Chapter Twenty Seven
At The Shelbourne Hotel
Later the following afternoon, after she had duly completed her early morning shift at the Coombe, Sybil, still dressed in her nurse's uniform, although she took care to conceal it carefully beneath her nondescript grey overcoat, found herself entering the palatial splendour of the imposing Shelbourne Hotel, in search of both Mary and Edith.
The magnificent hotel's bullet scarred red brick façade bore mute witness to the savagery of the fighting which had taken place here scarcely three years ago during the failed Easter Rising. At that time British troops had occupied the hotel so as to be able to fire down upon those Volunteers who rather unwisely had chosen to take up military positions in St. Stephen's Green; unwisely since the park was overlooked on all sides by high buildings, including the Shelbourne Hotel. The only moment of levity in the whole deadly business had come when both sides had agreed to a temporary ceasefire to permit the park keepers of St. Stephen's Green access to feed the starving ducks on the ornamental lake.
Given the rapidly deteriorating military and political situation, both in and around Dublin, it was vital to keep the arrival of her two sisters in Ireland and the reason for it as unobtrusive as possible. So, the previous night, sitting by the warmth of the range in Ma's homely kitchen in Clontarf, she and Tom had agreed upon a simple stratagem as to what Sybil should say on her arrival at the hotel's reception desk if it proved necessary for her to have to ask for Mary and Edith by name. And knowing that the safety of her two sisters, not to mention that of both her and Tom depended on them all being on their guard, Sybil had had every intention of following to the letter what she and Tom had previously agreed. But circumstances were to dictate otherwise.
Because of an unexpected admission to the hospital, Sybil was late leaving work and her thoughts were, understandably, solely given over to getting to the hotel as quickly as possible. So it was that, as the wound her way purposefully along the busy, crowded streets and caught the tram from beneath Nelson's Pillar, she failed to notice the men who were shadowing her footsteps.
However, her late arrival at her destination did not prevent Sybil stopping to gasp in amazement as she stepped inside the front doors of the Shelbourne Hotel. Compared to the degradation and the destitution which, after she got off the tram, she encountered on a daily basis both walking to and from her work at the hospital in the Coombe area of the city, her arrival at the Shelbourne was like stepping into another world, comparable in her experience to the life she had previously enjoyed at Downton Abbey.
In front of her stretched a solid marble floor, which drew her eyes inwards towards the foot of an elegant soaring staircase with an intricately worked balustrade of wrought iron, flanked at its base by a pair of elegant torchières, and which ascended upwards through all five floors of the magnificent building.
To her left and to her right were beautifully appointed public rooms, richly decorated with carved plasterwork, gilded columns, cut glass mirrors, and expensive furnishings. Smartly dressed men and women, turned out in the height of fashion, whether they were hotel guests or visitors was immaterial, strolled at their leisure through the richly appointed building, without a care in the world, oblivious to the poverty and squalor which existed but a mile or so distant from the doors of this very hotel.
As in so many things, thought Sybil, Tom was right. After all, a political and social system which perpetuated a life of privilege and luxury for the few, while condemning the majority to a life of misery and squalor, was totally unacceptable. Things had to change. And, the sooner they did so, the better for all concerned.
Sybil turned on her heel and walked quickly towards the hotel's reception desk. She had all but reached it when she heard a familiar pair of voices cheerfully calling out her name.
"Why, Sybil, darling, there you are!"
She came to an abrupt stop and turned to see both Mary and Edith, all smiles, rapidly descending the last few steps of the main staircase and hurrying across the entrance hall towards her. All the cares of the past days and weeks, all thoughts of concern over their safety, were momentarily forgotten in an impulsive outbreak of sisterly hugs, kisses, and animated chatter. And it was precisely now that one of the men who had followed Sybil from the Coombe to the very entrance of the Shelbourne Hotel, chose his moment to slip away entirely unnoticed.
Following their happy reunion, a short while later found all three of them, seated in the elegant dining room of the Shelbourne, taking afternoon tea. Despite it being summer, a bright fire burned in a polished steel grate and round about them could be heard the discreet gentle murmur of subdued polite conversation, the chink of china and cutlery, with uniformed waiters on hand to attend instantly to every need, however trivial.
