Chapter One Hundred And Twelve
Dinner At Eight
On what proved to be a memorable evening, there were nine of them seated round the table in the elegant Dining Room of Downton Abbey. It was, thought Tom, all so unlike the cosy, informal, intimate suppers, eaten in the back kitchen of the small house by the sea in Clontarf and to which he and Sybil had become accustomed. All but mesmerised, indeed, nearly open-mouthed with amazement, at the magnificence of his immediate surroundings, seated next to the countess of Grantham, Tom sat on his chair and glanced slowly round the splendid, picture hung, panelled Dining Room.
The warm glow from the mint of lighted candles set in the pair of richly chased candelabra; from the gas lit sconces fixed to the walls; from the red-gold flames of the bright fire burning in the burnished steel grate, all were reflected in polished woodwork and glistening silverware. A matching set of mahogany chairs, upholstered in striped damask, were placed round the huge dining table covered by a spotless white linen tablecloth, set with fine bone china, sparkling cut glass, silver cutlery, and white lawn napkins.
Presided over by Carson, two new footmen, both immaculate in their livery, were on hand, to both serve, and then to clear away, the various courses of food, as well as to attend to each and every need, however trivial, of the assembled family: the women bedecked and bejewelled in their finest attire, wearing long evening gowns and gloves, and the men, save for Tom, in white ties and tails, were seated at the long oval-shaped table.
When they both arrived home from work each evening, Tom and Sybil prepared their own meal, which they then ate, sitting opposite each other, seated at the plain scrubbed deal table in the back kitchen. Very occasionally, if the mood took them, with their plates atop wooden trays balanced precariously on their knees, they would eat in front of the fire in the parlour. Either way, when they had finished, it was they who cleared the table, washed up, and were none the worse for doing so.
Excess.
There really was, thought Tom, simply no other word for it.
Despite all the overt kindness shown to him by the Crawleys, what made it all so much worse, was that he was now unquestionably part of all this. Notwithstanding how welcoming they had all been, save Lord Grantham of course, given the appalling destitution and grinding poverty Tom had encountered as a young boy while living rough on the streets of Dublin, what he saw here tonight, sickened him. It simply wasn't acceptable that so much wealth should continue to be held by but a handful of families, either here in England or back home in Ireland.
And now that there was the very real chance, the opportunity to build a better, fairer society in Ireland, the sooner the arrogant, class obsessed British were kicked out of the country and an end put to all of this excess, this ridiculous flummery and nonsense, the better then life would then become for everyone else that remained.
As the meal progressed, conversation continued to ebb and flow round the dining table, all, saving Lord Grantham, made every effort, even the Dowager Countess, to include Tom in the convivial chatter. Much of the conversation revolved around family and friends, of most of whom Tom had never even heard, although Sybil did her very best to let him know who all the various people were.
However, it was inevitable that, despite repeated, re-assuring, smiling glances from Mary, Edith, Sybil, from his mother-in-law, Cora, even from Cousin Isobel and from Matthew, increasingly Tom began to feel that he was but an onlooker, a spectator, a curiousity, not really part of the assembled throng, even less so when the talk round the table turned to hunting and shooting. Here, Matthew grinned broadly at Tom, shook his head. Tom grinned back at his future brother-in-law. In her letters written to them in Ireland, Mary had let both Tom and Sybil know all about Matthew's intense dislike of field sports.
For her part, Cora, blissfully unaware of what had passed earlier between Tom and Edith in the Library, who knew nothing of the enquiries which Violet had surreptitiously put in hand, now sought, in a misguided attempt to include Tom in the conversation, by giving her own recollections of staying on country estates over in Ireland.
Even from where she was seated on the other side of her mother, Sybil could see Tom was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation had turned, especially when, all unsuspecting, Cora asked him suddenly if he knew of the Bransons of Skerries House.
"No". Tom's reply was both swift and laconic. Not daring to catch Edith's eyes for fear of what he might betray, instead, he looked studiously down at his empty plate, but not before he became painfully aware of the fact that Sybil's grandmother was watching him from across the other side of the dining table.
Fortunately, at least for Tom, at that point, help came to him, and from the most unexpected of quarters.
