people she doesn't know." Despite what she said Victoria knew Mrs. Bowen would relish hearing such stories and couldn't wait to gossip about such matters.
Victoria picked up her toast. "Besides I am not going to stay at the Bowdens."
"Really Victoria I'd feel much better if you'd stay with the Bowens while I'm gone. You really shouldn't be here alone."
Raging inside she was pleased with herself that she was able to gently set the cup down on the table rather than shattering it against the saucer. She knew her husband wasn't as concerned about her safety as he was about having someone monitoring her movements. "But I'm not here alone James" she managed to say.
"In fact" she looked steely eyed at her husband "I'm never alone in this house."
"I wasn't referring to the servants Victoria" James snapped.
"Why? Do you not consider them people?"
James sighed in irritation. "If you won't stay with the Bowdens at least let my secretary stay here with you."
The suggestion that she stay with the domineering and nosy Eliza Bowden had been bad enough but the thought of spending time with Eleanor Whitten, she of barely hidden hostility towards her, was simply out of the question. Once again hiding the rage she felt, Victoria took her napkin off her lap, daintily wiped her around her mouth, then rose from her chair. "I stopped needing a nanny years ago."
James reached out and caught hold of Victoria's arm as she passed him on her way out of the breakfast room. "While I'm away I need to fully concentrate on my work and I can't do that if I'm worrying about your safety."
Victoria looked into the pitch blackness of her husband's eyes. How had she ever seen charm in those cold and calculating eyes? "You've been away before James and I don't recall you having such qualms about my being here alone."
"The city's becoming more dangerous with more and more ordinary citizens seemingly backing dissent and things-"
"Haven't you thought that maybe those auxiliaries and Black and Tans have contributed to that?" Victoria shot back at him. "Who's shooting men on their way home from work or breaking into people's homes shattering-"
He gave her arm a tight squeeze causing her to wince. "Who have you been talking to about such things?"
She tried pulling her arm away from his grip but he only squeezed harder as he raised his other arm. "I don't have to talk to anybody I can read the newspapers James."
Victoria bracing herself for a slap on her shoulder or possibly the side of her head tried turning her body away from him. But a soft Irish voice asking "Do you need more tea or toast?" prevented whatever action James might have taken as both turned their heads to look at Kate, holding a tea pot, standing in doorway.
James quickly dropped Victoria's arm. "I think we're both finished."
"Maam?" Kate looked at Victoria who smiled back at her. "No thank you Kate, I'm sure Madame Claudette will insist I have a cup or two with her."
"Madame Claudette?" James looked at his wife.
"I have some dress fittings there this morning."
At half past ten in the morning the steady rain had ended but the sky remained gray threatening more rain. Sitting in the back of the motor car, James had insisted on driving her to Madame Claudette's, Victoria intently watched the passing scenes from her window. Men and women hurried along the still wet pavements doing their best to avoid deeper puddles. What little of Dublin Victoria had seen of Dublin reminded her of London with its grand buildings of stone and granite, a river running through the midst of it, fine squares with elegant Georgian townhouses surrounding leafy inner parks. Of course if she had ventured north of the River Liffey she would have seen remnants of the destruction that had taken place during the Easter rising of 1916 when the British sent gunboats up the river to shell the rebels taking shelter in the General Post Office. The shelling and resulting fires had destroyed that grand building leaving only the granite façade and portico still standing as well as leaving much of Sackville Street, the main thoroughfare of the city, in ruins.
But as her husband constantly reminded her, wives of British officers didn't venture far and Victoria's Dublin was a compact area south of the River Liffey. Dublin Castle, home of the British government, was within this area as well as Trinity College and of course The Shelbourne Hotel which bordered the lovely St. Stephens Green. Also within this area were Dublin's most exclusive neighborhoods including Fitzwilliam Square and Merrion Square where lovely Georgian townhouses bordered green leafy parks. Although on this November day as the motor car passed Merrion Square Victoria noted the park was neither leafy green nor even the colorful display of only days ago when the trees had been blanketed in vivid reds, oranges and yellows. What few leaves remained were dull rust or brown which didn't brighten the gray day.
