Chapter Sixty Seven
The Sea Of Galilee
"A tram?"
By the intonation in her voice and her facial expression - one of marked distaste - it was evident that the Dowager Countess of Grantham considered travelling by tram, indeed probably by any means of public transport, as something to be avoided at all costs; as appalling as being paraded in a tumbrel through the streets of Paris on the way to execution by guillotine during the French Revolution.
"It really was great fun, granny".
"Mixing with the hoi polloi? Fun?"
Mary nodded her assent.
"When the conductor took me to task for not having the right change, Tom came to my rescue!"
"If I hear that name just once again this evening ..." grimaced Robert.
"As I observed earlier this evening, evidently you and your sister's sense of fun is markedly different from my own" interrupted the Dowager Countess tartly. Violet regarded her eldest grand-daughter with something akin to pity; as though Mary had suddenly and inexplicably taken leave of her senses.
"No doubt Branson was behind this outrage too, Mama" said Robert contemptuously.
"It was no outrage, Papa, nothing like that at all. Tom suggested it certainly" said Mary with a deliberate emphasis on and use yet again of her brother-in-law's Christian name. "But not for the reason you're implying, Papa. Actually, it was to humour Edith" explained Mary with a sigh.
Robert's left eye twitched again.
"You mean Branson".
"I mean Tom" said Mary coolly and meeting her father's steely gaze with one to match it.
"Well said!" exclaimed Isobel.
Robert mopped his fevered brow, shook his head in evident disbelief.
This evening, every time any mention had been made of the bloody ex-chauffeur, his wife, his daughters, and even Cousin Isobel, all seemed to take leave of their collective senses, turn dewy-eyed, and laud Branson to the skies. What on earth was it, wondered Robert, about the upstart young Irishman which had enabled Branson to seduce and steal the heart of his youngest daughter? What was it about bloody Branson that was now producing a similar reaction on the part of his own wife and other two daughters? Had Branson somehow managed to dose the water supply at the Abbey with laudanum before he left? What possible explanation could account for how, Mama excepted, all the other female members of his own family now seemed to view the penniless Fenian as something akin to a saint?
"I don't believe I'm hearing this; any of it" exclaimed Robert more to himself than to anyone else present in the room. He glared intently at Isobel who, taking not the slightest notice of her cousin's disapproving stare simply ignored it, and instead turned her head to exchange a few polite words with Cora about something as mundane, noted Robert, as the ruddy weather. Thank God for Matthew, thought Robert; at least I can rely on him.
Or, could he?
Standing behind his mother, Matthew glanced down at Isobel approvingly. Since becoming heir to the estate, unlike most of the dinners which he had stoically endured at Downton, although Matthew himself had contributed little overall to this evening's conversation, tonight was continuing to turn out to be extremely entertaining, and for all the wrong reasons. Matthew grinned, looked hastily down at the floor before Robert even noticed. Honestly, thought Matthew, Cousin Robert could be so bloody pig headed at times. Since the war, the world had changed. Sooner or later, Robert would have to come to terms with that. So, why not accept, and gracefully too, that Sybil had married the man she loved, and who from all accounts undoubtedly loved her. Whether in the past he had been the family's chauffeur was immaterial.
After all, from what Matthew had heard so far this evening Tom Branson was, by common agreement, a splendid chap; deeply in love with Sybil, and she with him; ideal soul mates was the way Edith had termed them. Robert had scoffed at the very idea. However, it was, reflected Matthew, probably for that very reason that Sybil and Tom had found the courage to defy familial, parental, and social convention; to love, to marry, to live, and work in Ireland, of all places, especially at this point in time, given what was now happening over there, whether or not the true state of affairs was reflected in the British Press.
All things considered, Matthew felt Tom was clearly someone who he would like to know better. After all, when Tom had been the Crawley family's chauffeur that had not been possible, and other than the customary polite pleasantries, Matthew had given Tom no more consideration, no more thought, than he would to any other member of the domestic staff up at the Abbey.
Yet someone who, while injured himself, had rescued both Sybil and Edith from the aftermath of the bombing at the Shelbourne Hotel, who had been of inestimable help and support to Mary - Matthew was not quite sure how Tom had managed that particular tour de force since by her own admission, Mary had not been at all receptive, at all welcoming, to the idea of an ex-chauffeur as a brother-in-law - perhaps it was something to do with Tom's Irish charm (Mary and Edith let alone Sybil herself had all obviously fallen under the young man's spell) as well as standing up almost single handed to the British Army, was an individual worthy of both admiration and respect.
