Chapter One Hundred And Thirteen
Of Earldoms And Estates
Despite Sybil's comforting arm about his shoulders, his head sunk on his chest, Tom now slumped back into his seat, his abject posture drawing disapproving glances from both the earl of Grantham and Mr. Carson.
The latter indicated immediately to the two young footmen in attendance that they should withdraw, aware, and painfully so, that some sort of devastating disclosure was about to be made. Whatever its nature, by dismissing the new footmen from the Dining Room now, before the revelation itself was made, Mr. Carson considered he would have done his duty by the family. After all, in his mind it was imperative that he ensure that the matter, whatever it was, did not become the subject of comment and speculation in the Servants' Hall.
Mr. Carson smiled inwardly to himself, satisfied that at long last he had been proved right; that the marriage between Lady Sybil Crawley and Mr. Branson, as unnatural a pairing in its own way as either Athens and Sparta or else Rome and Carthage, would bring only disgrace upon the noble house of Grantham.
As the door softly closed behind the retreating footmen, Violet waved aside Tom's protest.
"Your reticence does you credit young man, but there are things which must now be said. For several years, you served this family well, very well as its chauffeur. Whilst here, despite the apparent difference in your positions in society, you dared to fall in love... with my youngest granddaughter, and she with you. Thereafter, you sought and won her hand in marriage, and all in the face of the studied opposition from members of this family here present, myself included, both of you remained not only true to each other, but also had the courage of your convictions to win through to live your lives as you wish to. And..."
Here Violet raised her glass.
"... I salute you; both of you".
Violet set down her glass once again.
"But, it is of you… Tom, to whom I speak now. That you have achieved what you have, speak volumes about the depth of your feelings for darling Sybil here, and is a tribute to your own tenacity and steadfast loyalty to what you believe in and care about most. That you have now also established yourself in a new career over there in Ireland, in Dublin and are, I understand, already highly thought of in your chosen profession as a journalist is to be commended".
"Bravo!" exclaimed Isobel.
"Well said! Hear, hear," said Matthew warmly. There was no doubting the sincerity of his heartfelt approbation; nor equally, if only to Matthew himself, the effect which the Chateau d'Yquem, a Sauterne, of a vintage dating from before the war, and which was therefore rather stronger than the dessert wines usually served here at the abbey, was having upon him.
While Sybil kept her arm about his shoulders, straightening up in his seat, Tom blushed, smiled shyly, clearly embarrassed with the open plaudits now being heaped upon him.
"Yes, young man", continued Violet, "there is very little that ever escapes my notice, not even how much you obviously adore my youngest granddaughter and just how much she loves you. I may be ancient, but senile I am not and I have some contacts of my own which might surprise you. Your conduct towards my older two granddaughters in the face of the outrage, which happened at the Shelbourne Hotel, was exemplary. Whether or not I agree with your political views, and I do not, but no matter, your courage in standing up for what was right when the British army raided your... your brother's farm on the night of your wedding displayed remarkable courage on your part. Moreover, courage young man nearly always wins through. So have the courage now to claim your birthright and rightful position in society".
"Birthright, rightful position in society? What on earth do you mean Mama?" asked Robert staring incredulously at his mother.
"Tom is the heir to a country estate near Cork, Papa," said Sybil.
"A chauffeur; the heir to a country estate? Don't talk utter nonsense!"
"He's not a chauffeur now, Papa, as well you know. He's a journalist, and as granny said, a very fine one indeed. Circumstances have meant that all his life, unlike some around this table, darling Tom has had to work for his living. I knew nothing about Skerries until Tom told me about it".
"Skerries... Do you mean Skerries House, near Cork?"
Sybil nodded her head.
"But surely, we all went there, years ago". Robert's eyebrows knitted together as he tried to make some sense of what he was now hearing. He looked questioningly at Cora, who so far had played no part in the drama now unfolding before her eyes in her very own Dining Room.
Cora looked briefly at Tom, and then nodded her head in agreement.
