Chapter One Hundred And Eleven
The Best Laid Plans
Not that Robert knew it of course, but there had been a very particular reason for that public peck upon the cheek which he had just witnessed Tom give Sybil as the young couple had sauntered, arm-in-arm, across the soaring, magnificent, stone flagged hall of Downton Abbey.
When, after their unexpected encounter in the Library, after some time, sat side by side talking softly, Edith and Tom had finally parted company, Tom had gone straight upstairs. Taking the steps two at a time, he had to see Sybil and impart to her the startling news that what for so long they had both sought to keep secret both here in England and across the sea in Ireland, was now no longer so.
Once upstairs, and with no one to see him do so, Tom fairly pounded down the long, carpeted corridor leading to their bedroom. On the way he reflected wryly that where they would both be sleeping whilst they were here at Downton had also proved to be a serious bone of contention when, earlier in the afternoon, during tea his mother-in-law, Lady Grantham - Cora - had let it slip that Tom and Sybil would be sleeping together in Sybil's old bedroom. At that the earl of Grantham had cleared his throat emphatically, raised his eyes to the ceiling, signifying his downright disapproval of the whole arrangement.
"Robert! Don't be tiresome! They're married. Sybil's expecting Tom's child" Cora had chided. In response to this all-too-obvious rebuke, Robert had said nothing, had, instead, merely shaken his head, raised his eyes towards the ceiling again. Then, in an attempt to console himself, since "bloody Branson" had now eaten the last of the chocolate cake to which Robert himself was extremely partial, reached instead for the final piece of shortbread, only to find that Edith had beaten him to it, and, save for a few crumbs, the plate was empty.
Reaching their bedroom, not bothering to knock - they didn't bother with such niceties when they were at home in Clontarf, so the thought never even occurred to him to do so now - grasping the door knob, Tom turned it, hurried inside, closing the door firmly behind him.
Apart from the soft, warm, apricot glow from the lamps placed either side of the double bed, the lavishly furnished room was otherwise in darkness. Propped up on a mound of pillows, Sybil was sitting in bed, reading. Seeing the door swing open, she looked up, startled, if but for a moment, and then seeing it was Tom, immediately she relaxed, smiled, and laid aside her book. It was only, as he moved forward into the lamplight, running his hands swiftly through his hair - something Tom always did when he was upset - that she realised something was wrong.
As always, Sybil was fiercely protective of Tom, and knowing how much of an ordeal the return here to Downton had been for him, vowed silently that this time, if Papa had upset her husband, she would not let the matter rest, however much Tom asked her to do so. Then seeing the mixture of confusion, of fear, of pain in Tom's eyes, realising that her father's bluster and tirades, however hurtful, would never have had this effect upon Tom, she realised that whatever it was, it had nothing at all to do with Papa. Nevertheless, something was dreadfully amiss.
Tom sank wearily down on the bed beside her, holding his head in his hands. Struggling to her knees, Sybil was beside him in an instant, her around his shoulders.
"Tom, my darling, whatever is it?" Sybil asked cradling him against her as far as her swollen belly would allow.
"They know," he said simply and without looking up.
"Who does?"
"Your grandmother and Edith".
"What do they know?" Sybil asked. Tom was not normally this enigmatic, in fact, quite the reverse.
"About me, who I am, about Skerries, everything".
"But that's not possible!" exclaimed Sybil aghast.
"Well, they do".
"But how?"
"I don't exactly know how, but, according to Edith, your grandmother has been making certain enquiries".
"Enquiries? Tom, will you look at me please?"
At last, Tom raised his head and nodded.
"Yes, enquires. I'm not quite sure just how much she actually knows, but whatever else your grandmother is a canny old bird and even if she isn't yet possessed of all the facts, she'll be able to put two and two together".
"Trust granny to stick her oar in".
Tom nodded.
"Can I ask you something, love?"
"Of course".
"Sybil, have… have you yourself ever visited Ireland, I mean…before last summer?"
"No, never. Why? Whatever makes you ask me that?"
"Something Edith said".
"Which was what?"
"That all your family had been over to Ireland, years ago".
Sybil bit her lip.
"I think Papa and Mama went over there, before we were all born. And I believe Mary and Edith went there too, when they were little girls, along with our parents and granny. There was once some kind of connection, on Papa's side of the family".
Tom pulled a face.
"Don't tell me! Your father's a secretly a fully paid-up member of Sinn Féin!"
Sybil laughed.
"No, darling, of course not!"
"Well, that's a relief!" Tom chuckled, nuzzled his face against her shoulder.
"I've never quite been sure what the family's connection is… with Ireland" Sybil opined.
"But, until last year, when we sailed into Kingstown, you'd never been there yourself?"
"No, darling, of course not. Tom, darling, whenever it was the rest of my family went over there, wherever it was they went, I don't suppose I was even yet born!" Sybil smiled, shook her head.
At that, Tom grinned, enfolded her hands within his own.
"No, of course not. Silly of me to ask. Only…" For a moment the shadows danced; then slowly, the veil before him began to draw back, but try as he might Tom could make no sense of the flickering image glimpsed but briefly in his mind's eye. The veil descended again; dark and opaque.
