Chapter Forty One

Very Pleased To Make Your Acquaintance

The sounds of men at work, of people walking along the pavement, of all manner of traffic in the street below, drifted in through the open window of the sitting room of Mary and Edith's palatial suite overlooking St. Stephen's Green.

"It's just so awful, so terribly, terribly sad, that the rest of the family, granny, Papa, Mama, Mary, can't, won't, see beyond their own blinkered ideas and narrow view of how they think things ought to be" said Sybil miserably.

Edith smiled gently at her.

"I do understand, Sybil, really I do".

Sybil nodded.

"They just can't accept that Tom and I have fallen in love, intend to marry, and want to live our lives the way we want to live them. Is there anything so very wrong in that; in any of it?" Sybil, her face now wet with tears, gazed questioningly across at Edith.

"No, of course not darling" said Edith sympathetically. She reached out and grasped her sister's hands. "But, you must understand too, Sybil, that none of them like change; of any kind. If we're honest with ourselves, then I suppose none of us does, not really; except, of course, perhaps you! What with the war … the old ways of doing things are no longer acceptable; not any more. The old certainties, for all their faults, they're no longer there to latch onto. Marrying out of one's own class, well it's not something they've ever come across before. Oh, we both know it's happened before, usually because…"

"I'm marrying Tom because I love him, and he loves me, not because I'm in any kind of trouble!" snapped Sybil. "In fact, he's always been the perfect gentleman, every bit as good, as Cousin Matthew, and certainly far better than Papa!"

"I don't doubt that, Sybil, truly, I don't". Edith reached out a comforting hand again.

"Tom's been so patient with me. Do you know when he first asked me to marry him?"
"When he first asked you to marry him?" Edith shook her head, thinking that she herself had never enjoyed so much as one proposal, and now here was Sybil telling her that Tom had proposed to her more than once.

"It was when I went off to train as a nurse in York".

"Good God, Sybil! Why, that… that was years ago".

"Yes" said Sybil levelly, "it was. So you see, Edith, this isn't some spur-of-the-moment decision, done out of necessity. Tom and I love each other. That's all there is to it".

Edith nodded.

"I understand, Sybil, really I do. But, as for the rest of the family … for all the grumbling granny does, all her nonsense about keeping herself informed? I don't think she really understands what's happened in the aftermath of the war. After all, the world she knew ceased to exist with the death of Queen Victoria! As for Mama and for Papa, well it's rather different for them. Mama's always been so much more ready to accept change, at least eventually, probably because she's an American! It's much more difficult for Papa. It frightens him; the pace of it all. He said as much to me once – after you and Tom had left for Ireland. I know it makes Papa fearful for the future, for what will happen to Downton. I think that's why he behaved so ba …" Edith paused. "…re-acted the way he did, when you and Tom announced your engagement. After all, for as long as any of us can remember, Downton has been Papa's whole life. You mentioned earlier, what happened to the Tremayne's house over here in Ireland? Can you imagine how Papa would feel, if that was to happen to Downton?"

"Well, that's hardly likely, now is it" said Sybil, somewhat dismissively.

"No, it isn't" said Edith patiently. "But then, if you think about it, Sybil, I don't suppose the Tremaynes ever expected Curraghmore to be burnt down. Just think what if the situation was reversed and Tom was an Irish landowner. I know he isn't, but just suppose for a moment that he was, how would he feel seeing his family home burnt to the ground, all of his memories going up in smoke? From what I've read in the newspapers several landowners have been shot while trying to defend their own homes. Why Sybil, what is it? What have I said?" Looking closely at her sister, Edith observed that suddenly, Sybil had turned very pale.

"It's nothing" said Sybil recovering herself somewhat. "Nothing at all; I was just thinking, what if, as you said, Tom was an Irish landowner, what if…" Sybil paused. Quite by chance, not that she could ever know it, dear Edith had just blundered onto the truth of how things stood.

However, before Sybil had a chance to say anything else by way of reply, there came a gentle, but insistent knocking at the door to their sitting room. Edith rose, walked calmly across the room to the door and opened it, to find Mary and Tom standing before her in the passage outside.