"Yes, Robert, we did. We went there one afternoon, with the Tremaynes from Curraghmore. That was the time Sybil wandered off. Surely you remember, what happened that day?"
Robert nodded his head.
"Yes, I remember" Robert said dryly. Not that he hadn't been glad when she had been found safe and well, of course he was. However, Sybil's disappearance that day had provoked utter consternation; had been an intense embarrassment to him. Even as a little girl, she had always been headstrong, even wilful. She still was; this business of wanting to work for a living, her marriage to bloody Branson, both were proof enough of that, as if, of course any proof was needed.
"You see, you were a handful even then my darling!" laughed Cora. She smiled happily at Sybil.
"Cross my heart, it's all true, Sybil" said Mary. "Don't you remember? It was at Skerries House that you first properly saw the sea. We all went paddling down by the water's edge. You must surely remember that?"
Sybil shook her head, but as she did so, the faintest of memories began to stir.
"Down below the house, there was a bay…" she began, but then the memory, if indeed that was, even now Sybil did not believe it to be that, at least for the present, receded once again beyond recall.
Mary nodded her assent.
"It's perfectly true. Really, it is" said Edith.
"Of course, I wasn't there when they found you, after you'd wandered off. I was still up at the house, but you were there, weren't you, Edith?" asked Mary.
Edith nodded her head in confirmation.
"Don't you remember my dear?" asked Cora.
"As Mary says, it's all true, darling. It was dark, when we found you, by torchlight, in the stable-yard, looking after that young boy…" Edith stopped what she was saying, seeing the look of incredulity upon the faces of both Tom and Sybil.
Tom looked questioningly up at Sybil, both of them now seemingly oblivious to everyone else present around the dining table.
"But when… when I told you... before we were married... all about Skerries... all that had happened to me…you never said that you'd been there. Anyway, with no disrespect to anyone here, assuming all this to be true, Sybil, surely, you would have some memory of it. In any case, you yourself said that you'd never set foot in Ireland, not until we travelled there together last year just before we were married".
"So I thought; so I do still. This can't be right. There must be some mistake," observed Sybil gently, at the same time seeing her grandmother shake her head gently.
"No mistake my dear; just a remarkable coincidence, which brought the two of you together first as children at Skerries House over in Ireland and then again here in England, as adults, at Downton" said Violet.
"But that can't possibly be true…" began Tom.
"Why ever not?" asked the Dowager Countess.
"Because, either Sybil, or I, one or other, perhaps even the both of us, would be sure to have some recollection, however faint, of our meeting each other before we know we did, here at Downton".
"And do you... Tom... recall everyone, everything, from your own childhood; all the people, the places…?" began Violet softly.
Not for a moment ever letting go of Sybil's hand resting on his shoulder, Tom turned his face once again from gazing up at Sybil back to meet the steely gaze of the Dowager Countess.
"Not everything of course. No-one can do that, but a very great deal nonetheless!" exclaimed Tom interrupting the Dowager Countess, something which no-one had dared to do for a great many years, but if Violet was offended by his presumption, she gave no sign of it, merely let Tom continue with what it was he had to say.
"A very great deal, many of whom, much of which, I would prefer to forget, Your Ladyship" said Tom, swallowing hard, and with increasing difficulty blinking back his tears.
Violet nodded her head slowly.
"My dear boy, I'm certain of that, especially after all I have learned about you in the last few months, as a result of certain enquiries I put in hand, ever since Mary and Edith returned from Ireland, ever since Edith voiced to me her suspicions regarding who you might be". The Dowager Countess's sympathy for Tom was now only all too evident.
Robert stared at his mother in profound amazement.
"All you have learned… about bloody Branson?"
Sensing Robert's eyes upon her, Violet turned to her son.
"Indeed. And also, that he is heir general to the earldom of Mallow in County Cork. Admittedly, that title has been in abeyance since 1792". Violet paused and glanced at Matthew. "But if Tom were so minded to claim it, then unquestionably it is his, both by descent and by right. An earldom, Robert, which by the date of its creation, in 1600, pre-dates your own by several centuries".
