Thanks to those who have taken the time to leave a review. I appreciate hearing from you. This chapter may be a bit unexpected.
The unexpected appearance of Mrs. Branson had the quite rare effect of rattling Carson, a man who took great pride in being the consummate butler and thus able to adroitly handle any situation. He was accustomed to visiting Lords and Ladies and even the occasional Duke or Duchess or tradesman with business dealings with his Lordship but Mrs. Branson didn't fit into those neatly drawn categories of Downton visitors.
He had never made any secret of the fact that he thought Lady Sybil had married far beneath her or that Branson had defied the bounds of his position as chauffeur in pursuing the youngest daughter of the house. With the Bransons living in Ireland, Carson was able to put, as he would describe it, the sordid affair out of mind but that was no longer possible when the couple returned to Downton. He was galled by having the former chauffeur sitting in the dining room let alone the travesty of having to serve him and he felt like choking on his words every time he had to say Mr. Branson. But he had softened a bit towards the man with the passing of Lady Sybil for the man's grief was palpable and Carson wasn't entirely coldhearted.
As he stared at the tall slim woman, dressed plainly in a long black skirt with its matching jacket unbuttoned revealing a light gray blouse with ruffles down the center, Carson could see the resemblance to her son. Beneath the broad rim of her straw hat she had the same color blondish hair, although hers had some streaks of gray, and her eyes were the same color of blue. But it was the air of her that most reminded him of her son or at least the way he had been before tragedy had struck. It was that air of self-assurance as she stood there ramrod straight, her head held high, showing not the slightest bit of awe at her opulent surroundings, speaking calmly and firmly in an Irish lilt stronger than her son's.
Of all times for Branson to be out with Mr. Crawley he thought. Normally he would have escorted a guest into the library to await the family member, he winced a bit at the thought of Branson as family, but he knew his lordship was in there and didn't think he'd like the intrusion certainly not from this guest. Nor could he imagine his lordship entertaining Mrs. Branson until her son returned. While it may have been appropriate to send for her ladyship Carson knew that she was still in deep mourning and rarely left her bedroom.
It seemed rather strange to have Mrs. Branson sit alone in the great salon but he couldn't think of what else to do with her while he went downstairs to get Mrs. Hughes. Since Mrs. Branson had a suitcase with her, Carson assumed she expected to stay in the house and that was Mrs. Hughes domain.
Sitting on one of the overstuffed floral print chairs arranged in front of the fireplace, Nuala Branson gazed around the "Great Salon" as Carson had called it. Despite what Carson may have thought she was astonished at her surroundings. While she had never been in a room with such fine furnishings, it was the long narrow room itself with its marble columns ending in large arches, the intricate wood carvings, and the soaring height of the ceiling that amazed her and instantly made her think she was in the nave of a cathedral. As she studied the room, taking in the fine architectural details, what was even more astonishing to her was that someone could grow up in a house like this and yet be so unassuming as Sybil had been.
Nuala sat gingerly on the edge of one of the plush chairs, this one covered in a tiny floral print, feeling as uncomfortable on it as she was in this room. How pretentious to name one's rooms she thought as she sat in what Mrs. Hughes had referred to as the Rose Bedroom but then again how does one separate one room from the next when there are so many of them she wondered. The name obviously referred to the prevalent color, a pale rose that dominated the room from the embossed floral print wallpaper to the drapes that covered the tall narrow windows to the chair she was sitting on. Although the room wasn't as grand in size as the room downstairs it certainly was grand in appearance.
She doubt if the four poster bed with the floral print canopy that matched the wall paper, did aristocrats have something against solid colored fabrics she briefly wondered, would even fit in her bedroom back in Dublin. The few decorative pieces in the room like the gold clock on sitting on the marble mantle of the large fireplace or the two matching Chinese print vases that sat on either side of the fireplace had probably been passed down from generation to generation. Unlike the rest of the house she had seen from her perch in the Grand Salon or that she had glimpsed as she followed the young housemaid up the staircase and down the bedroom corridors there were none of those ghastly oil paintings of stern looking long dead relatives or hunting scenes adorning the walls of this room. The only thing hung on the wall was a huge mirror trimmed in gold positioned over the fireplace. It was a room for guests who probably only stayed for a night or two for it was not a room that conveyed a sense of warmth and welcome which matched the rather cool reception she had received from that man Carson.