"… so, I really don't see how any of this ridiculous, silly nonsense concerns either of us. Or indeed you, Sybil dear" said Mary dismissively.
"Well, if you don't, Mary, you should" said Sybil. At times, she thought, both Mary and Edith could be remarkably, perhaps willfully, stupid. And this was one of those occasions.
"And it's not silly nonsense. Why only yesterday …" Sybil was about to tell Mary and Edith about the ambush on the road from Howth but then thought better of it. All they would think was that by her association with Tom, he had ended up endangering her life and placing her in mortal danger.
"Why only what?" asked Mary primly.
"It doesn't matter, Mary" Sybil shook her head. "But it surely can't have escaped your notice, either of you, that the British aren't exactly popular here in Ireland. The sooner they all leave and let Ireland have its independence, the better it will be. For everyone".
"And is that your own opinion, or Branson's?" asked Edith.
"Why should Tom have anything to do with what I think or believe, Edith? He's not my keeper. Don't you think I'm able to become informed, to have opinions and views of my own?" asked Sybil with barely concealed annoyance.
"No, no, of course not" said Edith blushing furiously, earnestly praying that Sybil would not flare up like a firework and set off in high dudgeon on one of her crusading tirades.
"And as for both of you saying that nothing's going on, have either of you actually bothered to read the newspapers since your arrival over here? I presume you do know what happened to Curraghmore, down near Cork - the house which belonged to the Tremaynes, friends of Papa and Mama? It was burnt to the ground a few weeks ago".
"Really? And just how do you know that, Sybil dear?" asked Mary. "After all, even with my limited knowledge of Ireland, Cork isn't anywhere near Dublin. Or is this another of Branson's lurid scare stories? I can just imagine how he'd relish reporting the burning down of Downton!"
"Stop calling him Branson! His name's Tom! How on earth can you say that?" asked Sybil appalled. "He's not like that. You don't even know him. Why, he's the gentlest man I know. Tom abhors violence. He's a socialist, not a revolutionary".
"They're one and the same to me" said Mary. "And to Papa!"
"Well, they're not" said Sybil. "And you can tell dearest Papa what I said, word for word!"
"I've absolutely no intention of doing that!" said Mary. "Why, sometimes Sybil I don't think you hear a word I say!"
"Just now I find you all too audible" said Sybil tartly. "And anyway, what happened to Curraghmore had nothing to do with Tom. For your information, he works for the Irish Independent; the burning of Curraghmore was reported in detail in the Irish Times.
"As if that matters" said Mary stuffily. "In any case what need can there possibly be for newspapers in Dublin? Why, I doubt there are more than a handful of people over here in this benighted place who can even read or write!"
"Really" said Sybil. "Do tell me Mary, have you ever heard of the Book of Kells?"
"What's that?" asked Mary dismissively. "Another Irish newspaper I suppose?"
"And you have the gall to think the Irish stupid!" said Sybil shaking her head in disbelief.
"I beg your …"
Sensing Mary was about to say something cutting, Edith hurriedly interposed.
"And … where is … Bran …er Tom?" she asked, rapidly changing the subject. "Isn't he going to join us?"
"He probably heard I was going to be here and thought better of it" said Mary sarcastically.
"Probably. After all, he is rather particular about who he meets" said Sybil looking directly at Mary.
Mary grimaced.
"I really don't know what can possibly be keeping him" said Sybil anxiously to Edith.
"No gentleman would ever keep a lady waiting" said Mary tartly and took another sip of tea.
"So am I to assume that was why Richard was so late in arriving at Downton last Friday?" asked Edith innocently.
"And just what do you mean by that, Edith? You're surely not suggesting that Sir Richard Carlisle is not a gentleman?" asked Mary.
"Not at all" said Edith archly. "I wasn't suggesting that at all".
Realising the other implication of Edith's remark, Mary felt her cheeks begin to redden.
Seeing that Sybil was continuing to worry, Edith turned to her.
"Don't worry, Sybil. He'll be here soon; I'm sure of it". Edith patted Sybil's gloved hand re-assuringly.
"As far as I'm concerned, if I never see Branson again, it will be soon enough" said Mary acidly.
