Chapter Fifty Nine
Falls The Shadow
Her twin funnels now belching thick columns of smoke into the summer evening sky, her upper decks lined with passengers frantically waving their final farewells to loved ones on the quayside below, as last minute preparations were made for the imminent departure of the black hulled RMS Ulster from Kingstown Harbour bound for Holyhead, Tom Branson stood on the same quay and watched the very last of the mail sacks being loaded on board.
One of his friends, lost in the sinking of the RMS Leinster torpedoed in the Irish Sea just outside the safety of Kingstown Harbour in October 1918, sister ship to the equally ill-fated Connaught, as well as to the Munster which had brought Sybil and himself over to Ireland, and to the Ulster too, had told Tom that on board each of the four steam packets was a fully equipped post office. Well, judging by the amount of mail Tom had observed now being loaded, the two dozen or so postal clerks would have a very busy time on the voyage ahead of them if they were to have all of it sorted and ready for dispatch by the time the steamer docked at Holyhead in just under three hours' time.
A short while earlier, with undisguised interest, Tom had watched the elegantly attired, refined, and retreating forms of both his sisters-in-law as Mary and Edith slowly made their way aboard the steam packet bound for Holyhead and thereafter, England. Turning slightly, Tom brought Sybil, trim in her broad brimmed grey hat and tailored two piece violet suit, into his line of vision. As he did so, he saw the tears brimming in his young wife's blue grey eyes. At that his heart went out to her, hugged Sybil to him in a tight embrace, burying his face against the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. He so hated to see her upset; would do anything to prevent it, even if that...
"My darling, I was wondering if ..." he began hesitantly.
"Wondering what?" asked Sybil softly, her voice breaking with emotion.
"No, love". Tom shook his head. "No, it really doesn't matter. I'm just being foolish".
"Foolish, you, Tom? Of all people, never!" Impatiently, Sybil fiercely brushed away her unbidden tears with the back of her gloved hand. She grinned shyly at him, only then realising at the same time that Tom was in deadly earnest, she turned in toward him.
"Why Tom, whatever is it my darling?"
"I was just wondering ... if ... if in any way you ... wished you were going with them?" he asked nodding in the direction of the gangway just traversed by Mary and Edith. "If you …" His voice faltered, faded away. His own eyes filling with tears, he looked up at the sky at the soaring, raucous gulls, down at the granite setts of the quay side, up at the towering hull of the Ulster, over to the far side of the harbour; anywhere in fact rather than meet Sybil's gaze.
"Going with them?" asked Sybil. "You mean ... Back to Downton?" The incredulity in Sybil's voice was all too obvious. If Tom had sought to shock her, then he had done just that and spectacularly so.
Tom nodded sorrowfully. The expression on his face tore at her heart; reminded her so much, once again, of how he had looked the night she had left him at the Swan Inn, his dreams of a life with her seemingly shattered whatever her promises made to him, to return home to Downton with her sisters.
Then, much as Tom had done to Mary but a short while ago, Sybil now placed both her hands firmly on Tom's shoulders.
"Of course not, silly! How could you ever think such a thing? But that I'm sad to see them go, Tom? Then, yes. Yes of course I am. After all, they're my own ... What was your phrase for it? My own kith and kin. Well my sisters are that to me. I've known them all my life. Of course we've fought and squabbled, well Mary and Edith do most of the fighting and squabbling, but for all that, I love them dearly. So, of course I'm very sad to see them go. Much as Ma must have been sad to see you sail for England all those years ago, not knowing if or when she would ever see you again. But my darling, much as I love Mary and Edith, granny, Mama, even Papa, yes even he; much as I love Downton, no, not my old life there, but the place itself, to be truthful, there was always something missing".
Sybil paused; then gazed adoringly at Tom, slipped her arms around his neck drawing his head down towards her own.
"And my love, that no longer be the case; now that I know for certain that all I ever wanted ... all that I will ever want ... all that I love most in this life ... is standing here before me upon this very quay" said Sybil huskily.