"Cora, given what is happening over in Ireland at the present time, I would venture to suggest that voicing your recollections of our past visits there, in happier times, are singularly inappropriate".
"But Robert, I was only trying to…"
"Discussion of anything appertaining to that benighted country is distasteful to me. I for one have had more than enough of Ireland… and the Irish" said Robert coldly setting down his knife and fork.
"By which I presume you mean Tom?" asked Sybil coolly.
Initially, Robert chose to disregard his youngest daughter's remark, merely glanced briefly across at Tom.
"Actually, I had in mind the two itinerants, Irishmen by all accounts, seen in the immediate neighbourhood of this estate but a couple of days ago, and who, it would seem, have been sleeping in the derelict barn and outbuildings up at High Moor Farm, something which Jarvis told me about earlier today. I assume you know nothing about them?"
Despite, effectively, having asked the question of Tom himself, Robert chose to look anywhere but at his son-in-law.
"No, I don't. Is there any reason why you think I should?" asked Tom softly. The taut expression on his face belied the measured tone of his words. He was finding it very difficult to conceal his irritation with the obvious implication which lay behind his father-in-law's question.
"Yes, why should he Papa?"
"I'm sure he can answer for himself. There really is no need to be so defensive of your … husband, Sybil. Strangers in these parts are something of a rarity, and given what is happening over there in Ireland at the present time, those with Irish accents are likely to attract more interest than most. With that in mind, the local constabulary has been alerted to the presence of... such undesirables in the immediate neighbourhood". Lord Grantham paused. "I am beginning to wonder if now I should be actively considering taking precautions to safeguard the safety of this house". Robert Crawley spread his hands both expressively and expansively.
"I'm not planning to burn Downton down, if that is what you are implying" said Tom coldly. "Although now you come to mention it …" He glanced in the direction of the fireplace where the bright fire continued to burn cheerfully.
"Please Tom. You promised" begged Sybil.
"All right, love", said Tom resignedly; saw his father-in-law wince at his own unabashed and public display of affection towards his young wife. Tom nodded at Sybil and then, given the circumstances, gave her the most engaging smile he could muster.
"Obviously your husband gives his word very lightly, Sybil. Is it any wonder that he is prepared to break it just as easily?"
"That's just where you are wrong Papa" said Sybil tartly. "If only you knew Tom as well as you seem to think you do, he's a very principled man. Mary and Edith … they know what Tom's really like. Tell him, please!" Sybil shot a beseeching, pleading glance in the direction of her two sisters who, since Papa and Tom had begun their increasingly heated exchange of words, had, so far, said nothing.
"Darling, I assure you, over the course of the last few months, both of us already have" said Mary resignedly and bestowing upon Tom the warmest of smiles.
"Only Papa doesn't seem to want to …" began Edith, likewise smiling at Tom, but before she could finish what she was saying, Sybil cut her off.
"And for the record, Papa, Tom's a Socialist, not a revolutionary. He hates violence. All he wants, as do many others over in Dublin and elsewhere, is for Ireland to be given her independence".
"Thank you, but I need no lessons from you, Sybil, neither about your husband's political beliefs … nor on Ireland".
"And just why might that be?" asked Tom quietly. "Do you really think, that because you wear a coronet and robes of ermine, attend the State Opening of Parliament in London that makes you omniscient?"
"I do not claim omniscience. Far from it. But over several generations my family has loyally served the Crown for centuries. With age comes, experience, comes toleration, comes understanding. You would do well to remember that before making such an impertinent statement. That apart, the Irish have been causing this country trouble for centuries!"
"Then, if we're that much bother, give us our freedom!"
"Ireland is part of His Majesty's possessions and has been for centuries. And since 1801 it has been part of the United Kingdom. Why if the British Government acquiesced in agreeing to such nonsense, whatever next? There are demands for self-rule in India. Should we give in to those? Should we give up India? The British Empire? Moreover, what about Ulster? The Unionists opposed any idea of Home Rule. And they most certainly do not want Ireland to become independent".
"Ulster does not speak for Ireland!"
"Does it not?"
"No, it does not. As well you know".
"And what of its inhabitants? Are they not to be allowed a say in the future of their own country? After all, they are as much Irish, as those who seek independence".