On a side street just past Merrion Square was the dress shop of Madame Claudette DuBois. Housed in a red brick building that resembled the townhouses of Merrion Square, it would be easy to mistake the building as a home rather than a flourishing business. Only the brass plaque with raised letters stating Madame Claudette's Couture beside the black front door gave any indication this was a business.
"You're so busy James you just probably forgot something so trifling as my dress fittings" Victoria had responded to her husband when he again noted that he couldn't recall her mentioning before this morning today's appointments with Madame Claudette. For one panic stricken moment she feared he would come inside the shop with her so it was with great relief that he stayed beside the open car door and watched her walk across the pavement and up the five steps to the shop's front door.
Much to her relief James had remained standing beside the motor car watching through the tall wide windows that gave an excellent view into the room that looked much like a sitting or drawing room that a shop. Only the end wall with it racks and hooks that displayed hats and purses gave any indication of the business here and James watched as Victoria fingered several of the hats. Luckily she only waited a minute or so before Madame Claudette entered the room and welcomed her in that continental way with a kiss on each cheek.
"Have I forgotten some appointment?" Claudette asked in French as she hugged Victoria and the younger woman answered in her quite passable French. "I'm afraid I need your help."
It would be easy to mistake Claudette DuBois as a Parisian for she certainly had the French accent and mannerisms born from years of living in Paris. Yet Claudette was not French and the only person in Dublin who knew she was actually Bridget Anne McCowen from Clane, County Kildare was Victoria. How shocked both women had been meeting again the first time Victoria had patronized Madame Claudette's Couture.
"Is this really the little girl who came with her uncle to that shop in London?" Claudette had said in French.
"It's so good to see you. I've always wondered how you fared in Paris after the war started" Victoria responded in French.
"Ah" Claudette said as she shrugged her shoulders. "I think there is much to tell for both of us."
"Are you sure of this address?" a visibly confused Cillian asked Sybil.
Looking at the unmarked door Sybil seemed just as confused. "It does seem like an unusual place to meet but here's the note Victoria sent marking the entrance" she said as she handed Cillian the note. It had been quite astonishing when Kate had shown up at Sybil's flat with the sealed note. I was just as stunned as you when she handed me a sealed envelope, asked if I thought I could find that address, and asked me to hand deliver it to you Kate had told a startled Sybil.
Cillian too thought it was highly unusual to meet Sybil's friend here but his reason was far different than Sybil's for Cillian was quite familiar with this place and its owner.
While the ground floor housed Claudette's business her private quarters were on the floors above. There was an entrance to Claudette's private quarters through a locked door (for which Claudette wore the only key pinned to the pocket of her dress or on a chain around her neck depending on her outfit) in the workshop or through a door from the outside back alley which is where Sybil and Cillian had entered. Both doors opened into an eight square foot black and white tiled foyer with steps leading up to Claudette's living quarters.
The stairway ended in another black and white tiled foyer only this one was at least twice as large as the downstairs entrance. Off the foyer was a sitting room that could have been in Downton. With its huge glass chandelier, marble fireplace, silk flocked wallpaper, and gilded wainscoting and moldings, it was an elegant room yet the comfortable brocade sofa and chairs gave it a homey feel.
A fire had been lit in the marble fireplace giving the room warmth and Sybil stood in front of it rubbing her hands but it was an act more of nervousness than warding off the chill of that gray November morning. She had been through so many emotions since she had received Victoria's note and had had a sleepless night. But the hope she felt this morning waned as she couldn't imagine that whoever lived in this elegant place would help her find Tom.