His mouth agape, the earl of Grantham said nothing.
"Robert. It is extremely rude to stare and swearing is an indication of a marked lack of vocabulary. In addition, in case you have forgotten, as you have been told already, the young man, your son-in-law, has a name. It is Tom".
"Forgive me, Mama. No, I haven't forgotten," said Robert lamely, turning red in the face, embarrassed beyond measure by his mother's open reprimand.
Violet turned back to Tom.
"My dear boy, I know it must be very difficult for you to comprehend, but as everyone has said, it's all perfectly true, I can assure you. Cousin Isobel and Cousin Matthew apart, when this whole family travelled over to Ireland in the summer of 1900, Sybil came with us".
Sybil looked questioningly across at her grandmother.
"But that's not possible, granny. I would remember something about it, surely?"
"Then, my dear, let me also ask of you what I asked of Tom but a moment ago. Do you remember everything from your childhood?" said Violet evenly, eyeing her youngest granddaughter with a mixture of both amusement and compassion.
"No, of course not. As Tom said, no one can. But then..." Sybil's hand flew to her throat, as with realisation at last finally dawning, once again blue grey gazed down into dark blue.
"It was you! Just as I remembered! The boy in the stable yard! I never said... I never told you. I thought what was in fact a memory was just a bad dream". With difficulty, Sybil had sunk to her knees on the floor beside Tom's chair, saw realisation dawning in him too, and was now cradling his tear-stained face in her hands.
Violet smiled at them both.
"Kismet" she said softly.
Nothing else needed to be said.
With that one, single word, uttered by the Dowager Countess, all the family gathered here in the Dining Room understood: that the meeting of Lady Sybil Crawley and Tom Branson as adults was merely the last link in the shared chain of their past. A meeting, then a romance, and finally a marriage that were destined to be, right from that moment they first set eyes on each other as children, all those years ago, in the lantern lit stable yard of Skerries House, County Cork.
"Never, never, ever forget, even for an instant just how much I love you my darling". Sybil had enfolded Tom's hands within her own, was gazing steadfastly at him. "I married you because I fell in love with you Tom, not because you are Master of Skerries, nor because of an ancient title once held by your forbears".
Whether this room had ever heard such an intimacy uttered before was to be very much doubted. That Sybil presumed now to make such an open declaration of her innermost feelings towards Tom, here, kneeling on the floor beside him, before her entire family, indicated just how secure they were in their relationship with each other. It was an indication of just how very far they had come together in the near twelve months that had elapsed since they had announced their engagement in the Drawing Room of Downton Abbey, and before this self-same group of people gathered here tonight.
"Sybil, darlin'..." began Tom. Overcome with emotion, his voice faltered as he enfolded Sybil's hands within his own, gazed equally steadfastly at her.
"Hush now, my darling. It's all done with. It's all over. Her eyes moist, Sybil pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, unaware that Mary, and Edith too, both had tears in their eyes.
"What is? What's all over? Would someone care to tell me just what on earth all this is about?" asked Robert peremptorily.
Sybil looked searchingly at Tom's well-loved face. Almost imperceptibly, it was now that he nodded his head.
"Very well, Papa, But not here. Not now. Later". Sybil inclined her head towards the door. Both she and Tom rose to their feet, her arms tightly about him, his face pressed close against Sybil's shoulder, muffling his sobbing. Sybil whispered something in his ear; Tom straightened up, wiped away his tears with the back of his hand.
"Bien! Pas devant les domestiques" observed Violet quietly, her own eyes now beginning to glisten at the obvious emotion prompted, at least in part, by her own startling revelations of events long forgotten and memories long suppressed.
At the words of the Dowager Countess, Mr. Carson, who, with his back to the dining table, was presently engaged attending to polishing the crystal ware atop the buffet, now stiffened perceptibly. Despite all his years of training, he was, after all, only human, whatever some below stairs might say. He was not some errant schoolboy, not some bloody footman like gawky young Alfred to be sent packing, as if he too was of no more standing than a former hotel waiter who had gained his employment here through what amounted to little short of nepotism.
