Chapter One Hundred And Forty Nine
The White Highlands
Had anyone asked him, Tom Branson would have said that when his wife Sybil got a bee in her proverbial bonnet and decided to do something, it was extremely rare that she did not then go right ahead and do it. So it now proved with Sybil's intention to travel out to East Africa as a nurse and with two small children in tow. Her visit to York had proved both helpful and informative and in but a matter of weeks all was arranged, thanks largely to Cousin Isobel who, as Robert had observed on more than one occasion, much delighted in "sticking her oar" into all kinds of matters, both great and small.
When, through Matthew and Mary, Isobel had learned of Sybil's intention to go out to Africa as a nurse, she had invited her around for tea at Crawley House to discuss the matter; said she fully understood why Sybil could not return to Ireland and why remaining at Downton, where she had been helping Dr. Clarkson down at the Cottage Hospital, was, in the long term, not really an option.
Many years ago, through her late husband, Isobel had chanced to meet Captain John William Arthur, a doctor, medical missionary and Church of Scotland minister who was serving at the Kikuyu Mission in Kenya. If Sybil was serious about going out to East Africa, then Isobel would be delighted to help in any way which she could and went on to explain that, as it happened, Captain Arthur was presently here in England on a speaking tour, promoting his work at the mission. He was in York the following week and if Sybil wished it, Cousin Isobel was certain that she could effect an introduction; which she then duly did.
Nurses were in extremely short supply in Kenya Colony and therefore, when Captain Arthur was given the opportunity of being able to send out someone as experienced as Sybil to the mission at Kikuyu, he was thoroughly delighted, accepted her services forthwith and in a very short space of time all the necessary arrangements were made. So much so that when Isobel's part in all of this duly became known, the Dowager Countess of Grantham was overheard to remark, both with a wearisome sense of déjà-vu and with some degree of exasperation, was there anything Cousin Isobel could not do?
Helped by Anna, Sybil had spent most of that June morning upstairs, seeing to the remainder of her packing. Along with the rest of her luggage, Sybil's two trunks had duly been packed, corded and labelled, ready for collection by the North Eastern Railway to be sent down by train to Southampton, to the offices of the Union-Castle Mail Steamship Company, there to be put on board the RMS Llanstephan Castle, which would be sailing for Mombasa in a week's time.
From Southampton, Sybil's voyage would take her down the English Channel, past the west coast of France, of Spain and of Portugal, passing through the Straits of Gibraltar, calling in at Marseilles, then at Genoa before heading eastwards out across the Mediterranean to Port Said in Egypt; thence by way of the Suez Canal, calling at Aden and at last reaching Mombasa on the east coast of Africa on the shores of the Indian Ocean, after a journey of some 7,000 thousand miles, which would take nearly a month to complete.
Sybil would then be faced with a railway journey of many hundreds of miles inland, up country to Nairobi and then onwards towards the shores of Lake Victoria. With two young children in tow, one just over a year old, the other no more than a babe in arms, it was a gruelling prospect, but Sybil seemed undaunted, completely undeterred by what she would have to endure.
Her accommodation would be in one of the 116 Second Class cabins on board the liner. The reaction of the Dowager Countess to this startling piece of information was predictable enough, with Violet suggesting that Sybil ought seriously to consider deferring her voyage until First Class accommodation became available. When Sybil explained that she had deliberately booked Second Class, her grandmother was absolutely horrified.
"But why on earth did you do that? It's so terribly middle class". At which point Matthew and Mary exchanged wry smiles.
"Don't worry, granny; the children and I will be perfectly comfortable. After all, it's not steerage," laughed Sybil.
"It just as well might be," lamented Violet.
With the last of her packing now completed and with Danny and Saiorse both tucked up safe and sound in the day nursery under the watchful eye of Mrs. Bridges, having the day off from her light duties down at the Cottage Hospital in the village, Sybil had suggested to Mary that they both go for a walk after luncheon and to this Mary had readily consented. Indeed, if the truth be told, Mary was also slightly intrigued, as to why Sybil wouldn't say where it was they were going. That apart, Mary was glad that at last her youngest sister was resuming some of her previous habits. However, now they were here, she was not at all sure if this had been a good idea after all.
"But why here of all places?" asked Mary doubtfully and looking slowly about her.
"Why do you think?" asked Sybil with a wan smile.
With Tom's replacement as chauffeur Farrar and his wife having been provided with alternative accommodation, a cottage belonging to the estate down in the village, in the warmth of the early summer sunshine, the two sisters were sitting comfortably, side by side, resting their backs against an old brick wall, seated together on a wooden bench outside the front of the former garage at Downton.
Although the double doors stood open, these days the estate's two motors were housed elsewhere and so a few weeks ago, on Papa's instructions, the old garage had been stripped clean of all its former ordered clutter, emptied of its heavy benches, the numerous tools, bottles, cans, boxes and lamps. Emptied that was of everything, save perhaps its ghosts; those of a young woman, radiant in a pale sprig print muslin dress and a handsome, laughing Irishman, smart in his livery of green.