She had as Mrs. Hughes had called it "freshened up" in the adjoining bathroom. It felt good to wipe the grime of the train from her face and hands. The train ride from Liverpool had been an eye opener for her as she had never been in England before and was pleasantly surprised how much the countryside as viewed from her seat in the third class compartment reminded her of Ireland. Wary of the reception she'd receive when her traveling companions discovered she was Irish, she had spent most of the trip staring out the window rather than joining any conversations with her fellow travelers. To her surprise, she had found the English here on their home turf were much more pleasant than those she encountered in Dublin.
She had taken off her hat and suit jacket both of which now laid on the bed. Her suitcase which had been carried upstairs by a young housemaid still sat unopened on the stand at the foot of the bed having rejected the offer of the young woman to unpack her belongings believing that some things were best left done by one's self.
Now sitting here alone in this room she wondered how long it would be until Tom returned. The disappointment she felt when Carson told her he was not in was tempered by the fact that Tom was out with Mr. Crawley. The grief and despair which was so evident in his letters had alarmed her so much that she had decided to make this unannounced visit.
Not that she had any plans to deceive but she hadn't corrected either Carson or Mrs. Hughes when they had assumed she had arrived straight from Dublin. She, along with two of her daughters, had accompanied her son Kieran to Liverpool two days ago. Much to her daughter Branna's regret, she had left her daughters there to clean the flat over Kieran's newly purchased garage while she traveled alone to Downton. Tom had not answered Kieran's offer and Nuala intended to find out whether it because he was still mulling over the idea or if, as she feared, in his grief he wasn't yet capable of making any decisions.
She jumped at the sound of knocking on the closed bedroom door even though the raps on the door were barely audible which matched her sense that everything in this house was done in quiet tones. Her hopes that it would be her son were dashed when opening the door she found instead Mrs. Hughes standing there holding a tray containing a china teapot, cups, and an assortment of plates that were covered with cloth napkins.
"After such a journey I thought you might like a cup of tea and a bite to eat" Mrs. Hughes stated as she slightly lifted the tray as if to emphasize her words. It was evident by the look on Mrs. Branson's face that she was disappointed her visitor was not her son.
"How kind of you." Overcoming her disappointment, Nuala mastered a small smile as she fully opened the door to allow Mrs. Hughes to enter.
Walking across the room to the sitting area in front of the fireplace, Mrs. Hughes set the tray down on the small table that sat between the two lounge chairs. Nuala, looking at the tea tray which in addition to the makings for tea also held a plate of four small sandwiches, a small wedge of cheese, and a plate of cake slices, realized she was hungry for she had only eaten a scone on the train.
"Would you join me?" The words came out automatically but Nuala didn't expect the look of discomfort that flashed on Mrs. Hughes face. It was just that Nuala thought the woman could probably put to rest some of her concerns. "It's just that … I've been so concerned about Tom … his letters have been … well it's clear his grief is so deep."
Sensing Mrs. Hughes' uneasiness she continued. "When Tom worked here he often talked about you in the letters he sent to me. He even went so far as to say that you reminded him a bit of me."
This last remark caused Mrs. Hughes to smile for she had always been fond of Mr. Branson and had found him a refreshing presence in the servants hall. She knew it was not proper for her to sit and have tea with a guest of the family and she would normally not even consider such a thing but then this wasn't a normal situation, this woman wasn't the usual guest and she was moved by the woman's obvious distress.
They were quiet as they prepared their cups of tea with the only sounds the clinking of spoons against the china cups. While Mrs. Branson ate two of the dainty finger sandwiches, Mrs. Hughes took the opportunity to more closely observe her. When she had met the woman downstairs she had thought Mrs. Branson, dressed in her practical outfit and her voice determined, seemed a no-nonsense type woman much like herself. Now with just the two of them, the woman had let down her guard revealing a caring and concerned mother who obviously knew her son well.