"Sybil, love, I absolutely adore you" said Tom, his eyes sparkling. Instinctively, he pulled Sybil in towards him and, as her slender arms tightened around his neck, kissed her passionately. Then, at the same moment there came an ear-splitting blast from one of the steam packet's two enormous whistles, suddenly becoming acutely mindful of where they were, reluctantly they broke apart. With their arms about each other's waists, holding each other close, with their free hands they both continued to wave their frantic goodbyes to Mary and Edith now standing by the rail on the steamship's promenade deck and waving down at them.
Gazing down on the lively scene unfolding on the quayside below them, where among the animated crowd of onlookers could be seen Tom and Sybil, his strong arm held protectively around his wife's slim waist, both continuing to wave their fond farewells, he with his cap in his hand, entering into the spirit of the occasion, laughing, their eyes sparkling, both Mary and Edith pulled off their own hats and waved them just as frantically.
Cascading streams of sea water, both of the Ulster's massive steel anchors had now been hauled in board and made secure. At one and the same time, the heavy thick mooring ropes securing the vessel fore and aft to the bollards on the quayside were let go and the passenger gangways run in. That this was all achieved unobtrusively, and in the twinkling of an eye, was due only to the co-operation and the dexterity existing between the deck crew aboard the RMS Ulster and the dockers employed by the Kingstown Harbour authorities.
Midst the clamorous, strident cries made by the continually diving, swooping flocks of guillemots, gulls, cormorants, and shags, there came simultaneous thunderous blasts from the two whistles of the Ulster, while beneath her stern, the sea turned suddenly into a cauldron of churning, foaming, frothing, turquoise salt water as her twin propellers began to revolve, seemingly ever increasing in speed, and thereby announcing the departure of the ship from her berth alongside the Carlisle Pier.
A moment or two later came another long blast on one of the ship's whistles, and the steam packet began to pull away swiftly from the quayside. Beside her on the promenade deck, Edith heard Mary sniff audibly, saw her dab at her eyes with her lace handkerchief. Sensing Edith watching her, Mary turned towards her.
"There, I said I promised myself I wouldn't cry" said Mary, her eyes moistening with tears. "But I just can't help it".
"They'll be just fine. I know they will". Gently, she squeezed Mary's wrist. "Especially having witnessed what we've just seen!" said Edith with a broad grin.
"There's nothing half so sweet in life, as love's young dream. Is that it?" asked Mary mischievously. She nodded her head in the direction of Tom and Sybil. "I expect our handsome, well read young brother-in-law would recognise the quotation. After all, the man who wrote those words - Thomas Moore - was, if I remember correctly, Irish. But, you don't really believe in all that tomfoolery Edith, do you?"
"Call me old fashioned, but seeing Tom and Sybil together as we've seen them over the last few days, then yes, I most certainly do"" said Edith emphatically. "After all, with what they have between them, if they can't make a go of things together, despite all the problems they're likely to face over here in Ireland, then what real chance is there for the rest of us?"
"Why, I never took you for such a romantic, Edith" said Mary archly. It was then, as Mary continued to wave down at Tom and Sybil, she felt again much as she had felt at Downton on that odd occasion just before they received the news about Matthew. For, as she gazed down from the ship's rail, it was as Tom impatiently pushed back his hair from off his bruised forehead that the scene before her seemed to cloud over; to be replaced by another image entirely.
Mary found herself standing at the top of a staircase, looking down on a group of people milling about below her, among them a fair haired young boy with a bruised and bloodied face, who, much as Tom had just done, now pushed his hair back impatiently from out of his blue eyes. The shadows danced and that scene dissolved, to be replaced by the familiar sight and sounds of Kingstown Harbour as the RMS Ulster continued to pull swiftly away from the quayside.
The continuing raucous cries of the multitudinous seabirds above their heads drew Edith's glance away from the quay side and upwards towards the darkening sky.
While she was growing up at Downton, as a child, what was to become one of Edith's abiding interests, and the only one which she would continue with into adulthood, had led to her receiving, on her eighteenth birthday, a most unusual present from her parents - at least for an aristocratic young English woman: a pair of binoculars ordered for her by Papa from the renowned German manufacturer Carl Zeiss of Jena of Saxe-Weimar in Germany.
