"8. You will be wiser not to chance it, it isn't worth the risk."
From 'Advice on Marriage to Young Ladies' by 'A Suffragette Wife,' 1918
The long awaited day finally arrived and, whilst the whole affair was to take place indoors, more than one lady of the house was pleased to see the morning break clear and bright. The clear sky shone its deepest blue with only wisps of white to hint at it could be anything else and, Lady Cora remarked as the last strands of her dark trestles were curled and pinned, how much better the room would look with the light gleaming through freshly cleaned windows. Phyllis detected there was more to the comment than her Ladyship would let on, that the weather had somehow deemed to counter any shadow that might be cast with thoughts of the one person the event was there to recall would remain forever absent. But she merely nodded with a smile and shared reassuring words that it was to be a joyful day to be sure.
Slipping onto the landing, a bundle of cotton edged with silk in her arms, Phyllis paused. She could discern the shrieks of delight floating along the corridor as Sybbie was dressed, Anna having been relinquished by her aunt and tasked to treat her like a true Lady. From the hall below she could hear Mrs Hughes instructing Andy and her husband, who'd been only too happy to be drafted in, as to exactly how the table was to be dressed, their footsteps dull as they crossed the rug and then suddenly loud again as they crossed back onto the wooden floor and on into the dining room. She raised herself on tiptoes to peer over the stone railing just in time to watch a bristling Mr Carson stride with purpose to the front door, his honed sense as to someone's impending arrival not failing him as the faint sound of a bell echoed somewhere deep below. She strained to make out who it was, her soft tones of the Marchioness of Hexham enquiring as to the butler's health ahead of her polite demands as to the location of her Mama and the rest of the family.
Resting back on her heels, Phyllis sighed contentedly. The house was alive once more and it was music to all their ears.
It had been a strange sight, to see their womenfolk changed into their Sunday best in the middle of the day and making their way with giggling nerves upstairs to join what would be for the afternoon at least, their equals in their memories of Lady Sybil. Even Daisy had been persuaded to join them, her reluctant acceptance masking the honour she'd felt at being included . The sound of heels on stone had reverberated along the narrow corridor back to where John sat at the table, his newspaper characteristically spread out in front of him. His attention was caught up in a double page spread telling of how Miss Johnson illustrated with many photographs of her beaming smiles as she posed in photograph after photograph alongside her aeroplane, that he didn't notice he was no longer alone.
"Quite a feat, eh Mr Bates," commented Joseph over his shoulder, "A Yorkshire lass as well."
Bates turned to look at him as he slipped into a vacant space alongside him, considering briefly whether to admonish him for sneaking up on him but decided to let it pass.
"Yorkshire girls have a certain spirit, Mr Moseley," he replied, "One to which we are a daily witness."
Joseph sat back. "The family, you mean," he ruminated.
John smiled. "I meant our wives, Mr Moseley," he said pointedly, "Those to which we have willingly allowed our hearts to be stolen."
"What's that?" came a gruff voice from the doorway, "Stolen? I hope I misheard you, Mr Bates. I don't want to hear any talk of thievery whilst under this roof, not in passing nor in jest."
"Don't worry, Mr Carson," John reassured, "I was simply talking of our Yorkshire wives capturing our hearts for their own."
Charles gave a nod to show his understanding before moving to where the tea things had been set out, Mrs Patmore as thorough as ever ensuring the male servants were not to miss out despite being required to serve themselves.
"Would you agree, Mr Carson? Joseph asked, attempting to draw him into the conversation, "That Yorkshire women have a spirit?"
Charles turned to face them both, cup and saucer in one hand, the other clasping the silver spoon with which he began to stir, his face thoughtful as he considered the question.
"I can see the truth in that line of argument," he said adding dryly, "But if it's solely wives of which we're speaking then mine is of the spirited Scottish variety so I'll reserve judgement for now."
This caused a light chuckle to be shared between the gentlemen as Charles joined them at the table.
"My, it's busy in 'ere," commented Albert Mason as he entered the dining room, adding in explanation, "I let me self in."
"So we see," replied Charles, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
"Beryl said to pop in," he said, taking a seat opposite John, "You know, seeing as they'll be busy all afternoon. We'd had half a mind to go into Thirsk but she'd rather do this. Don't blame her neither."
"Blame her for what?" asked Andy, his turn now to enter the room, hovering briefly before sitting alongside his father-in-law, or so he'd come to think of him.
"The tea for Miss Sybbie," John explained quickly, seeking to deflect attention from Charles' bristled reaction at yet more of them crowding in.
"How does the song go?" Joseph tittered, unconsciously sharing the same thought, "The gang's all here?"
"Hail, hail, the gang's all here," Albert offered, hinting at the melody before Andy jumped in, his head bobbing in time as he sang with gusto, "What the heck do we care, what the heck do we care."
"Hail, hail, the gang's all here," they all sang, bar Mr Carson who merely frowned as their voices rang out.
If others sensed his displeasure then they studiously ignored it as, warming to the camaraderie, they launched into the first verse. But even the stern face of the butler, who saw no way or serious cause to bring the merriment to the end, softened as the tune continued, his feet beginning to tap unseen under the table. But as they commenced on the chorus once more, they all started as a fifth joined them, all turning in stunned silence as Mr Branson entered and with a chuckle sang out the last line.
"What the heck do we care now?"