"It was such a shock when we learned about Sybil" Nuala finally spoke, her voice almost a whisper. "My family grew very fond of her while she was in Dublin especially my daughter Branna who's just a couple of years younger than Sybil. She wanted to come here with me but I feared her constant weeping would upset Tom even more."
She slowly set her tea cup on the table as if she was afraid if she set it down too fast or too hard the delicate bone china cup would shatter. There was no mistakiung the haunted look on her face or the pleading in her eyes as she asked "Tell me how is he doing?"
Stalling for time as she pondered how to answer the question posed by an obviously concerned mother, Mrs. Hughes took another sip of tea.
She didn't usually stay in her office this late but she had some work she wanted to finish. The house had been in such turmoil and much of her paperwork had been put aside as she attended to other duties. She, like the rest of the downstairs household, was just now rebounding from the unexpected passing of Lady Sybil. If it had been anyone else in the family it probably wouldn't have had the same effect on them but Lady Sybil had been so different from the rest of that lot. And of course the situation was made even more sadden by a now motherless child.
Everyone else had gone upstairs to their rooms so she was startled when she heard muffled sounds coming from the kitchen. Leaving the light in her office on she went to investigate who would be in the kitchen at this hour. The only person up at this hour should be the hall boy but he wasn't supposed to leave his upstairs post.
There were no lights on in the kitchen. The only illumination came from the hall lights that were always left on leaving the kitchen cast in shadows. He was leaning against the counter that ran across the back wall of the kitchen. It took a moment for her to realize it was Mr. Branson and her puzzlement grew as to what he was doing here until she decided that maybe he needed a bottle for the baby.
Moving into the room until she was standing next to him she asked "Does the baby need a bottle?"
Instead of replying he stood there staring across the room towards the stove as if he didn't realize she was there beside him. Reaching out to touch his arm she again asked "does the baby need a bottle?"
"I stood here and watched her that day" he said in a voice so quiet she could barely hear him. "Laughing and talking with them as if they were equals. It was that day when I knew she …" his voice broke as he began sobbing.
"Mr. Branson …" she started but wasn't sure what to say or do. It was then that an instinct took over, she had never been a mother but she felt the lad needed one now.
"Tom" she called him by his given name which she had never done before and she covered his hands with hers as he openly and unashamedly wept.
"There's no doubt it hit him hard" Mrs. Hughes finally managed to say. "At first he barely left the nursery. It's only been in the past week or two that Mr. Crawley has gotten him out of the house. I think that child is what's kept him going."
Nuala nodded at those words. "I know grief" she sighed as she looked unseeingly across the room. "When my Patrick died I had seven children that needed me.
Sometimes no words are needed. The two women sat there in silence.
Nuala glanced once more about the room and silently noted once again all the finery, the plush fabrics and the heavy wooden furniture, realizing that the furnishings in just this room probably cost more than she would spend in her lifetime. "Seeing this place … her home … it makes me in awe of her that she adjusted so well to Dublin. She was so proud of that three room flat she had with Tom with the draperies I had made and the second hand furniture and the bare wood floors."
Mrs. Hughes nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Lady Sybil was a real beauty both inside and out."
It was then that the silence that Nuala found so deafening in this house was pierced by the wails of an infant.
"Is that my granddaughter?" she asked.
Chuckling, Mrs. Hughes replied "Aye. For someone so tiny she does have a good set of lungs!
Sounding hesitant and yet hopeful, Nuala asked "Can I see her now?
Nuala wasn't sure what to expect of a "nursery" for in her world infants stayed in their parents' room until weaned and then were moved into a room already occupied by their siblings. The only child that had their own room was the firstborn and in Catholic Dublin it usually wasn't long before a second child came. This nursery was just another bedroom, albeit a smaller one and not as lavishly decorated as her room for there was no large four poster canopy bed but rather just a brass framed single bed with a plain green coverlet much like those she had at home. Only the white wicker bassinet and possibly the rocking chair gave any hint of an infant's presence.
