Chapter One Hundred And Two
Inspiration
Despite any appearance to the contrary, Cora, Countess of Grantham was very much accustomed to getting her own way.
The New Year of 1920 had scarcely begun, in fact, it was barely a week old, when on the morning of Wednesday 7th January, Cora had awoken in her bedroom refreshed after a dreamless night's sleep, and having breakfasted in bed, she came to an irrevocable decision. There really was no other alternative. After all, things could not be left the way they were. Something had to be done. And if that necessitated taking the proverbial bull by the horns, then so be it.
And with her mind once made up, all that now remained was to act upon her decision. For Cora had resolved that the time had now come to finally tackle Robert head-on over the as yet unresolved problem of what to do about Sybil and Tom. Or, rather more specifically, what to do about the ensuing, lingering problems caused by Sybil's marriage to Tom Branson, the undeniably handsome young Irishman, with whom she had fallen so hopelessly in love.
Briefly, Cora's thoughts drifted back to the momentous happening of the previous summer when, despite the steadfast opposition of her father, her own serious reservations, even the heartfelt, hysterical pleas of her two sisters that Sybil was ruining her life, her youngest daughter had remained adamant and deaf to all their entreaties. She and Tom Branson would marry in Dublin. And marry, in Dublin, she and Tom had duly done.
As Cora's mother-in-law, the Dowager Countess had so acutely observed at the time, to fall in love with an ineligible suitor was one thing. After all, that in itself was not unusual. It had happened before; to many young women. And doubtless it would happen again. However, young ladies of Sybil's social standing simply did not marry that kind of person. It simply wasn't done.
Only now of course it had been. Not only had the marriage which had taken place between Lady Sybil Crawley and Tom Branson in July 1919, in the grey stone parish church of Clontarf, County Dublin, been in open defiance of the wishes of both Sybil's parents and her family, but in the process, it had flouted every contemporary social convention and that had placed Sybil beyond the pale of social respectability.
Following the never-to-be-forgotten discussion which had taken place in the Drawing Room following Mary and Edith's return home to Downton from Ireland after Tom and Sybil's wedding, Violet had observed that the resultant whirlwind of gossip, rumour, and speculation here in the county of Yorkshire, and more specifically in the West Riding of the said county, as to what could possibly have caused such a mésalliance could be adroitly managed; to the eventual advantage of all the parties most directly concerned, not just darling Sybil and Tom, but also the Crawley family themselves.
Hardly surprisingly, it had proved absolutely impossible to keep what had happened quiet. Within a matter of days of Sybil's departure for Ireland, the Yorkshire county rumour mill was in full swing, fuelled no doubt by those caring, considerate, kind souls who so delighted in all manner of gossip and tittle-tattle. Especially when the matter being talked about concerned one of the county's oldest and most respected families.
So, given what had happened, all that now remained to be done was to decide how best to mitigate the scandal and to deal with its ensuing consequences. And in this regard, Violet's observation that if the family maintained a dignified silence, public interest in the matter would soon wane; in other words the least said about the matter the better, and this indeed proved to be correct.
Sybil and Tom had now been married for some sixth months. At the time of their marriage in the late summer of last year, despite Sybil's earnest written entreaties, however much she would have wished to do so, Cora had not felt able to attend the wedding in Dublin. Apart from the fact that she was still not completely recovered from the 'flu, to have done so might well have led to an irreparable breach between herself and Robert who flatly refused to attend the ceremony and had forbidden Cora from so doing, although he had grudgingly permitted Mary and Edith to do so.
But then, something totally unexpected had happened and in but a comparatively short space of time, within the Crawley family, views on young Sybil's runaway marriage to Tom Branson underwent a complete transformation: in short, a total volte face.
When Sybil and Tom had first announced to her stunned family what it was they intended to do, initial reactions had ranged from shock and disbelief, to forthright denunciation and outspoken opposition. Thereafter, when it became clear that whatever her family might think about her choice of husband, Sybil intended to marry Tom Branson, to settle, to work, and raise a family with him, across the Irish Sea in Dublin, feelings on the issue gave way to grudging acceptance and reluctant recognition of what would shortly come to pass.
But following Tom's bravery and his impeccable conduct towards both Sybil and her two sisters in the aftermath of the bombing of the Shelbourne Hotel, that grudging acquiescence and reluctant recognition changed immediately into unqualified approval and outright acceptance on the part of all concerned, except of course, Robert.