The tea had passed off perfectly. Miss Sybbie had laughed at the tales of her mother that had been shared with her, some old favourites that she'd already heard from her Grand-mama and aunts, others that were new both to her and more than one other. The laughter had flowed with Beryl's recounting of the now infamous cake baking episode which, as with all good stories, had become more elaborate over the years. There'd been a moment of solemnity as Anna read from a letter from Gwen, now Mrs Harding, telling how Lady Sybil had given her everything, the life she'd always dreamed of, the woman she'd known she could be. It was another memory they'd all heard before, although Elsie suspected it went largely over the young girl's head and silently approved of Anna's kindness in gifting her the letter, so it could be read again when the girl was older and the significance of it would more likely be felt. It had been at that moment that Lady Cora chose to present her her own gift.
"This belonged to your mother," she'd explained as she placed the delicate gold chain around her granddaughter's neck and fastened it, her hands coming to rest on her shoulders. "It was a gift from Donk and I on her tenth birthday. I think she'd want you to have it, my darling. She knew you but a few hours but she was proud of you."
The ladies of the downstairs hadn't known where to look, the intimacy they were witnessing entangled with the raw emotion of remembering a woman they'd all loved. Heads bowed or turned away, they brushed away tears that threatened the requirement for decorum and dignity. It was fortunate then that Daisy saw fit to start on her own story of how, one evening, she'd been fetching coal from the shed in the yard, only to witness a stolen kiss between Mr and Mrs Branson.
"I think they thought they couldn't be seen, under the large tree, you know the one by the garages, but I saw them right enough," she said, seemingly oblivious to the blushes of the others as sighingly she concluded, "They were so much in love."
There was a pause, a hesitation from them all as to the correct response before Lady Edith spoke up.
"They were, we all knew it, were all envious of it, no doubt, in our own way. And thank goodness," she uttered, "As otherwise we'd not have our wonderful Sybbie."
She reached out for the hand of her niece who responded in mind, a shared smile as they squeezed each other's hand in understanding.
"To our darling Sybil," Lady Mary pronounced, raising her teacup, the others following suit, "And our dearest, darling Sybbie."
As the wall clock chimed the hour, the time approaching when Charles at least presumed the party upstairs would break up and scatter, he addressed his attentions to Tom, or Mr Branson as he'd come to accept him as.
"You must feel as if you've missed out," he remarked with all due deference, "Hearing the many recollections of our Lady Sybil. It would have been nice, I'm sure, to have been able to join in. You must have many stories of your own to add."
"That is true, Mr Carson," Tom agreed, "And in one way you're right, but Sybbie must be bored of my tales of her mother by now. Lord knows I've told her enough of them over the years, longing as only a father can for her to know her as I did."
"I can understand that, Mr Branson," Albert piped up. "I felt the same with our William and he was more than old enough to remember his Mam."
Tom smiled weakly. "I am eternally thankful for Sybbie's continuing health and consider myself fortunate to be able to share those memories with my child still, Mr Mason," he offered with sincerity, an exchanged look of appreciation shared between the two men.
A heavy mood descended, the earlier joy they'd discovered together seeming distant as the room suddenly darkened, a cloud passing across the sun as if in solidarity. Each man assembled could have shared their own tale of a love lost and Charles regarded each of them as they were briefly lost to their own thoughts of it. He cleared his throat, garnering their attention.
"I was reminded recently of Lady Sybil," he began cautiously, his eyes cast downwards as he felt all five pairs of eyes on him, "Of her spirit, of her beliefs, her determination to do good and, above all, what she saw as right." He looked up and encouraged by nods of agreement, he continued, his hand slipping into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a piece of paper. He held it out to Tom.
"This was found in her things," Charles explained, watching as the younger man unfolded it and began to read, the corners of his mouth turning up as he digested its contents. "I think you'll agree it says more than we ever could."
"Well, I'm no football enthusiast," Tom mused, "Nor tame, at least not in those days. But I'll admit to selfishness and drunkenness, on occasion."
"And she proved herself a good cook," Joseph pitched in.
"True enough," Tom laughed, before pausing, deep in thought before adding ruefully, "And fortunately for me it seems she decided I was worth the risk after all." He looked up and over at Charles, a shared understanding passing between them.
"I'd say we're all grateful that someone has chosen to take a risk on us," Charles offered, holding out his hand now. "In life and in death your wife helped bring myself and Mrs Hughes together, Mr Branson, in more ways that you'll know. And I'm grateful."
Tom extended his hand, the resulting handshake acting to break the tension that had grown up around them as the others had barely dared to breathe at what had unfolded in front of them. And, as the sun outside broke free of its shade, there was a lightness once more, the chatter between the assembled group starting up in earnest once more, and it was as if the enchantment of the youngest Crawley child had once again befallen them all.
Thank you for reading and, as always, for your lovely reviews. They've certainly kept me going when I've struggled. I felt at times that I'd taken on more than I could handle with this one, a story with three couples and in some ways I didn't really want it to end, but I think this is the right place to leave it and hopefully it worked ok in the end.
However, it definitely wouldn't be one of my stories without a few fun historical facts to round things off :-) 'Hail, Hail, The Gang's All Here' was a popular American song in 1917 so I'm chancing my arm that it was known in the UK as well, at least by 1930. You can hear it on YouTube if you're so inclined. Amy Johnson was indeed a Yorkshire lass who flew to Australia, and 'Advice on Marriage by a Suffragette Wife' is a real pamphlet from 1918 which is currently on display in the Pontypridd Museum in Wales.
In chapter two, Anna was reading a letter which she never got to show Mr Bates...I think there might be a story there (insert thinking emoji here).
Until the next time...