"Only what?"
Tom shook his head.
"Nothing, it doesn't matter. So, what on earth do we do now?"
"Tom, darling, we knew this day would come, sooner or later".
Tom nodded his head in agreement.
"But later, rather than sooner, and which would probably still be the case, but for your granny's meddling!"
Sybil furrowed her brows, bristling at the veiled criticism of her grandmother.
"Well, that can't be helped now, can it? In any case, I'm sure granny meant no harm", she said somewhat more brusquely than she intended.
"By putting both our lives in danger?" Tom asked equally sharply.
"I'm sure she didn't mean to do so. In any case, she hasn't spoken about this, any of it, to anyone, as she?"
"Not according to Edith…"
"Who hasn't said anything either?"
"She assures me not. And promises she won't. I told her why no-one must know about my connection with Skerries, at least for now".
"So you admitted it the truth of it to Edith then?"
Tom nodded.
"Some…"
"Tom!"
"Darlin', I could hardly do anything else. Not when the evidence was there, staring the two of us in the face".
"Whatever do you mean?"
With a sigh of resignation in his voice, Tom explained to Sybil about the entry in Burke's Irish Landed Gentry downstairs in her father's Library. How he had found the page detailing the Bransons of Skerries House, County Cork marked with the Dowager Countess's silver bookmark and of Edith coming in search of it, of finding himself seated by the fire, with the very same book on his knees, open at that very entry. Tom explained that after giving details of his parents, that both of them had died in the wreck of the SS Hilda off the Breton coast in November 1905, the entry relating to him merely gave his date of birth and stated that his present whereabouts were "unknown".
For a moment, Tom fell silent.
"I didn't go so far as to tell Edith… about what happened to me… at Skerries... why I ran away to Dublin. Only you know that".
Sybil nodded.
"I couldn't tell anyone else but you about that..." Tom paused for a moment. "Unknown. Do you know how that makes me feel, Sybil, that single word? As though I don't even exist! That everything we have, everything we've achieved has no meaning".
Impulsively, sensing his distress, Sybil hugged Tom to her.
"That's nonsense, darling".
"I know it's nonsense, but I can't help it, Sybil. That's how I feel all the same".
"You do realise, don't you, Tom that we will have to tell the family sometime?"
Tom raised his eyebrows at the very thought.
"Tom! We must!"
"All right, all right! But not now. Darlin', surely you of all people can see that? Sybil, I told you this once before. We mustn't tell anyone else about this! Any of it. We can't! Don't you understand? Given what's happening in Ireland, to do so now, would be to put both our lives in danger, mine certainly, and your own by your association with me. And I won't, I can't risk that. So far, we've managed to keep all of this quiet. At least I think we have".
"Only think?"
"Well, don't you remember that odd business out at the farm… when Aislin told us there was someone on the Clontarf Estate who thought she knew you, who'd once worked in a house somewhere down near Cork?"
Sybil nodded her head slowly.
"Yes, now you come to mention it. But, Tom that was ages ago. And in any case, she was mistaken. As I told you, I never set foot in Ireland until last June".
"Then there was that other woman, the one Mary met in the street, outside the Shelbourne, after the explosion; the one with her young son, who said she too came from Skerries?"
"That was just a coincidence Tom".
"Well, perhaps it was, but all the same, no-one else must know about all this. Any of it. And that's how it must remain, at least for the foreseeable future".
"That's assuming Edith keeps to herself what she now knows to be the truth about you".
"She said she would. But I got the impression there was something else she wanted to tell me".
"Something else?"
"I don't rightly know. Don't mind me. I'm probably just being foolish. You're certain Edith won't say anything?"
"I'm sure she won't. After all, nothing would please Edith more than to know something that Mary doesn't! That apart, I know just how very fond Edith has become of you".
"You do?"
Sybil smiled.
"Call it a woman's intuition if you like, but you only have to see the way she looks at you, Tom. Darling, ever since the explosion at the Shelbourne, when you rescued her from under that table, you've been Edith's knight in shining armour!"
Tom blushed.
"Rubbish!"
"It isn't rubbish".
"Jealous?" Tom chuckled.
"Not a bit of it!" Sybil laughed. "Actually, I think it's rather sweet, the way Edith dotes on you… as her brother-in-law. And you know just how proud of you Mary is… especially after you stood up to Stathum and his thugs at the céilí".
"Mary's certainly come around, I grant you that. After all, I can very well remember how less than enamoured she was once at the idea of having a chauffeur for a brother-in-law!"
Sybil laughed.
"I told you a very long time ago, Tom, that Mary's bark is much worse than her bite. Mama adores you too, and she said that Cousin Isobel and Matthew are on our side as well".
"Which just leaves just your father and your grand-mother in the enemy camp so to speak? And speaking of your grand-mother…"
"Tom, darling. Leave granny to me. I'll make sure I speak to her, in private, before we all go into dinner".
However, even the best-laid plans often go awry and Sybil's good intention was brought to nought by the seemingly inconsequential matter of a flat tyre, which, by the time the Dowager Countess's chauffeur had repaired it, meant that Sybil's grandmother was, and for the first time anyone could ever recall, late in arriving at the Abbey for dinner.