"Mary! How can you say such a thing?" asked Edith thoroughly appalled at her elder sister's insensitive dismissal of Sybil's fiancé.
Whatever Edith might once have thought of the singular unsuitability of her younger sister's choice of husband, she knew only too well that Sybil had fallen hopelessly in love with their former chauffeur, and he with her. And, if the truth be told, Edith yearned desperately to find her own version of Tom Branson somewhere in the world beyond the gilded cage of Downton Abbey.
"As it happens, quite easily" said Mary, peremptorily setting down her teacup with a clatter.
Sensing Sybil was about to respond in like cutting manner, once again Edith acted swiftly.
"We had a little bit of problem down at Kingstown" she said hurriedly.
"Oh, really" said Sybil, "and what was that?"
"Well ..." began Edith
"It was nothing, darling" said Mary cutting in. "Some tiresome, stupid mix up over unloading our luggage. Anyway, it's all sorted now. One of our cases, one of mine in fact, went missing for a while. The porters at the station at Kingstown were really quite off hand about it; downright rude in fact. I suppose it's a sign of the times".
"What is?" asked Sybil.
"Well, since the war ... people getting above themselves, darling. You know railway porters ... domestic servants ... even chauffeurs ..."
"You know Mary, sometimes …" began Sybil.
"Mary" said Edith, laying a hand on her elder sister's wrist, "you promised ..."
"Promised what" said a soft, lilting Irish voice from behind them.
"Tom, darling!" squealed Sybil with obvious heartfelt delight. "Where have you been? I was beginning to think you weren't coming!"
"Hello love" he said with a wink. Mary winced, and then registered her displeasure at their easy, open informality by raising her eyebrows expressively.
Tom and Sybil took absolutely no notice of her whatsoever.
"Miss me then?" asked Tom, gazing down adoringly at Sybil.
"What do you think, Tom Branson?" asked Sybil looking up at him, her gaze a mirror image of his own.
Momentarily, Tom and Sybil both seemed to be completely oblivious of the presence of her two sisters, indeed of anyone else seated in the hotel dining room, save each other.
"Something came up ... apart from what I mentioned. There was an incident over on Aungier Street. After I got back from covering the fun, I came straight over here on the tram. After all, I wouldn't miss this. Not for the world" said Tom, a mischievous smile playing across his lips. Then, without a moment's further thought, Tom bent down towards Sybil and kissed her fully on the lips. Instinctively Sybil's arms went up and around Tom's neck, drawing him down closer to her.
"Sybil" hissed Mary. "There may be people here who know us! Please try to remember who you are ... where you are".
Tom winked at Sybil. Gently, regretfully, they broke apart, his right hand softly caressing her cheek with the tips of his fingers.
"And do you really believe I care a fig for what people here might think?" asked Sybil, glancing round the assembled throng of those partaking of afternoon tea in the Shelbourne Hotel's elegant dining room. She dismissed them all in an instant with an angry wave of her hand.
"Clearly not" said Mary, dabbing daintily at the corner of her mouth with her white linen napkin, and now thoroughly appalled by her youngest sister's open, unaffected display of affection towards her fiancé. "But if you no longer have any kind of reputation to lose, I most certainly do!"
"Do you?" asked Edith knowingly.
"And just what do you mean by that, sister dear?" asked Mary suspiciously.
But before Edith could reply, a waiter arrived at their table bearing two steaming silver pots, one of fresh hot water, the other of tea, thus sparing her from any further embarrassment. Reluctantly, Tom and Sybil drew apart, grinning at each other, both obviously sharing the same thought. Why, it was just like being back at Downton; someone watching their every move. Tom took the remaining empty chair next to Sybil and adjacent to Edith.
"Would you like a cup of tea Brans ... sorry, force of habit ... er, Tom?" asked Edith.
"Yes, please, I would... Thank you Lady Edith" said Tom. "That's kind of you". Tom sat and quietly sipped his tea.
"No formality, please" said Edith. "After all we're almost related.
"Almost isn't quite the same as actually" said Mary pithily. "A lot can happen between now and Saturday".
"Like what?" asked Sybil "Are you planning on having Tom shot?"
"And if she is, do I get a last request?" asked Tom playfully.
