Chapter Fifty Four

"Crossing To Ireland"

According to what both Ciaran and Donal and indeed several others had told Sybil earlier this same evening, by common assent both in Clontarf and hereabouts, it was well known that darling Tom was an excellent dancer.

As the musicians struck up on their fiddles and winder, accompanied by Paddy Begg the legless harpist, a spontaneous and sustained bout of applause and cheering erupted from all those assembled here in Ciaran's barn to wish Tom and Sybil well for their married life together; who recognised the opening bars of the piece now begun to be played, among them, and not surprisingly, Tom himself.

Then, as the haunting, lilting, plaintive strains of the melody grew, waxed in strength, seemingly intent on filling every nook and cranny of the vast barn, even to the rafters, to the very ridge of the roof, the rapt audience fell silent, while all about them, from on high, there drifted down a gentle shower of dust motes which turned to flecks of gold in the soft pale glow of the candles and the warm apricot light from the lanterns.

Sybil smiled; inclined her head towards Tom.

"Oh Tom, this is lovely, darling, whatever is it called?" she asked of him softly, her blue grey eyes sparkling in the wan light of the makeshift lamps. Taking her hand in his own, their fingers interlacing, Tom his eyes glistening, smiled indulgently across at her.

"I'm so very glad you like it my love, all the more since I asked them that they play it especially for us" he said softly.

"You did? For us?"
Tom nodded.

"But of course. After all, who else would they be playing it for here at our wedding, if not for us?" Tom smiled shyly at her again, his eyes two dark limpid pools of deep blue.

"Oh, Sybil, I do love you so very, very much" he said huskily, oblivious of everyone around them here present except for Sybil herself. Now that at long last they were married, no longer just in private, but here in a public gathering too, finally, Tom felt able to give free rein to his emotions, to admit openly, without fear of censure, his deep, heartfelt feelings for the breath takingly beautiful woman sitting next to him.

"And I love you a chuisle a chroí". The words tripped off Sybil's tongue with a lilting swiftness mirroring the plaintive sounds of the strings of Paddy's harp.

"Whoever taught you to say that?" asked Tom softly.

"Don't you think I could have learnt it for myself?" asked Sybil gently. She smiled again.

"Of course, but ..."

"No-one taught me, Tom, but you've said the words often enough to me these past few weeks".

"Do you know what they mean?" his voice was raised little above a whisper.
Sybil nodded.

"Yes, Donal told me". Their lips were now but a heartbeat apart.

"And?"

"The beat of my heart". Somehow they seemed so apt". At that, Sybil reached forward and placed her hand gently on Tom's chest. He smiled, and, as the haunting strains of the plaintive melody died away, took hold of her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers.

"So, what is it called then?" asked Sybil her face flushed and aglow.

"Why, don't you know?" asked Tom with a broad grin.

"No, of course not, silly" said Sybil with a dimpled smile. "I don't think it's ever been on any list of pieces I've heard played at Downton. Not even, at the Servants' Ball!" she added archly.

"I don't doubt that at all, milady" said Tom. Catching sight of Jimmy Farrell now blind, along with Paddy Begg legless and seated up on his chair on the makeshift stage clutching his harp, plucking its strings for all he was worth, Tom's eyes suddenly glistened with tears.

"Jaysus, what a needless bloody waste! Do you ever wonder what the feck it was all for, Sybil?" asked Tom, his voice suddenly bitter, charged with an uncharacteristic savagery causing Mary to glance nervously at him. Tom nodded towards Jimmy and Paddy. Both Sybil and Mary followed his gaze; seeing what it was that Tom now saw.

"For a future worth having" said Sybil softly, her own cheeks now wet with tears. And, in the soft glow of lamplight, Mary smiled wanly, inclined her head. With the memory of what, among countless millions of others, had befallen young Private William Mason and indeed Captain Matthew Crawley, Mary too understood the very truth in Tom's spoken words.

"Aye! Let's hope so" said Tom softly. "As for the tune, my love, well, I doubt it will ever be played at Downton any time soon, least not while your father continues to hate my guts for, as he sees it, seducing you behind his back and stealing you away to live with me in poverty over here in Ireland!" Tom's voice cracked again with raw emotion caused in part this time by the sight of someone holding a whisky to Jimmy's lips.

Even now, several months later, here on their wedding day, across the sea in Ireland among both family and friends, reflected in the innermost depths of Tom's blue eyes, Sybil saw the pain that her father's unforgivable and unmannerly outburst in the drawing room at Downton, still caused Tom. That the slur her father had cast on them both when they had openly announced their engagement still stung, still rankled. For once it seemed that her mischievous play in reminding Tom of his old life had somehow unintentionally backfired and spectacularly so. But, if Sybil could do nothing else about the matter, she could at least heal Tom's wounded pride.

"Tom darling, you know that isn't true; any of it. Much as I rather like the idea of you seducing me, you were, indeed you still are, far too much a gentleman to do anything like that. Indeed, you are much more of a gentleman than many of those, Papa included, who consider that accolade to be their own particular birthright. And as for stealing me away with you to Ireland, you didn't do that either!" Gently she reached over and caressed his bruised face.

"Sorry love, don't mind me, I'm just being foolish". His eyes remained downcast.