For, at a very early age, and for no apparent reason that she could ever discern - it was certainly nothing to do with either of her parents or indeed any of her governesses - Edith had developed an enduring interest in learning all about the wild birds she encountered in and around the estate at Downton; whether soaring high above the fields, flitting through the woods, nesting in the hedgerows or trees, as well as those which had chosen to make their homes among the barns and outbuildings down at the Home Farm. How to identify the various species from their plumage, their birdsong, the colour and number of their eggs, the shape, form, and whereabouts of their nests, their feeding habits, together with a study of the folklore and superstitions associated with many of them, became, in due course, something of a passion for Edith; which for a singularly awkward, undemonstrative girl, overshadowed by her imperious elder sister Mary and the tomboy antics of her younger sister Sybil, was in itself something at which to be wondered.
Of course, even in stormy weather, seabirds, such as those now darting, diving, and swooping high above her and Mary's heads, even those which nested on the rugged cliffs of the sea girt Yorkshire coast some fifty or so miles to the east of the Downton Abbey estate, rarely, if ever, found their way as far inland as Downton or Ripon.
But whilst Edith could not claim to be at all familiar with breeds of seabirds, she recognised immediately the two black feathered birds which had just settled themselves below her, on the very ridge of the slate roof of the train shed down on the quayside. The pair of dark sombre carrion crows had chosen to perch precisely above where, singularly unaware of their brooding presence, dear darling Tom and Sybil continued to wave their cheerful goodbyes to both Edith and Mary.
Then, while Edith watched, to her dismay and utter consternation, the two birds were rapidly joined by a third of the black clad species. While the gap between the Ulster and the pier continued to ever widen, as the steamship pulled briskly away from the granite quayside, there all three of the birds continued to sit, baleful, malevolent, and sinister, cawing loudly, in the glare of the evening sunshine. Then, if only for a moment, despite the warmth of the sun's rays, Edith felt herself grow unaccountably chill, so much so that she could not prevent a sudden sharp involuntary intake of breath.
Even Mary heard Edith gasp.
"Why, Edith, darling, whatever is the matter?" asked Mary, who, now recovered, continued to wave enthusiastically to both Tom and Sybil rapidly beginning to recede out of sight.
"It's nothing Mary, really" said Edith.
"Well then ..."
Of course, Edith had no intention whatsoever of making her elder sister privy to her innermost fears. But, for anyone with knowledge of the superstitions surrounding wild birds, the presence of the three crows, perched there huddled together, foreshadowed the imminent death of someone dear. Edith had not the slightest doubt that Mary would have laughingly dismissed her fears as so much country superstition; as indeed would Edith herself, had she not been privy to the singular nature of two tragedies, each involving the sudden and unexplainable death of a child, which had occurred down at the Home Farm at Downton shortly before the Great War.
According to local gossip, the deaths of both children had been foretold by the seemingly sudden and inexplicable appearance in the farmyard there, but a few days before each tragedy struck, of three coal black crows. Edith would once have dismissed such a belief out of hand as utter nonsense, had she, on both occasions, not witnessed for herself, the sinister birds' presence on top of the ridge of the crumbing old tithe barn at the Home Farm.
Edith swallowed hard, contrived a weak smile at Mary and, in an all but futile attempt to steady her nerves with her gloved hands took firm hold of the polished mahogany rail atop the ship's railings.
Had Edith but known it, Mary might have leant her a far more sympathetic ear than she would have supposed - given her elder sister's strange experience in the drawing room at Downton, coinciding with when Matthew had been wounded out in France and with what Mary had just experienced standing beside her on the promenade deck of the RMS Ulster.
And, for all that he took such a commonsense, rational approach to most things in this life, given his Irish birth right, dear, darling Tom would also not have dismissed Edith's notions as fanciful either. For, in Irish folklore, the war goddess Badb, who went by several different names, took more than a few bird like forms, one of which was that of a crow. But, whatever name she went by, whatever guise she chose to assume, her appearance was always as a harbinger of doom.
Sometime later, Mary and Edith sat facing each other sipping their coffee, having but recently finished eating a cold supper served them in the comfortable surroundings of the Ladies' Lounge situated on the upper deck of the RMS Ulster. Decorated in a both white and gold and furnished in Louis Seize style, it was an elegant room in which to both eat their meal and while away the voyage across the Irish Sea to Holyhead. So far, the crossing had proved singularly calm and uneventful; Mary and Edith had managed to maintain their own truce and be civil to one another.