Sitting in the room's only armchair with the now quiet infant, Nanny Swanson seemed perturbed by the sudden appearance of the Mrs. Hughes and the stranger as if they had come to admonish her for the baby's crying disturbing the peacefulness of the household.
"She always cries a bit when she wakes up and she's hungry" the nanny defensively commented as soon as she saw them. Looking down at the child in her arms who now contentedly sucked on her bottle she smiled. "Isn't that it my darling you just needed your bottle."
Nuala stepped forward towards the nanny to get closer to her granddaughter. Before Ida Swanson could say anything, Mrs. Hughes stated "This is Mr. Branson's mother. Miss Sybbie's grandmother."
"Sybbie?" Nuala's voice held a hint of uncertainty.
"I believe her ladyship gave her that name and now it's what she's called" Mrs. Hughes answered.
Nuala nodded as she returned her look at the infant and she gestured at the small bundle Ida held in her arms. "May I feed her?"
Ida looked more kindly at the other woman now that she knew she was Mr. Branson's mother. "Of course" she said as she rose from the armchair and gently handed the infant to her grandmother. Ida could tell from the way the other woman expertly cradled the infant that she was used to dealing with babies. Whether little Miss Sybbie could tell she was in expert hands or that she was too hungry to care, she didn't make a sound as Nuala took her in her arms.
"Would you like sometime alone with her?" Ida asked. She was used to staying nearby when her ladyship or her daughters visited the nursery just in case she was needed, heaven help them if the baby started fussing or if she suddenly needed her nappy changed, but Ida thought Mrs. Branson would not need such help.
"I'd appreciate that" Nuala replied as she sat down in the rocking chair with Sybbie still contentedly sucking on her bottle.
Nuala gently rocked and cooed while Sybbie finished her bottle then held her to her chest while she rubbed her back waiting for the child to burp. It was then while holding the child to her chest, that Nuala noticed the framed photograph of Sybil sitting on the table beside the rocking chair. Although most of the photograph was of Sybil's face, looking so radiant with her white hat contrasting with her dark hair, a little bit could be seen of Sybil's dress which Nuala instantly recognized as the lilac one with the lace overlay she had made for Sybil to wear to her sister's wedding. In her suitcase, Nuala had a little dress she had made for Sybbie out of leftover material from that dress.
Setting the photograph back on the table, Nuala Branson did something that those who knew her well would find surprising. As she snuggled her granddaughter against her chest, tears fell down her cheeks.
Now that Mrs. Hughes had taken Mrs. Branson upstairs, Carson felt he had to apprise his lordship of their visitor. At the sound of the library door opening and footsteps entering the room, Robert set his pen on the desk and turned towards the doorway.
"We have a house guest milord" Carson announced causing Robert to rise from his chair. He began walking towards the butler, a smile on his face as he waited to greet his guest. He tilted his head as if trying to see around the butler's large frame.
Realizing his lordship thought the guest was behind him Carson, still standing behind the red sofa, stated. "I've sent her upstairs with Mrs. Hughes."
"Now you have me thoroughly puzzled Carson" Robert replied.
"It's Mr. Branson's mother sir."
"Branson's mother?" Robert abruptly stopped walking and stared at Carson as if he wasn't quite sure he had heard him correctly. "His mother? Golly!"
"I wasn't aware his mother was coming here" Robert stated.
"I gather no one was not even Mr. Branson."
Robert closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Did she say why she was here?"
"No sir. She only asked for Mr. Branson." Carson sighed deeply. "I didn't think it appropriate to bring her in here."
Robert snapped his head up and looked at Carson. "I'm sorry my lord should I have brought her in here?"
"No … no … Carson it's fine" Robert waved his hand in dismissal of the idea. "I'm just surprised after all this time she's shown up here."
Robert started walking back towards his desk. He stopped and turned back around to face Carson. "If we're lucky she'll make him see reason ... that he has no place here."