"I am beginning to think that what you know about Ireland and her troubles could be inscribed on the head of a pin!" said Tom forcefully. By now, he had half risen to his feet, at which point Cora laid a restraining hand gently on her son-in-law's arm. Tom was never rude to a woman. Certainly not to this one who had been so kind to him, who had gone out of her way to make him feel part of this family. Tom sat down abruptly.
"I'm sorry Cora". For a moment, Tom blushed furiously. Then he looked directly at his father-in-law, now spoke far more contritely in an attempt to pour oil on troubled waters.
"I am quite prepared to listen to your point of view, if you are prepared to argue your corner on the basis of the facts. But, you're not. You're simply repeating what is being reported over here in the biased Tory English press".
"Am I therefore to suppose that the articles you pen for your paper over in Ireland are completely reliable and unbiased?" asked Robert sarcastically.
"I would hope so, yes" said Tom.
"Really" said Robert drily. His tone indicated that he did not think so.
"Of course they are, Papa. How could you imply otherwise? Tom is meticulous in his research and accurate in what he writes" said Sybil.
"And how would you know, Sybil? Or am I to suppose that you are simply repeating what he has told you?" asked Robert with a contemptuous nod towards Tom. "Perhaps you too are now an expert on the situation in Ireland?"
"He has a name Papa. In case you've forgotten, it's Tom".
"I'm well aware of your ... your husband's ... name" said Robert curtly.
"Then be so good as to use it Papa and stop addressing Tom as though he is something Isis has picked up and brought in from one of her romps through the woods. And no, I don't pretend to be an expert on what's happening in Ireland. I've never said I was. But, don't you think I'm capable of forming my own opinions? I've seen things, the like of which you can only guess at. Tom's right, Papa; much of what is going on over there isn't even reported in the English papers".
Robert chose to ignore what Sybil had said and simply returned to the fray.
"You were offered Home Rule. Was that not enough for you?" he asked, and for the first time looking directly at Tom.
"Not on the terms under which it was put to us. Besides which, Lloyd George has shown he isn't to be trusted!"
"The Prime Minister was prepared to begin discussions with your leaders back in 1916, to try and find a way forward. In the middle of the war, may I remind you. To achieve some form of compromise!"
"Compromise? Do you even know the meaning of the word? And if Lloyd George was so really keen on reaching a negotiated settlement, then why did he jail Griffith, de Valera, and all the others?"
"de Valera should be thankful that he was sent to prison. That Sir John Maxwell chose not to shoot him along with all the rest. As he could so easily have done! After all, de Valera took a lead role in the Rising. Or is that something which has conveniently escaped your notice?"
"And has it escaped your notice, that Lloyd George has always been prepared to use Nationalist MPs from Ireland to help him pass legislation? Just as he was equally prepared to use young Irishmen to fight in the trenches! Why else did he force through the Conscription Act?
"That was repealed. As well you know!"
"Only because of the strength of Irish opposition to it! An Act which was brought in to appease the British Trade Unions when Lloyd George proposed cutting back on those workers who were exempted from being called up! That Act would have seen young Irishmen being forced to serve in the British Army, then being slaughtered in their thousands on the Western Front, in addition to those who had already joined up, freely, of their own accord, and who then gave their lives fighting against the Kaiser and all he stood for. Young Irishmen who were principled enough to put aside the fact that were constrained to fight for a king they did not want, and for a government, which they did not recognise, all for the greater good! Or is it that you think their supreme sacrifice merits no consideration simply because they were Irish?" asked Tom softly.
Robert said nothing. Instead, he fiddled absent-mindedly with one of his cufflinks. The silence persisted; lengthened. No-one, not even the Dowager Countess said a word. Lord Grantham looked up at the Dining Room's elaborate plaster ceiling with its panels depicting scenes from Greek mythology; then over at the blue-grey Carrera marble fireplace beneath which the bright fire still crackled and spat, and finally across to the walnut chiffonier; to where Carson and the two footmen stood silent and impassive, seemingly carved out of granite.