Not that Matthew had any time for Sinn Féin; he was at one with Robert on that.
From what Matthew had read about the party in the, admittedly British, newspapers, if the accounts were to be believed, then its members were no better than damned Bolsheviks; worse in fact, since they were just across the Irish Sea and therefore here on England's doorstep.
But neither did Matthew believe the British Army to be blameless in its conduct over in Ireland. Reading about what had happened during the Rising in 1916, even while in the trenches Matthew had been appalled by the heavy handed response of the British authorities and did not agree with the vicious reprisals and executions which had followed. So, hearing Edith and Mary relate in graphic detail what they themselves had witnessed at first had of the continuing excesses being committed by the army, despite Robert's vociferous denials that such things were happening, filled Matthew with a sense of dread and foreboding as to what the eventual outcome of all the present turmoil in Ireland would be.
And, apart from being a splendid chap, someone Matthew felt he would like to know better, Tom was also clearly someone who he felt he could relate to; someone who was much as an outsider to all the extravagance and splendour of Downton as Matthew himself. Over dinner, Mary had referred to Tom as "the rising star of the Irish Independent", a description which, while drawing plaudits from Cora had made Robert wince and nearly choke on his lemon parfait. Well, good for Tom, thought Matthew!
Robert's raised voice brought Matthew out of his contemplative reverie.
"What do you mean, humour Edith?"
"And were you in need of humouring? By the chauffeur?" asked Violet imperiously.
Edith felt her face redden.
"All I had said earlier to Tom and Sybil was that I would like to have travelled on a tram".
"Why in Heaven's name? Were no motors available at the hotel? I appreciate that since the war standards have slipped, but really!" Violet grimaced.
"The Shelbourne had several motors at its disposal, granny" – this from Mary unexpectedly coming to her sister's aid.
"I... I just felt that I would like... like to do something... normal for a change". Edith reddened again, fell silent, conscious of her grandmother's and father's unspoken disapproval of what she had just said.
Robert glanced at the fireplace.
"Are we then to assume that you will shortly be cleaning the Drawing Room grate in your continuing quest for normality?" asked the earl of Grantham coldly.
"No, of course not, Papa" said Edith quietly, wishing at that precise moment that the oak floor of the same Drawing Room would simply open up and swallow her whole.
Cora shot Edith a sympathetic glance which did not go unnoticed by Robert.
"So Tom kindly suggested we all take the tram down to Nelson's Pillar in the centre of Dublin before he and Sybil left for Clontarf" concluded Mary.
Edith saw her father wince again at the use of Tom's Christian name, shook his head in a continuing show of disbelief, and raised his eyes to the ceiling.
"Well, given that you were, after all in Ireland, one must suppose that you were indeed in need of humouring" observed Violet.
There it was again thought Edith; there was definitely something about her grandmother's voice. She looked up. No, surely not. Her grandmother had now taken out her handkerchief, had covered her mouth, and, unless Edith was very much mistaken, was now doing her very best to stifle a seemingly overwhelming urge to laugh.
"I will not allow bloody Branson to make a fool of me ..." Robert blustered.
At her father's words, for Mary, if for no-one else present, suddenly memory stirred. In her mind's eye, the room before her dissolved and once more she found herself sitting with Edith, Sybil, and Tom in the dining room at the Shelbourne Hotel.
"I won't have anyone make a fool of me" said Mary.
"No need to worry about that" said Tom quietly. "You're doing an admirably good job of it all by yourself".
"You're doing a very good job of that yourself, Papa, so there's no need to drag Tom into this" said Mary, silently thanking her brother-in-law for his innate honesty.
"Bluster as much as you like Robert, I will not be kept from seeing my own daughter and her husband" said Cora quietly.
"Very well, Cora" said Robert, clearly exasperated. "Ask them both here if you must. But, let me make it perfectly clear, under no circumstances are any of you whether, singularly or in collusion, to send Sybil and Branson the price of their passage over to England. So don't expect them to come. After all, unless, along with all the other talents with which you have liberally endowed him here tonight, Branson has now learned how to walk on water, as Christ Himself did on the Sea of Galilee, I doubt very much that they will have the means to travel. Now, if you will all excuse me, I have some papers to attend to in the Library".
So saying, and with a face like thunder, Robert Crawley stalked out of the Drawing Room closing, one would almost have said slamming, the door firmly behind him.