It was quite unusual for Carson to greet him and Matthew whenever they came back from their forays around the estate. So he should have known there something going on when they had barely walked into the entrance hall and, as if he had been watching for their return, Carson suddenly appeared in the grand hall. It took a minute or two for Carson's words to filter through his brain. His mother was here. His mother was in the nursery.
Forgetting the decorum expected by those who lived here, indeed blocking out all thoughts but that of his mother, Tom ran up the stairs and down the corridor to the nursery abruptly stopping only as he neared its open door. From here in the corridor he could hear his mother's voice softly singing in Irish. He slowly inched his way to the doorway taking in the sight of his mother sitting in the room's lone rocking chair, a smiling Sybbie lying with her head on his mother's knees, her eyes focused on her grandmother's face, her little legs and arms flailing in the air. It was then, looking at his mother and his daughter, that for the first time since Sybil's death Tom felt he was no longer alone.
xxxxxx
"Mama" Mary spoke as she entered her mother's second floor sitting room.
Cora was sitting on a lounge chair, an unopened book lying on her lap, looking out one of the room's floor to ceiling windows. She didn't turn her head or give any indication that she had heard Mary call her name and Mary wasn't sure if it was because her mother was simply ignoring her or if in her mind she had retreated to someplace else. There was no doubt that Cora had taken the death of her youngest daughter very hard. While the rest of the family was slowly emerging from their grief, Cora was still deeply mourning.
Mary walked over and put her hand gently on her mother's shoulder. "Mama" she spoke softly.
Cora didn't turn her face towards Mary instead keeping her focus on the view out the window. "As a child she loved to sit here and watch for deer that edged so close to the house or rabbits that wandered in the hedge garden."
"I remember one time we spied a hedgehog. She was so fascinated by the odd looking creature, she stood here, her face touching the window for a better view, and we were rewarded with three or four little babies soon following it." Cora turned to face Mary, her eyes glassy, but a shy smile spreading across her face.
Mary smiled and nodded at her mother's story but she hadn't come here to reminisce. "Did you know that Tom's mother is here?"
"What?"
"Carson told Matthew and Tom a few minutes ago when they returned from looking at one of the vacant tenant farms."
Cora stood up. "When? Where is she?"
"I don't know when she got here. Carson told them she's in the nursery with Sybbie."
Clearly agitated, Cora began walking towards the door. "Carson didn't think to tell me we have a guest."
"Mama" Mary reached out to stop Cora. "Tom just found out. I think we should give them a few minutes alone."
xxxxxx
It had only been a few months since Nuala Branson had last seen her son but the devastation of those months was clearly etched on Tom's face. He was a shell of the man who had so proudly returned to Ireland as a journalist accompanied by his vibrant and vivacious bride to be. The man now standing at the nursery's doorway was not that man but a man who had been broken by life's cruelties.
She had thought that nothing would be as bad as his fleeing Ireland in the middle of the night. First there had been his foolishness with that castle burning business resulting in Tom fleeing Ireland in the middle of the night to avoid the authorities. For days afterwards she had silently cursed him and his idiocy. She too wanted the English out of Ireland, she wanted a free Ireland ruled by the Irish but that incident had done nothing to promote that. Indeed, from her view point, the only thing it had accomplished was to send Tom, and Sybil, right back to Downton only now jobless and penniless and at the mercy of Sybil's family.
She could never have imagined that that incident would not be the worst of it. At first Nuala thought the telegram had been someone's idea of a twisted joke. Sybil had been the picture of health, her pregnancy easily progressing with Sybil taking it in stride. How could it have happened to such a vibrant and vivacious young woman?
xxxxxx
The sight of Tom and his mother, pushing little Sybbie's pram, brought a smile to Cora's face as she watched them from her bedroom window. She had been appalled that neither Robert nor Carson had seen fit to inform her of Mrs. Branson's arrival and her anger only grew when she realized that the woman had been shunted off to a guest room to sit alone waiting for Tom's return. Her anger had resulted in the most unusual form of her berating Carson in the servants hall. Mrs. Branson is Lady Sybil's mother-in-law and as such I expect you and the rest of the staff to treat her with respect.
Thanks to Tom and Nuala last evening had somehow brought her a peacefulness she had begun to fear she would never have again. During an informal dinner in Cora's sitting room the Bransons had obliged Cora with stories of Sybil's life in Ireland. It had been so wonderful to talk openly about Sybil which was something the Crawleys resisted as if mentioning her name would bring forth a public display of grief that was unseemly.
For the first time since that horrible night Cora had slept through the night without the aid of Dr. Clarkson's sedatives. The sedatives had allowed her to sleep but hadn't dulled the wave of grief that washed over her each morning when she woke. But this morning, with a night of fully restful sleep, had been different. She hadn't woken fearing the day or praying that she could just get through it until she could close her eyes again in hopes of forgetting.
xxxxxx
The pair had made their way to the lovely Monk's Garden where a few of the late blooming summer plants were still in flower although it was the large yew arches that were the focal point of the garden.
"So have you decided on Kiernan's offer?" she finally asked.
Tom knew his mother would eventually broach this subject but he still wasn't sure what his answer would be. Instead of answering her, he sat there staring across the garden.
"You have to do something Tom. If not the garage with Kiernan what?"
Tom grimaced. "That's just it isn't it? What else can I do? No paper in England will hire me."
She wouldn't bring up how Tom had no one but himself to blame for losing the job he so loved and was so proud of for it what good would that do?
Nuala looked across the garden to the house looming so large in the background. Even though she was here she couldn't believe such places as this existed. Sitting here in this peaceful garden one could shut out the rest of the world, at least for a time, but eventually one had to face reality
xxxxx
Robert looked at the stack of invoices and wondered if he should just let Matthew deal with them especially in light of the fact they all dealt with Matthew's idea for improving the old Weaver tenant farm. Setting his pen down on the desk, Robert thought of Joss Weaver. The farm had been passed down through several generations of Weavers but Joss had been too frail to continue running the farm and with the deaths of both his sons in the Great War there was no Weaver to take over the farm.
The sounds of the door opening at the far end of the room diverted his attention from the matters on his desk to his visitor. To his surprise it was his mother who swept in behind Carson.
"Shall I bring in tea?" Carson asked the Dowager as she made her way into the room.
"No thank you Carson but I will be staying for lunch" she replied.
Robert rose to greet his mother. "I wasn't expecting you this morning Mama." He knew the look on his mother's face meant she had something she wanted to discuss with him but nothing more was said until Carson had closed the door behind him.
Slightly shaking her head and waving her hand in that tsk-tsk manner of hers, Violet headed for one of the red sofas. Perched on the edge of the sofa, her hands resting atop her cane, Violet dispensed with any niceties and plunged into the topic on her mind. "I hear Branson is considering moving to Liverpool to work in a garage with his brother."
Her comments caused Robert, having only covered half of the room from his desk to the sofa, to come to a standstill.
"I gather that's his plan although he hasn't spoken directly to me about it."
"Do you really want your granddaughter to be raised by a mechanic and living over a garage?"
Robert took a deep breath. "What are we supposed to do? Keep Branson here doing what? You want me to give him back his job as chauffeur and he and Sybbie can live in his old cottage or would you have them live here in the house?"
"Of course not Robert. I agree he can't stay here but maybe there is a way for the child to stay here. She is after all Sybil's child and your only grandchild."