In fact, Robert looked anywhere to avoid meeting Tom's eyes. He had not realised just how well-informed his son-in-law was on matters appertaining to Ireland. Of course, Mary and Edith had told him repeatedly that their brother-in-law, his son-in-law, was not only a fine, upstanding young man, but also intelligent and well read; that he could both argue and back up his firmly held convictions and opinions. Robert had chosen not to believe them. And yet now, despite the heated words which the two men had just exchanged, for all their many and manifold differences, with Tom's softly posed question, in the person of his handsome, Irish son-in-law, Robert Crawley recognised a kindred spirit: someone who was clearly just as passionate as himself about the things he cared for and held dear.
But now was not the time to say so. Enough had been said already. In fact, too much. It would, thought Robert, be for the best if they now adjourned to the Drawing Room for coffee. He made to rise, but before he could do so, it transpired that his mother had something to say.
"In abeyance" declared Violet loftily.
Robert raised his eyes heavenwards towards the ceiling. This evening, of all evenings, he was not in the mood for his mother's non sequiturs, but if Violet noticed, she gave no sign of the fact, instead looked across the wide expanse of the dinner table at Matthew, who so far this evening had said very little, apart from exchanging the usual pleasantries.
Matthew quickly nodded his assent.
"Yes, Cousin Violet. You asked me about that expression earlier". Matthew set down his glass, decidedly unsure why it was that the Dowager Countess had raised the matter yet again.
"Presumably..." persisted Violet and setting down her, as yet, untouched glass of dessert wine, "the term would apply equally to a title, an earldom say, or to property, for example an estate, where the rightful heir to one or the other, even to both, had yet to present himself as the legitimate claimant".
"Under British law, exactly so" said Matthew between mouthfuls of Apple Charlotte.
"Indeed, under British law, is there any other?" demanded Violet imperiously.
"If I may say so Cousin Violet, I really am very much impressed. You seem to have a remarkably good grasp of the concept under consideration". Matthew raised his glass in salutation.
Violet smiled, inclined her head.
"You flatter me, young man".
The Dowager Countess smiled a thin smile.
"And… assuming that the heir was in no sense de-barred from making his claim to either title or property, his claim would be upheld in the courts?"
"But of course".
"And if say the estate was subject to an entail, a concept with which I suppose, apart from … Tom, all of us seated around this table are only too painfully well aware, then the property would pass in descent to the next male heir?"
Matthew squirmed uncomfortably on his seat.
"Correct once again, Cousin Violet. That is provided, of course, that the hypothetical claimant to the hypothetical estate and or title was next in line and was in no way debarred from making good his claim".
"He is, and no, he isn't".
Matthew alone seemed to be the only person present who noted the sudden change from discussing a hypothetical situation to one that was clearly de facto. Obviously Cousin Violet had someone in mind. Looking across at Mary, Matthew felt his heart lurch. Had another claimant to the Downton Abbey estate been found, someone whose claim took precedence over his own?
"Is there a point to all this, Mama?" asked Robert querulously.
For the moment, Violet chose to ignore her son's question. Instead, glancing across the table, sensing Matthew's discomfort, Violet smiled, and then once again addressed herself to him.
"This has nothing at all to do with Downton, of that I can assure you", she said evenly.
"I'm very glad to hear it. I was beginning to wonder …" began Matthew, but Violet cut him off.
"No doubt. However, rest assured, your own future inheritance of Downton is not in jeopardy. As to your question, Robert, yes, there is a point to all of this. I take it that your own continued and studied opposition to our darling Sybil having married Bran… Tom, is to do with the fact that once he was employed here, as the chauffeur?"
Robert nodded his head imperceptibly.
"And this despite it being only all too obvious to everyone round this table, except yourself, just how well suited they are together, let alone how darling Tom acquitted himself so bravely and honourably, like a true gentleman, at the Shelbourne Hotel, in the aftermath of that awful explosion?"
Robert said nothing.
"Would it change your opinion of this young man, if I told you…"
"No, please, Milady, that is, Your Ladyship…" began Tom, half rising to his feet.
"Tom, wait". Sybil had risen as swiftly as she could from her seat, passing behind her mother's chair, had moved to stand behind Tom, slipping her arm protectively about his shoulders.
"It's high time they all knew the truth about you".