Sybil shook her head, chucked him under the chin.

"No, you're not being foolish, Tom. It does you credit, to show so openly what you feel for Davy and countless of others just like him. It's your pride that's been hurt too. Irish pride. And I love you all the more for it" she said softly.

"But for all that Ciaran did such a splendid job of standing in for him today your father should have been here to walk you down the aisle. And make no mistake he would have been ... if you'd been marrying anyone else but me!" At that Tom looked away still unable to meet her eyes.

"Tom, will you look at me please" asked Sybil, her words not above a whisper, yet the urgency in her voice unmistakable all the same. At her earnest entreaty, Tom turned back to her and as he did so, reaching forward, Sybil cupped his well loved face in both her hands.
"Then Papa would never have come over here to Ireland Tom, because ..."
"Because what?" he asked of her softly. She saw then on his face the same look of bewilderment which he had worn at the Swan Inn on the never-to-be-forgotten night of their failed elopement, when she told him she would be returning home with her sisters to Downton.

"Because Tom, I would never have married anyone else but you a chuisle a chroí". Sybil placed a gentle kiss on Tom's lips, saw him begin to smile again, gradually to regain his usual affable demeanour.

"There now, that's better". Sybil smiled. "So then, you were about to tell me about the tune they were playing.

"Why, so I was. Well, it's singularly appropriate. At least for the two of us" said Tom. "And why is that" asked Sybil.

"Because my love, it's called "Crossing to Ireland".

At that he rose to his feet from his place next to Sybil. "Imirt air aris!" he called out crisply.

The leader of the small group of musicians on the small makeshift stage inclined his head, nodded his agreement several times. All eyes in the vast barn were now on Tom and Sybil; indeed, had they but noticed it, had been so for several minutes. Self consciously, and blushing furiously, but with his eyes now sparkling only with pure pleasure, Tom nodded again briskly to the musicians, and shyly offered Sybil his open, outstretched hand.

"Mrs. Branson, would you do me the singular honour of giving me this waltz?" Tom asked the question of Sybil, but did so loudly enough for everyone present to hear what it was he had just asked of her.

Then, as the haunting strains of the same air spilled out again through the echoing immensity of the barn, Sybil smiled coyly up at him from her seat on the bench.

"Why, Tom Branson, I thought you'd never ask me. I'd be delighted" she said in an equally clear and confident voice, letting him take her hand in his.

To a round of sustained applause from all those present, in which even Mary and Edith joined, neither of whom had ever attended a wedding quite like this one, and probably never would do so again, to back slapping, to cheers, and to whistles, grinning like a Cheshire cat, proudly Tom led Sybil out into the centre of the barn. All eyes remained fixed on the happy couple, as clasping Sybil's slightly moist hand firmly in his, slipping his right arm about her and holding his wife close to him, Tom swung her confidently into the waltz.

As they drifted gently round the barn, Sybil realised that Ciaran, Donal, and all the others had been right. Tom was both a confident and skilful dance partner. Put simply, held fast in his arms, Sybil felt as though she was floating on air. As Tom swung her adeptly past a vast sea of happy, smiling people, among them she caught sight of both Mary and Edith, their faces flushed, saw tears starting their eyes. She smiled back at them and then, as Tom turned her adroitly, Sybil following his lead, he himself caught sight of her sisters, and then his own family. Tom smiled broadly: all his dreams had now come true.

Steadfastly, and without faltering once, with Tom holding her close, the two of them continued to waltz effortlessly, slowly back and forth. Then, to yet more applause from the older guests present, other young couples now began to take their places on the floor around them, including, with all class distinction forgotten, if only the moment, Ciaran ably partnering Mary, and, not to be out done, Edmund Kelly who adroitly swung Edith into the lingering strains of the waltz.

"You're a wonderful dancer Tom" called Edith as she and Edmund spun past them.

Tom grinned.

"My, is there anything you can't do Branson?" quipped Mary with a grin as she and Ciaran passed by on the other side of Tom and Sybil.

"Well, I didn't make a very good chauffeur, milady" called Tom with a chuckle.

"Oh, I don't know about that Tom. I rather think that someone here present tonight would disagree with that!" laughed Mary looking directly at Sybil.

"I did my poor best!" Tom grinned.

"Less of the poor, thank you!" laughed Sybil.

Tom gazed down at her.

"Mrs. Branson. Sybil, you have no idea how I've longed to be able to call you that" he said softly.

"And you don't know how I've longed for you to be able to call me it too" whispered Sybil. She smiled up at him.

"Tom?"
"Hm?"

Surrounded by friends and family, Sybil gazed into Tom's face, her eyes aglow, radiating nothing except untrammelled happiness.

"May I say something very intimate?"
"What, in public?" He grinned down at her.

"I'll whisper it".

"Well, if you must!"
"Tom. I absolutely adore you!"

I don't normally add endnotes, but to get the true atmosphere of this chapter, find "Crossing To Ireland" as played by Liang C Lin and Ezra Armon on the Internet. I have no connection to either artist. As it plays out, who knows, if you're very lucky out of the corner of your eye you may just catch sight of a certain former chauffeur and his young wife waltzing round Ciaran's barn.

TIC