Chapter Fifty Eight
Homeward Bound
It was unlikely that anyone sauntering at their ease on an especially warm summer's evening towards the beginning of July 1919, along the sun baked granite setts of the quayside at Kingstown Harbour would have paid much attention, if indeed any at all, to the amber eyed, long haired black cat sitting, aloof and serene on top of one of the cast iron bollards at the seaward end of Carlisle Quay.
It was equally unlikely that anyone could have possibly conceived that the very same black cat had anything at all in common with the handsome fair haired man standing but a short distance away, his right arm clasped tightly around the waist of a beautiful, slim, dark haired woman. Both were engaged in animated conversation with two other strikingly good-looking women.
However, as is so often the case in life, first impressions can prove deceptively false, and can often be misleading. For, strange as it may seem to relate, Merlin, the stray black cat, adopted and named but some six months ago by Daithi, the nine year old son of the Kingstown Harbour master, shared a very great deal in common with the Irish Independent's Dublin based, up and coming, young journalist Tom Branson.
Named for Merlin the enchanter who, according to Irish legend, during the Dark Ages, contrived by magic to bring the huge stones of the Giants' Dance all the way from Mount Killaraus here in Ireland, over to Stonehenge in England, much like Tom Branson, Daithi's young adopted cat had been forced to fend for himself from a very early age.
The runt of a litter, born on a pile of dirty, filthy hessian sacks, lying in the corner of a derelict outbuilding situated at the landward end of the East Pier, like Tom, Merlin had found himself an outcast; forced, in his own case, to live by guile and stealth, amongst the fish boxes and lobster creels and, learnt of bitter experience, to deftly avoid the hundreds of pairs of feet, many of them military and therefore both heavy and booted, of the human cargoes which, on an almost daily basis, boarded or disembarked from the numerous vessels berthing alongside the several quays in Kingstown Harbour; much as young Tom had had to do upon the streets of Dublin, until quite by chance, Merlin found himself adopted by young Daithi, much like Tom had been found by Donal and taken home to Ma's house in Clontarf.
So it was, on this beautiful summer's evening, towards the beginning of July 1919, that Mary and Edith sailed for home on board the RMS Ulster, sister ship to the Munster which had brought Tom and Sybil over here to Ireland a month or so previously. Because it was an evening sailing, on the Monday after their wedding, Tom and Sybil were able to travel down with Mary and Edith from Westland Row station to the quayside station in Kingstown to make their farewells.
It was something of an emotional occasion, given the fact that Sybil did not know when, if ever, she would be seeing Mary and Edith again. However, she was buoyed by the fact that for their wedding, Mama had sent them the congratulatory telegram wishing both her and Tom each and every happiness in their married life together. Privately, both Tom and Sybil suspected that the telegram had been sent without the knowledge of Sybil's father, suggesting that Mama was not averse to what had happened. For their part both Mary and Edith promised to speak to Mama to see if she could help in reconciling Papa to Tom and Sybil's wedding. The fact that both Mary and Edith had seen for themselves that the marriage was so obviously such a happy one made the task that lay ahead of them that much easier.
While Sybil chatted happily with Mary, Tom turned to Edith.
"Well, here we are" he said and smiled.
"Indeed" said Edith. "Here we are. And thank you, Tom, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you once again, for what you did for me, for all of us really, at the hotel".
"There's no need, Edith. Really, there isn't".
"Yes, there is Tom. And, after what happened, out at the farm, why, if only Papa realised not just how much you love and care for darling Sybil, but what a fine, brave, and thoroughly principled man you are, then he would welcome you with open arms as his son-in-law. But, until he does, rest assured Tom that I, like Mary, am very proud, very proud indeed, to have you for my brother-in-law".
Momentarily embarrassed, Tom blushed furiously. He looked down at his feet and shifted his scuffed shoes awkwardly on the granite setts of the quay. For an instant, he looked so vulnerable, almost like a boy caught scrumping apples from an orchard that instinctively, Edith leant forward, ducked her head, and kissed him gently on his right cheek. Tom looked up at her quizzically through his thatch of fair hair. Edith reddened, and then drew apart from him ever so slightly, apparently embarrassed by her presumption. Warmed by Tom's shy smile, she soon recovered her composure.
"As I said to Sybil, back at the hotel, despite all the obstacles, all the opposition you two have encountered, you and Sybil must be the luckiest people whom I know; to have found something so rare and precious. I told Sybil to be sure to hang on to it. But then, I'm sure I don't need to tell you to do that either, do I, Tom?" asked Edith questioningly.
She smiled shyly at her brother-in-law. Tom shook his head and grinned.
"No, Edith, you don't" said Tom. Then, it was his turn to lean forward and chastely brush both her cheeks with his lips.
While Edith made her farewells to Sybil, Tom turned to speak to Mary. She had, he found, drawn a little apart from the rest of them, was standing looking rather pensive, Tom thought, over by one of the ship's two gangways. He walked over to where Mary was standing lost in her own thoughts, his appearance seeming to jolt her out of her apparent reverie.