As for the sea, that too had remained equally calm, and the steward who served them their meal had told them that the Ulster should reach Holyhead's Admiralty Pier and dock as scheduled. Thereafter, it was but a short ride in a motor to the amenities and comforts offered by the London and North Western Railway Hotel where Mama had seen to it that a suite had been reserved for them. They would continue their journey back to Yorkshire and Downton the following morning by train.
"Well, that's that then" said Mary glancing steadfastly out of the window beside her both at the wide expanse of ocean and the twinkling lights of what she supposed could only be Kingstown now just faintly visible on the far distant horizon and fast fading into the gloaming of the summer dusk.
"Indeed" said Edith. "Good Lord. My, what a trip it's been! Tom and Sybil, with all that's happening over there in Ireland, do you really think they'll both be all right, Mary?"
"Blimey! How on earth should I know the answer to that?" asked Mary dismissively. Then seeing the worried expression on her sister's face, she relented.
"Of course they will, Edith. They love each other desperately; they'll look out for each other, take care of each other. Theirs is that kind of relationship, and don't ask me how, but I'm certain, despite everything, that somehow, they'll make it through".
"I envy Sybil, I really do, to have found someone like Tom. He's such a gentle, kind man" observed Edith with a smile.
"Indeed he is; gentle in every sense of the word. I suppose he's the sort of man Matthew must have been talking about when he told me there were soldiers out in France during the war that he could rely on in what he called "a fix". Tom's one of that sort – brave, loyal, and utterly dependable. I was a fool not to see it in him before. No wonder Sybil fell in love with him.
"And he so deeply loving ... of Sybil said Edith softly.
Mary smiled.
"That too: and she of him. After they both left for Ireland, Papa asked me if I'd seen any sign of how much the two of them cared for each other – before they eloped I mean".
"You didn't say anything to Papa about that surely?" For a moment, Edith sounded horrified.
"No, of course not. All I said was that apart from Sybil telling me herself that Tom was in love with her, had proposed, that I hadn't really seen anything at all to make me think something was going on between them. True, darling Tom was very upset by what happened to Sybil at the count, but at the time, mistakenly as it now turns out, I put it down to him being worried about losing his position. Although, I suppose, when Sybil defended him so fiercely ... But, I told Papa no, there had been nothing to arouse my suspicion. At that Papa said he felt relieved; said that he was very glad he wasn't the only one to have missed what was going on when it was all there, if only he'd cared to look".
"Look where exactly?"
"I asked him that. He simply smiled at me and said that it was all there in the library ledger".
"Whatever did he mean by that?"
"I don't rightly know. But, when we're back at Downton I damned well intend to find out".
"So, speaking of Downton what now?"
"If you mean, what I think you mean ... Mary looked quizzically at her younger sister.
Edith nodded her head.
"I rather think I do".
"Well then, let's put it this way. I rather suspect that what the four of us have just been through, crossing to Ireland, surviving the explosion at the Shelbourne, attending Tom and Sybil's wedding, being caught up in the army's raid on the farm, all of that was the easy part. Now comes the really difficult bit".
"Which is what precisely?" asked Edith nervously chewing her bottom lip.
"Winning Papa round to accepting Tom and Sybil's marriage, for what it obviously is. I think even granny and Mama have realised just how much Tom and Sybil mean to each other. And just as importantly for having Papa appreciate Tom for the fine man he undoubtedly is and to welcoming him with open arms as his son-in-law".
"And just how do we go about achieving all that?"
"If we both knew that, Edith, then all our troubles, at least on that score, would soon be over! But, sorry to disappoint you, I don't. And neither, I expect, do you. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, so let's put our heads together and see if we can at least come up with some ideas".
However, by the time the RMS Ulster steamed slowly past the welcome sight of the Mailboat Pier Light, to drop anchor and moor alongside the Admiralty Pier at Holyhead, despite taking several brisk turns around the promenade deck, followed by equally lengthy discussions in the Ladies' Lounge, neither of them had any answer to the conundrum they both now faced.
For Mary and Edith, their own Irish adventure was over; for Tom and Sybil, now married, working, living, and loving in far distant Dublin, with Ireland on the brink of insurrection, it had only just begun.