A tall slim woman, looking as elegant as the room, came in carrying a silver tea tray which she set on the low table in front of the sofa. "Please make yourself at home" she said in a pleasant voice with a heavy French accent. As if Sybil wasn't baffled enough, there was a quick but unmistakable look, Sybil wasn't quite sure how to decipher it, that passed between the woman and Cillian but neither said anything and the woman quietly left the room.
Cillian poured a cup of tea and then offered it to Sybil. "Please Sybil try and drink this" but she turned away and faced the fire. His heart ached seeing the pain clearly etch on her face. He wasn't a praying man having long ago lost his faith in justice but this morning he had stopped at the church closest to Sybil's flat and had lit a candle and said a prayer for Tom and for Sybil. Looking at her now he wondered how he had ever doubted her love for his brother.
"Sybil" he said softly but any further words were stopped with the arrival of Victoria and another man. He was tall and slim and had an air of authority.
Sybil turned towards the doorway and her face shuffled through a variety of emotions before she uttered "Twig?"
"I'm a bit old now and a bit more dignified to be called Twig don't you think?" His laugh was hearty and warming and brought a smile to Sybil.
Removing his hat he tousled his hair before opening his arms to welcome Sybil's embrace. "It's been years since I've seen either of you and now to be in a room with both of you is so refreshing."
"But what are you doing here in Dublin" Sybil asked.
"Ah" he said. "I'm here on a hush hush special project for the Prime Minister's office. That's why Torie contacted me and rather mysteriously asked me to come here this morning. She thinks I may be able to help you in some way."
His hand clasped behind his back, Edmund (formerly known as Twig) Montgomery stood at the window of his small office in Dublin Castle. What little view there was was obscured by the rain which now pelted against the stone pathways. It hadn't been easy to find Tom Branson since none of the record books had listed his name as a prisoner. To Edmund's surprise there had been quite a number of prisoners listed as name unknown. Some listed that way because they refused to give their names while others had been incapable of speaking at the time of their arrest and no one bothered to later fill in the name when the prisoner became capable of speaking. He did know the place, date and approximate time Tom was arrested and therefore he used that to establish possible identity.
The man he found looked little like the photograph Sybil had given him. His hair was long, dirty, and matted as was his beard and his body was gaunt. Edmund detected a resemblance to Cilllian and certainly the color of their eyes and hair were quite similar.
There was a knock on his office door and Edmund automatically said "Come in."
In response the door opened and three men, their faces wan and eyes dull, their bodies covered with oozing cuts and dark bruises and a general air of hopelessness, slowly limped into the room followed by Edmund's assistant. Edmund had selected the other two men to hide his interest in Tom in case anyone decided to check into what Edmund was doing. Despite their being bathed and clothed in fresh garb there was still a raw odor that followed them into the room. Tom winced as one of the other men accidently brushed against his shoulder and all three looked as if it had taken every ounce of strength they had to get here.
It had taken Edmund five days to bring Tom back to her but the Tom that came back was a shadow of the man that had left that October early morning for the garage. The gunshot wound on his shoulder was infected and oozed a yellowish-green foul smelling pus and he had developed a hacking cough. Those thought Sybil could be treated but what she feared more was the mental wounds. He had been home for three days and yet had failed to utter a single word and his eyes stared vacantly.
Sybil watched as Cillian lowered Tom into the warm soapy bath water. She then sat beside the tub and began gently washing his skin all the while talking slowly and soothingly to him.
"I was thinking about our wonderful trip to Howth. Oh what a wonderful time we had there Tom. I can't-"
Tom suddenly raised his hand and grabbed her hand holding the washcloth. Turning his face towards her he looked directly at face and for the first time since he had come back his eyes didn't seem like vacant dark pools.
"Sybil" he said slowly and hesitantly and in a voice so low Sybil wasn't sure he had actually said her name.
His hand slowly caressed the side of her face and then rubbed his thumb back and forth across her cheek. "Sybil" his voice still soft but a bit stronger.
Sybil nodded her head "yes Tom it's me Sybil."
"Oh Tom!" Tears flooded Sybil's eyes but her face was beaming.