Ignoring the obvious flippancy of Tom's remark, Mary turned to Sybil.
"Why darling, that particular thought had never even crossed my mind. But now you come to mention it, perhaps an urgent request made to the Viceroy to dispose of undesirable ..."
"Mary, please ..." began Edith.
Tom grinned broadly
"Mary please nothing" responded Mary haughtily.
Ignoring Edith's heartfelt plea, and turning to Tom, Mary looked directly at him. Expectantly, almost as if he was expecting a severe reprimand, Tom set down his empty tea cup into its saucer, folded his arms, and waited.
"And you can wipe that self satisfied grin off your face, Branson. You may now be my sister's fiancé, but I expect all previous formalities to be strictly observed to the letter … both now and in the future!" Mary shot a withering, contemptuous glance at Edith. "Even if others are half-witted enough to choose to do otherwise" she added primly.
"Mary ..." began Sybil.
"It's all right, love" interposed Tom, patting her hand, and slipping into the deep Irish brogue which he had employed towards her on their train journey from Kingstown into Dublin several weeks ago. "Really, oi don't mind. After all, oi must remember to be polite and respectful to my social betters" he said straight faced; the mischief sparkling in his eyes made it only too obvious that he thought nothing of the sort. He grinned broadly.
Turning back to Mary, Tom, tugged an imaginary forelock, and then looked her coolly in the eye, said "Oi wouldn't have it any other way. After all, as a young lad, me ma always told me it was t'hoight of impertinence to address an older woman by her Christian name. Lady Mary it is. And Lady Mary it must be for sure" he said and without the slightest trace of sarcasm.
"I beg your pardon? Older woman?" Patches of colour flamed across Mary's cheeks. Biting back a stinging retort, she nearly choked on her tea, spluttered indignantly instead.
"Just how old do you think I am, Branson?"
And when Tom opened his mouth, seemingly to respond, Mary cut him short.
"Don't you dare, Branson. Don't you even answer that. That wasn't what I meant, as well you know! This is perfectly intolerable. What am I doing here? Oh, for just a little peace!" said Mary with more than a hint of exasperation in her voice.
"A little peace?" queried Tom. "Why so modest? How about eternal peace, now there's a thought!" He winked devilishly, chuckled merrily, and then winced as Sybil kicked his shins hard under the table. Never deflated for long, Tom grinned broadly again, turned easily and nonchalantly on his chair towards Edith, who like Sybil was now trying desperately, and failing, to keep a straight face.
"Edith, would you mind awfully pouring me another cup of tea?" he asked of her politely in his best mimicry of an upper class English accent.
"Of course, Tom", said Edith, stifling a giggle with her gloved hand. "Would you like a slice of chocolate cake? It really is rather yummy".
"Thanks, Edith" said Tom. "Sure and don't mind if I do".
As for Edith, it wasn't often that she saw Mary, her elegantly poised elder sister, so lost for words, so thoroughly disconcerted. The experience, Edith found not only novel, but rather like the piece of chocolate cake she had just served up to Tom - delicious and wickedly pleasurable.
As she caught Edith's eye, Sybil grinned, shook her head. Honestly, Tom, thought Sybil, you are absolutely incorrigible. And that, my darling, is just another reason why I love you so very, very much. Sensing Sybil's eyes upon him, as he greedily wolfed down the large slice of chocolate cake, Tom looked up. Seeing Sybil smile at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief, he smiled broadly back at her, and totally unrepentant.
"Edith, that really was absolutely yummy. Why, the last time I ate a piece of cake as good as this, I must have been about ten years old" laughed Tom. He grinned at Edith, licking his lips and then his fingers repeatedly, his blue eyes continuing to sparkle.
And, in spite of everything, Edith found herself grinning back. For it was then that the thought struck her with the force of an express train. Why on earth hadn't she ever noticed it before? With his fair hair, his dark blue eyes, his good looks, his boyish, roguish, engaging manner, Tom was so ... so utterly adorable! No wonder her younger sister had fallen head over heels in love with him.
"Oh, Tom, you are an utter mess. Here, let me". Sybil dabbed Tom's lips and fingers clean with her napkin. "There now, that's much better!"
"Well, really! Now I've seen everything!" said Mary indignantly.