Chapter One Hundred And Eighteen
A Bar Of Soap
Out here on the roof, although the distance from where he was now to the window on the other side of the locked door was not that great, Tom still found his passage across the leads of the great house to be a thoroughly unnerving experience. And, of course, once he had satisfied himself that the far window was indeed open, that it was feasible for all of them to climb through it, especially Sybil in her present condition, let alone make the journey to it safely, he would have to retrace his steps to tell them so.
He looked up. Above him arched the blackness of the night sky, pricked with its scattering of stars. The pale light from the moon made his present task somewhat easier than if there had been no moon at all, but, even here, high above the ground, up among the lofty stone chimney stacks of the abbey, driven by a strengthening wind, smoke from the fire, acrid and thick billowed upwards making him cough and retch.
Cautiously, he continued to edge his way across the roof. It was the hoar frost, sparkling in the moonlight, which alerted his ever watchful eyes to the likely presence of ice upon the leads. Immediately, his pace slowed. Out here, one false step would spell disaster, and not only for himself, but for the others too. All now depended on him and that feckin' window. If, as appeared to be the case, it was indeed open, then they had a chance of making their way across the roof. If not...
Out here in the open, the thunderous roar of the flames was louder than ever and from somewhere far below him midst a cacophony of sounds, there came repeated cries and shouts and finally, faintly at first, then growing louder all the time, the frantic ringing of bells, heralding the tardy approach of the fire brigade from Ripon.
Eventually, Tom made it across the roof to the far window; finding it ajar, he wrenched it wide. The window, he found, was also on a slightly lower level to the one he had just climbed through, so that, he thought, should make climbing through this one that much easier for all of them, especially Sybil. Below him Tom saw there was a small landing and the top of a staircase leading downwards, this part of the house so far untouched by the ravages of the fire. So far so good.
Having gingerly made his way back across the roof, Tom quickly informed them all of what he had found and within minutes of that, with Sybil going first, the family, followed by a very reluctant O'Brien, and then by Thomas, were clambering through the window and out onto the roof of the abbey.
"Now, I'll go first, then let Sybil go next" announced Tom taking charge. He looked briefly to his father-in-law for agreement as to what he now proposed, saw Robert nod his head, the earl of Grantham realising that as Matthew had said earlier, Tom Branson was a good man to have about one in the event of a crisis. Looking about him, seeing the flames and smoke, Robert could think of nothing which could be described as a crisis more than what was now unfolding, as helpless to prevent it, he watched as his ancestral home burned down about him.
Cautiously, Tom now retraced his steps back across the icy roof from whence he had just come. When he reached the open window he turned, knelt down and held out his arms towards his wife.
"You can do it, love. For you, for me, for our baby, for us. I know you can. Now, don't look down. Keep your eyes on me. Reach out to me! Reach!"
With her father holding her about the waist, keeping close to the wall, Sybil did as Tom had bidden her. Shutting her mind to the worsening pains in her stomach, she edged forward across the roof, all the while keeping her eyes firmly on Tom. Nervously, she stretched out her arms, as Tom did likewise; the tips of their fingers touched and but a few moments later he was holding her close, kissing her tear-stained face, hugging her to him in his arms, on the far side of the roof.
Cora went next, followed thereafter in turn by Mary then by Edith. Of the family, Robert went last of all, while O'Brien and Thomas hung back in the lee of one of the lofty chimney stacks of the abbey, watching dispassionately, as one by one the members of the Branson and Crawley families all made it to safety on the other side of the roof.
While they observed the earl of Grantham helping Lady Edith to reach forward and grasp her brother-in-law's outstretched hands, O'Brien turned to Thomas. Here in the shelter afforded them by the chimney stack there was little chance of them being overheard, but all the same she kept her voice low.
"A word of warning, Thomas".
"Oh? About what, Miss O'Brien?" The valet eyed his former partner-in-crime with thinly veiled contempt, as they both watched Lady Edith make it to safety along with her mother, sisters and brother-in-law.
"You've been getting careless, Thomas. I somehow doubt His Lordship would be too enamoured to learn of what you and that new young friend of yours, let alone that commercial traveller who was staying at the Grantham Arms a month or so ago, have been getting up to down in the village" said O'Brien venomously. Beside her in the smoky darkness, Thomas gave a low chuckle.
"I don't know what you're talking about".
"Yes you do. I saw you meeting the lad off the train from Ripon the day before yesterday".
Thomas opened his mouth, seemed to be about to respond, but then said nothing.
"What's the matter, Thomas. Cat got your tongue".
"Well it ain't got yours for certain. Anyway, can't a chap have friends?"
"Friends, yes. Only he isn't just that now, is he?"
Thomas glowered.
"And if I were you, I'd be very careful about threatening me, Miss O'Brien..."
"Careful ?" She laughed bitterly. "You don't frighten me, Thomas".
"Don't I? Not given what I know about..." Thomas nodded his head directly towards the countess of Grantham.
"And just what do you know, Thomas?"
"You know..."
O'Brien curled her lip in disgust.
"Just be careful, that's all I'm saying" warned Thomas.
O'Brien grimaced.