Mr. Carson drew himself up, puffed out his ample chest. He was the butler of Downton Abbey; there was no other. He had held the position for longer than he cared to remember. An inviolate repository of all manner of matters and secrets appertaining to the Crawley family and a loyal servant. He, unlike others he could have named, had he been so minded to do so, which of course he was not, could be trusted to keep his mouth shut about those matters of a confidential nature to which he became privy by virtue of his position as butler at Downton Abbey. After all, the mark of a good butler, whoever his employer, wherever he happened to be in service, was, at all times, utmost discretion in everything, and in this regard to never, ever, repeat a confidence.
With all his years spent in service, Mr. Carson knew enough of the French language to understand the precise meaning of the words uttered by the Dowager Countess and they stung. So overcome was he that inadvertently he increased the pressure upon the stem of the glass he was polishing. With an all too audible crack, the glass snapped; parting stem from bowl and.
Robert turned in his chair, saw what had happened.
"I say Carson. Are you all right?"
"Perfectly, thank you for enquiring my Lord. Although I regret the same cannot be said for the glass. I appear to have been somewhat clumsy".
The old butler held up the stem and bowl of the broken glass for inspection. Robert nodded. Such things, while rare, were wont to happen, even in the best run, the most ordered of households, and despite the apparent worsening financial position of the estate, the Downton coffers could still cover the cost of replacing a broken wine glass; at least, he hoped they would. Satisfied that the old butler was uninjured, Robert now turned back to the table.
Alone in sensing the old butler's discomfiture, it was now that Cora came, metaphorically, to his rescue. If she could not exactly heal his wounds, then she could at least salvage something of his pride in himself as the butler of Downton Abbey.
"Carson?"
"Your Ladyship?"
"Would you please convey my sincere thanks to Mrs. Patmore for a most excellent meal? In addition, thank you, Carson, most sincerely, for both your continuing assistance and your understanding. There will be no need for you to attend upon us in the Drawing Room. Given the circumstances, we will serve ourselves coffee tonight".
"Very good Your Ladyship".
There was nothing further to be said upon the matter and but a moment later, Mr. Carson discretely withdrew himself from the Dining Room. With him, in his gloved hands, he bore the two parts of the shattered wine glass.
Yes, reflected the old butler acerbically, as cautiously he began descending the stairs down to the Servants' Hall; considering in his own way, and he trusted dispassionately, the circumstances which in his view had led up to the breaking of the wine glass, whoever he might be, young Mr. Branson certainly had a very great deal for which to answer.
Back in the Dining Room, in the shimmering light of candles, her arm held tightly about Tom's waist, his own about hers, Sybil stood and looked pityingly across the table at her father who now had risen to his feet.
"Papa, I married Tom, not because he was the owner of a country estate, nor because he was possessed of a title older than your own, but because I love him. Right from the very start, you opposed our engagement and our marriage; you still do, because you don't consider Tom good enough for me. You even tried to buy him off and when that failed, you refused even to attend our wedding. Do you know how much that hurt me? You've belittled Tom, you've, ignored him, and sneered at him; all because you thought he wasn't of "our" class, and that he chose to work for a living. Yet despite all of this, never once has Tom uttered a single word against you. And do you know what the greatest irony of all is, Papa?"
Seemingly dumbstruck, Robert still said nothing; continued to stare at them both.
"The greatest irony, Papa, is that Tom has more breeding in him than any one of us gathered here tonight. So, what do you have to say to him now? Here he is, Papa, standing before you: your son-in-law: my husband; the father of your first grandchild; possessed of a title that pre-dates your own and the owner of a country estate, which, in its day, was once as grand as Downton. And do you think that either of those things matter? Not to me they don't. You see Papa, you still haven't learned, have you? There are some things that money can't buy and when two people love each other, as much as Tom and I do, then class really doesn't matter; it doesn't matter at all".