As for Cora, it was the ringing praises heaped on Tom by both Mary and Edith on their return from Ireland, which had combined to produce within the countess of Grantham very warm feelings indeed towards the young Irishman who had so completely captured the heart of her youngest daughter.
The disinterested observer would have been understandably surprised to learn that in fact, unlike her husband Robert, Cora had never objected to Tom Branson as an individual. After all, had it not been for the war, and the subsequent blurring of social distinctions, rather than the collapse of civilisation as her own mother-in-law viewed it, then the relationship between Sybil and Tom would never have happened in the first place.
But, how best to broach the subject with Robert, of Tom and Sybil being invited back to Downton for a visit, that was the real problem. For although Robert had given his grudging consent, Cora had no intention of asking the young couple here for a row, especially not now that Sybil was expecting a child. And, at the moment, any mention of Sybil, her husband, let alone Ireland, with Robert in his present frame of mind, would be akin to waving a red rag in front of the white nosed Hereford bull in the paddock down at Home Farm.
Having reflected at some length upon this particular and apparently seemingly intractable conundrum, Cora had, as yet, reached no firm conclusion whatsoever. But, it was just then, that from the vantage point of her bed, that she espied the photograph album. Bound in red Moroccan leather, embossed on the front cover with the Grantham coat-of-arms, it lay on the chair over by the window. And, upon seeing it, Cora smiled. For, whether by inspiration or indeed borne out of sheer desperation - she never knew which it was - she now had her answer. Smiling to herself once again, Cora breathed a silent, heavenward sent prayer of both grateful and heartfelt thanks, and summoned O'Brien to help her both bathe and dress.
Just as soon as those two tasks were accomplished, Cora dismissed her maid with the clear, unequivocal instruction that O'Brien should tell Carson immediately to inform Lord Grantham that his wife wished to speak with him before Robert went out for his customary morning walk with Isis. Very shortly thereafter, closing the door softly behind her, Cora left her bedroom, swiftly crossed the landing, and descended the imposing main staircase of Downton Abbey.
It was as she crossed the stone flagged hall that Cora encountered Luke the new footman. Sensing where she was bound, the young man made a swift beeline for the door of her husband's study.
"Thank you, Luke, but there really is no need to announce me" said Cora in a rather more peremptory tone than she intended. The young man looked questioningly at her, wondering how it was he had blundered. Her nerves, thought Cora, were obviously getting the better of her.
"It's perfectly all right, Luke. Thank you" said Cora, in what she hoped was a far more pleasant and conciliatory tone.
Almost imperceptibly, the young footman nodded, turned on his heel, and walked briskly towards the door which led down to the servants' quarters. Cora watched his retreating form, and then quickly walked across the hall towards the closed door of her husband's study. Grasping hold of the door knob she turned it and opened the door. Clutching the photograph album to her, she let herself in, and closed the door firmly behind her.
A bright fire burned in the polished steel grate. At the far end of the library, Robert sat seated at his desk engaged upon his correspondence of the day. On hearing the door, and seeing his wife enter his study, he immediately stood up.
"I understand from Carson that you wished to speak with me, Cora. I do have some rather pressing matters that require my attention down at the Home Farm. Whatever it is you wanted to say to me, can it not wait?"
"No, Robert, it can't. Not any longer".
"I see" he said brusquely.
The earl of Grantham half turned, bent over his desk, and began methodically arranging and then re-arranging a sheaf of papers, just as meticulously, had Robert Crawley but known it, as but several months previously his son-in-law, Tom Branson, had done on the seat of a musty third class compartment on a train bound for Dublin.
Cora crossed the full length of the long room and came to stand by her husband's desk. Robert glanced up at his wife.
"What's that you have there?"
"An album of photographs" she said simply.
Her husband matched her tone.
"Photographs?" he asked laconically.
"Yes". The tenor of Cora's voice was equally terse.
"Some of them had come unglued. I re-fixed them yesterday afternoon, but there are some others, which arrived here a few days ago… from Ireland, which need… "
At the very mention of the word "Ireland", Robert's head snapped up and his brows furrowed.
"I see" said Robert tersely.
"I thought ... I thought I would spend some of the morning sticking them in".
"And how does that task concern me?"
"Robert, you know how…"
A smile flickered briefly across her husband's features. It was gone in an instant.
"Cora, you are about as subtle as a runaway train".
"Subtlety is a luxury I can no longer afford. Robert. We need to talk. About Sybil and Tom".