"Oh Tom ..." she began.
"Sorry, if I startled you, Mary" he said apologetically.
"Startled? Oh ... no, not at all".
"Thank you, once again, Mary. For coming over; for being here - when Sybil had need of you most ... the two of you" said Tom.
There was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice, which, once again, following their shared experiences at the Shelbourne Hotel, then out at Ciaran's farm served to reinforce Mary's new found view of Tom; that he was someone who was so utterly dependable, so genuinely sincere in his feelings, who could always be relied upon to speak the truth, however uncomfortable and however unpalatable at times that might be.
"Think nothing of it, Tom". Mary smiled broadly at him.
"I'm serious, Mary. That you and Edith came over here for our wedding; after all, it can't have been easy for you two either, what you've had to put up with – including meeting all my family!"
"Well, now you mention it, Tom, I didn't anticipate being nearly blown to pieces in an explosion, nor did I expect to be on the point of being arrested by the British army. After all, my life at Downton never really prepared me for any such kind of eventuality!" laughed Mary.
"Nor for riding on a tram!" Tom chuckled.
"That too!"
"Well then…"
"But" continued Mary, "I really don't think that whatever Edith and I have been through in these last few days over here in Ireland has been anywhere near as difficult as things have already been for both you and darling Sybil. I only hope all this trouble is sorted out sooner rather than later".
"I have my doubts about that, Mary" said Tom suddenly becoming serious.
Mary nodded.
"Yes, I know you do, and so do I. And, in some small measure, I understand why. I might not have done once, but now I most certainly do. As to Downton, well, as I said, both Edith and I will do our very best to bring Papa around, especially after what you did for darling Sybil and for Edith at the hotel ..."
"To say nothing of what you did for me at the Shelbourne, what you tried to do for all of us that night at the farm when Stathum and his men came calling" said Tom gently.
"Oh, that? That was nothing" said Mary dismissively.
"Come now, it was a great deal more than nothing, Mary. A very great deal, as well you know" Tom grinned. "I somehow doubt that those constables with the Dublin Metropolitan Police, or Captain Miles Stathum for that matter, will ever forget their respective encounters with Lady Mary Crawley! You were … you were magnificent!"
Mary smiled.
"Magnificent? Oh Tom, really! You make me sound like a battleship!"
"Well, in that case, I rather hope you have a much longer life than your namesake". Tom chuckled.
"Why, whatever do you mean?" asked Mary sounding genuinely intrigued.
"HMS Queen Mary? She blew up in 1916, during the Battle of Jutland. I remember reading the report of what happened to her in the papers - downstairs in the Servant' Hall at Downton. In fact I never actually managed to finish it".
"And why was that?"
"I seem to recall Mr. Carson told me a certain Lady Mary Crawley needed the services of the family chauffeur - to run her into Ripon" said Tom stony faced. A moment later he grinned and both he and Mary burst out laughing.
"And now, here we are" said Mary unconsciously repeating Tom's own words to Edith from but a few moments before.
Tom nodded.
"Have you had word from your sister-in-law, about her husband? Forgive me, these Irish names …"
"You mean Emer? Has she had word of what has become of Peadar?"
Mary nodded.
"Yes, Peadar. Has his wife heard from him? Has she been able to see him?"
Tom shook his head.
"We haven't heard a word, not since he was arrested. I've made certain enquiries …"
Mary looked quizzically at her brother-in-law. Tom smiled his endearing lop-sided grin.
"It's all right Mary, like Sir Richard Carlisle, I too have certain contacts, Best not ask. Ma's done all she can too, but so far, all our efforts have proved useless".
Even if what had occurred but a day or so earlier out at Ciaran's farm was still very much in the forefront of all their minds - how could it be but anything else - if they were honest with themselves, neither Mary nor Tom, let alone Sybil, or for that matter Edith, cared to think, let their minds dwell too much, on what had happened at the céilí after the arrival of the British soldiers. That apart, in the aftermath between the raid and now here, amidst all the hustle and bustle, on the busy quay side at Kingstown Harbour, saying their farewells, they had had no real opportunity whatsoever to talk.
That evening, following the departure of the soldiers, given the fact that it was Tom and Sybil's wedding night, both had been urged by all the family to return home to Ma's, to try and put what had occurred out of their minds, if only for the next few hours. And, with Mary and Edith being collected shortly afterwards in the chauffeur driven motor from the Shelbourne to return them back to their suite at the hotel on St. Stephen's Green, between then and now, with Tom and Sybil returning to work, there really had been no time at all to discuss what had taken place.
Before he and his men had left the ruined farm in their lorries, after Ciaran and a very thankful, tearful Aislin and all their children had been reunited, before those at the céilí had begun to disperse and make their way home, Stathum had assured the Bransons that Peadar, who had sustained a bullet wound to his shoulder, would, while still being taken into custody, be properly taken care of; that restitution would be considered by Dublin Castle for any damage caused in what had proved to be a singularly pointless and ultimately fruitless search for both stolen arms and ammunition. Tom had smiled wryly at that; noting that Stathum had clearly said any claim for damages would be "considered", which, of course, was not the same as saying that any such a claim would be met.