"Shall we put it to the test and see? Shall I speak to Her Ladyship then? And, if I do, what do you think will happen next, Thomas? She'll speak to His Lordship, that's what. And you can then kiss goodbye to your dreams of taking over Mr. Carson's position when that daft old fool finally retires. In fact, you'll be lucky to keep the one you have now".
"Now I don't think that would be a very good idea, do you?" hissed Thomas menacingly.
"What?"
"To go shouting your mouth off, Miss O'Brien".
"For you, or for that poor lad from the village you've been buggering?"
"Well, as it happens, I wasn't thinking about him; or about me!"
"That makes a first! So, who were you thinking about then?"
"Actually, it was you I was thinking about".
"Thinking about me? Don't make me laugh; you don't think about anyone except yourself!"
"Well then, I'd say we're evenly matched, wouldn't you?" The valet's dark eyes glittered dangerously in the blackness.
By now, Robert too had safely reached Tom and the others gathered on the far side of the roof by the open window of the passage.
"Miss O'Brien, you're next" called Tom breezily.
O'Brien nodded her head, but still made no attempt to move. Unbeknown to them all, she had always had an inordinate fear of heights and their present predicament was her worst nightmare come true. She remained where she was, rooted to the spot with fear.
"I can't...I won't make..." she began.
"Jaysus! For feck's sake! Yes, you can!" pleaded Tom.
"Of course you can, O'Brien", admonished Cora.
At that, ever the perfect lady's maid, desirous always to be seen in a good light, O'Brien dutifully nodded her head.
"I'll try Your Ladyship".
Cora mutely smiled her encouragement.
Keeping herself pressed close to the outside wall of the passage, at last, ever so slowly, O'Brien began to inch her way forward across the roof in the direction of the former chauffeur.
"That's it, O'Brien. That's fine! Now, keep your eyes on me, O'Brien. Don't look down, not for an instant. Just a little further now. You can do it!" While Cora and Mary attended to Sybil, Robert and Edith made it their business to voice their open encouragement to Cora's maid.
"Do as Mr. Branson tells you, O'Brien" instructed the earl of Grantham.
"You can do it, O'Brien. You know you can!" encouraged Edith, cupping her hands about her face so she could be heard against the roar of the flames and the noise of the wind.
"For Christ's sake, Thomas, help her!" yelled Tom at the top of his voice, angered beyond measure both by the valet's obvious inaction and seeming indifference to O'Brien's predicament.
The valet nodded his head slowly.
"Why, I thought you'd never ask" he said softly sardonic; so softly in fact that none but himself heard what he had just said. "Of course, be my pleasure!" he called out more loudly and moved forward out of the lee of the chimney stack, at which, O'Brien glanced nervously round at Thomas and from whence she had just come.
"Don't look at Thomas! Keep your eyes on me!" urged Tom.
"Now, Miss O'Brien, be a good little girl and do just like that fuckin' jumped up Irish bastard tells you" said Thomas as quietly as before.
O'Brien glanced back at Thomas.
"Oh, for feck's sake..." began Tom again despairingly.
"Soap", whispered Thomas softly in O'Brien's ear.
Then, unseen by the others, Thomas gave O'Brien the slightest of pushes in the small of her back. Now, ordinarily, this would have made no difference whatsoever, but up here, out on the slippery leads of the roof, given O'Brien's nervousness, her fear of heights, and most of all, the fact that both the heels and soles of successive pairs of her shoes - and those she was wearing now were no exception - had worn smooth in her years of service to the countess of Grantham, that simple shove spelt disaster. And a moment later, the helping hand of Thomas Barrow had exactly the effect he intended it to have: O'Brien lost her balance.
She screamed, her hands flailing in vain towards both Tom and safety, as she struggled desperately to regain her footing, but on the icy leads that, of course, was a forlorn hope. O'Brien whirled about, her feet slithering on the icy surface of the roof, although, for one brief moment, it looked as if she would indeed regain her balance.
But then, as if from nowhere, there came a sudden rush of noise as, cawing raucously, a solitary raven, which in all likelihood had probably been nesting somewhere up on the roof of the abbey and which had been driven from its roost by all the smoke and flames, flew past O'Brien in a flurry of black, flapping wings.
Instinctively, as indeed anyone would, O'Brien threw up her hands to protect her face, tottered, now lost her balance completely, and then clawed futilely into thin air. Reaching forward, his arms fully outstretched,Tom did his very utmost to save her, but as he made to stretch out, suddenly, his own feet went completely from under him. Appalled, horrified, Sybil screamed aloud, clutched at her stomach, as Tom now struggled manfully to regain his own footing and it was only thanks to Robert now grabbing Tom firmly around the waist that Tom himself didn't slip and fall.
Horrified, cradling Sybil to her in her arms so that she should not see, Cora, along with both Mary and Edith, all averted their gaze from what ensued, as O'Brien gave a piercing shriek and slithered helplessly down the slates, while at the same time, aghast by what had happened, Robert now pulled Tom to safety. A moment later, borne to their ears on the wind, there came a last awful, despairing cry, as O'Brien's black clad figure plummeted over the edge of the steeply pitched roof into the darkness below, and into oblivion.
Then silence.