In an instant, Edith immediately took in Tom's distinctly tousled appearance, the cuts and bruises to his face, his bleeding lip. She also took in Mary's equally dishevelled state and most of all saw that Mary seemed to be supporting Tom. His right arm was flung carelessly around her sister's shoulders, while Mary's left arm was clasped tightly around his waist. Sybil heard Edith's gasp of amazement, the horrified comment which followed swiftly upon it.

"My God! Mary! Tom! Why, what on earth's happened?"

"Never mind that now" said Mary briskly. "Here, help me with Tom, please Edith".

"With who?" Edith sounded thoroughly disconcerted.

"With Tom" said Mary crisply. "Our future brother-in-law. Edith, darling, you may be many things, but you are not preternaturally stupid. Unless I'm very much mistaken, I do believe that you two are already acquainted? If not, Lady Edith Crawley, may I present Mr. Tom Branson. Mr. Tom Branson, Lady Edith Crawley. Introductions over; now, darling, please do as I ask and help me" said Mary swiftly.

Tom smiled weakly, gave Edith an endearing lop-sided grin.

"Have we… have we met before, Lady Edith?" he asked, playing along. "If not, I'm so… so very pleased to make your acquaintance". Tom looked ashen. He winced, obviously in pain.

By now Sybil was at the door too. Her hands flew to her mouth and her face blanched when she saw the state in which Tom was. Together, Sybil and her two sisters helped Tom gently over to settee where they sat him down. Instinctively, heedless of the presence of both Mary and Edith, Sybil went down on her knees in front of Tom, cupping his well loved face tenderly between her hands, kissing his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, his lips.

"Oh, Tom, my darling! My dearest dear! Whatever's happened to you?" pleaded Sybil beseechingly, her face wet with tears. Covering her hands gently with his, Tom smiled down at her.

"It's nothing … love, really. Ran into a bit of trouble … downstairs. Some constables … over-zealous, in their duty... mistook me… for somebody else. But Mary … Mary here … she came to my rescue, didn't you, Mary? And … in the nick of time!" Tom glanced up at Sybil's eldest sister. "She was… truly wonderful; a knight… a knight in shining armour!"

Mary? thought Sybil. Mary! He's calling her Mary, and she doesn't seem to mind at all!

"Well, I've been called many things in my time, but a knight in shining armour? Well, really Tom, that is undoubtedly a first!" said Mary with a soft laugh.

"Well" said Tom, trying his best to stifle a sudden gasp of pain, "I'll have … have to let the poless… work me over… more often if … if this is the result … being looked after … by three beautiful women!"

Sybil and Edith exchanged equally surprised glances, both wondering at the sudden easy familiarity, the unexpected camaraderie, which seemed to have sprung up from out of nowhere between Tom and their eldest sister. And, as with Mary downstairs in the entrance hall of the hotel but a short while ago, so now this time with Tom here in Mary and Edith's sitting room, the complete incongruousness of the present situation was not lost on him; with Sybil kneeling on the floor in front of him, and Edith and Mary hovering close by, their heartfelt, overwhelming concern for him etched on all their faces. Tom tried to smile, then winced again, hugged his chest tightly with his arms.

"Tom, my darling!" cried Sybil.

"I'm fine" said Tom recovering himself somewhat. He coughed harshly. "A few bruises … not many more than I had, not after … not after what happened. Tell you about it … later, love. Promise. I'm fine … just need… just need to rest" said Tom haltingly.

He winced again, managed the briefest of smiles at Sybil, while at the same time taking slow, laboured breaths, his eyes sparkling. As long as Sybil was with him, Tom knew he could overcome anything, even the near constant pain in his chest. He shot a beseeching look at Mary conveying to her, he hoped, that he did not want Sybil to know the whole truth of what had happened to him; at least not yet.

"No, you're not fine" said Sybil in the most matter-of-fact tone she could muster. "Mary, he needs a doctor, now!" she implored.
Mary nodded her immediate acquiescence, at once picking up the telephone.

"This is Lady Mary Crawley …" she said crisply.