Notwithstanding what had happened, Ma had intended to stay the night at the farm in any case, so as to give Tom and Sybil some much needed privacy. With their departure in Edmund Kelly's motor back to the house in Clontarf, having said goodbye to both Mary and Edith, Ma had become practical.
Ma had a no-nonsense approach to most things in life, which was why one day nearly fifteen years ago, when Donal had brought home with him a young, under nourished, fair haired orphan boy named Tom, in need of a home, Ma had promptly risen to the challenge. With her husband recently deceased, with her own children grown and either having left the family nest or about to do so, Ma had realised at once that what the young lad needed most was love and a home to call his own. The first came easily enough to her; right from the start there had been something so endearing about Tommy which made Ma's heart go out to him, and as for the second, well Ma had needed but little persuading from Donal to take Tom in. As the years had passed and he had grown to manhood, Ma's love for Tom and his own for her had deepened to the point where even if Ma was not and never could be his natural mother, Tom considered her as such, while for her part, Ma thought of Tommy as her very own.
And, so now, with her no-nonsense approach determinedly to the fore, Ma decided to give her daughter Emer, her eyes were both puffy and red rimmed from crying, something to do; in order to try and take her mind off what had happened to Peadar, to what might yet happen to him inside Kilmainham Gaol given its grim reputation since the Rising. That being the case, Ma saw to it that both Emer and Niamh were promptly tasked with looking after all the Branson children.
That done, thereafter, Ma and Donal, along with several others, some of them metaphorically, others literally - among them Ma herself - rolled up their sleeves, and set to work doing what they could in helping Ciaran and Aislin round up strayed livestock and set to rights, as far as was possible, at least for the time being, the wrecked interior of the farmhouse.
As things turned out, the army's raid on the farm had proved singularly pointless. Had the army but known it, Peadar and his pals in the IRA had already seen to it that earlier that same evening - hence several of his mysterious trips outside the barn during the céilí - that the rifles and ammunition stolen from the RIC barracks had been moved elsewhere to another location. As for the informer who had provided the army with its apparent lead on the missing firearms, he would not be informing anyone, let alone the British Army, of anything else in the future. Although the connection was never made, a bullet ridden corpse discovered in woodland on the Clontarf Castle Estate a few days later was proof enough of that.
Tom reached forward and took both Mary's hands in his own. "And, neither will Sybil or I ever forget what you did ... both of you ... by coming over here ... to be with us. Your presence here has helped Sybil greatly".
"Well then ..." began Mary.
"You may think it presumptuous of me, and now may not be the best of times, but, may I give you some advice?" asked Tom letting go of Mary's hands and placing his own firmly on her shoulders. He gazed directly at her, causing Mary to think once again how deep a blue Tom's eyes were. How like darling Matthew's ... Oh Matthew ... Matthew!
"Said the millstone to the barley?" said Mary recovering her outward composure and covering Tom's hands with her own. She smothered a half laugh. "Well, Tom if you must ..."
"Don't marry Carlisle. You deserve better than him ... You deserve to be happy".
Mary coloured, gasped.
"Tom, darling, you don't know what you're saying. If only it were that simple".
"Trust me, Mary, it is. Whatever you may think you owe him, whatever hold you may think that he has over you ..."
"How could you possibly know that?" The colour faded swiftly from Mary's cheeks.
"So, the rumours I've heard over here are true then".
"What rumours?" asked Mary aghast. There was a sudden edge to her voice and it was only now that Tom realised that she had gone very pale.
"Oh, nothing solid - merely that amongst other things, having made his fortune in the newspaper business, obtained his knighthood for ... how shall I term it ... services rendered to the Crown ... here in Ireland ... he has connections with the British administration in Dublin Castle, with the Irish Times ... Sir Richard is seeking to ... How was it I heard someone say? Oh yes "consolidate his position" by marrying into the ranks of the English aristocracy … to assist in the maintenance of an ancient house …"
"Consolidate his position? Assist in the maintenance of an ancient house? How presumptuous of him! But then, oh how very like Sir Richard Carlisle" said Mary bitterly. "If only you knew, Tom. If only you knew. But I thank you for your concern, truly I do".
Tom released his hold on her; for a moment he eyed her curiously.
"If ever I can be of any help to you, Mary ..."
"You already have been, Tom. More than you could possibly know. Thank you. And when I said ... that I was very proud to have you as my brother-in-law, rest assured, Tom, I meant it".
"We've come a long way, haven't we? From where we started?" said Tom. He grinned.
Mary nodded, smiled broadly back at him, and then surprised both herself and Tom. Leaning forward, she kissed him gently on both his cheeks.
"Take care of yourself, Tom.
"You too, Mary".
There was nothing more to be said, and but a moment or two later, Mary and Edith were walking slowly up the narrow, wooden floored gangway leading to the gently heaving deck of the Ulster.