Yet, despite its abandonment, once inside, the place still betrayed its former usage, redolent as it was with its heady mixture of hot oil, warm grease and petroleum spirit. Beside it, the chauffeur's cottage likewise, too, now stood empty; its front door locked, its windows shut tight and its brick walls thickly festooned with ivy.
"I would have thought that for you of all people, the memories this place must hold, it would be too painful for you ever to want to come down here" said Mary looking about her.
Sybil shook her head emphatically.
"To begin with, yes, of course it was… difficult". Here Sybil paused, stared into the middle distance, remembering back to the first time she had come here after Tom's death. "Yes, very difficult. But now, apart from being with the children, until we leave for Kenya, this is where I prefer to be. Somehow, these last few months, I feel closer to Tom here than anywhere else on the estate. On my afternoons off, at night, after the children have gone to sleep, after dinner, I often come down here".
"And we all thought you'd gone upstairs to your room to be with the children".
"That's what I wanted you to think. You'll think me foolish, but I wanted to be here, on my own… with Tom".
"No, I don't think you're foolish. Not at all. I can very well understand why you want to come here. In your shoes, I would have probably done much the same thing myself. But what about the children? What if they'd awoken?"
"Nanny Bridges knew where to find me. I'd sworn her to secrecy of course".
"Of course!" repeated Mary with a grin.
"You won't say anything, will you? I mean… to Mama or Papa. Not even to Matthew?"
"Of course not, darling. If that's what you want".
"It is".
"Then rest assured, darling, your secret is safe with me for as long as you want it so".
"Thank you for that".
"So, you wanted to come back down here, to where… where it all began?" offered Mary quietly.
"Yes, to where it all began". Sybil smiled happily at the remembrance.
"Well, if anyone had ever told me I should meet my future husband in a garage…" Mary laughed.
"Or that he would be working as a chauffeur".
"That too! I would have told them not to be so damned ridiculous".
Again Sybil smiled.
"But you're not me, Mary". Sybil sighed.
"No, that's true enough. More is the pity. You know, sometimes, darling, I do so wish I was more like you, Sybil; possessed of a more adventurous spirit!" Mary laughed again.
"And look where it has got me, Mary. A widow with two small children" opined Sybil, but with no trace of bitterness, rather just a plain simple statement of fact. Sybil sensed Mary was shocked by her frankness and now sought to mitigate the apparent harshness of what she had just said.
"That's what darling Tom would have called appreciating the realities, darlin''". Sybil smiled.
"That sounds so like him!" Mary grinned and, if only for an instant, they both found comfort in their shared laughter.
"But you don't regret it, surely?"
"No, never. None of it. Not for an instant. Don't you remember, Mary, what I told you, when we came back here to Downton that first time, after we were married?"
"What precisely?" Mary sounded puzzled.
"That Tom was a wonderful, wonderful man".
"Oh, that. Of course I do. I've no doubt of that now. Any of it. None at all. And I owe to him a tremendous debt of gratitude. Without Tom, I might never have found the courage to throw Carlisle over and marry Matthew".
"Tom?"
Mary nodded in confirmation of what she had just said.
"Yes, Tom. Does that surprise you, that the future countess of Grantham should be so indebted to a former chauffeur?" She laughed.
"Well, now you come to mention it, yes, it does". Sybil looked questioningly at her sister. "Come on, Mary, out with it. You can't say something like that and then just leave it there!"
Mary swallowed hard, looked Sybil squarely in the eye.
"Tom… he saved me".
"Saved you? How so?"
"From myself. With what he said to me; in Dublin, at the Shelbourne, just before that bomb exploded. It probably helped knock some sense into me too".
At that, Mary laughed a brittle laugh, while Sybil again looked mystified. At that, Mary relented and went on to explain and without any sense of self-pity, just exactly what she meant. That time, in Dublin, Tom had the courage to tell her a few unpalatable home truths about herself.
"And then, after the two of you were married, on the quayside in Kingstown, just before Edith and I sailed for England, Tom told me that I shouldn't marry Sir Richard Carlisle. That he knew I was really in love with Matthew. And speaking of courage, what Tom said then gave me the courage to do what I did. To call off my engagement. You see, seeing the two of you together, so loving, I realised that I felt nothing for Carlisle; that I loved Matthew Crawley. There, does that surprise you? Any of it?"
Sybil smiled, shook her head.
"Of course, Tom never said a word. But, knowing him as I did? Does what you've just said surprise me? No, not all".
They continued to sit there in the warm sunshine, reminiscing happily with their individual and shared memories of Tom.
"... and as for Edith, well I'm sure you're right. She did see him as some kind of knight in shining armour! But, soon enough, she'll be off on her travels again to Constantinople or Timbuktoo".
"Mesopotamia, actually," offered Sybil with a grin.
"Well, wherever it is, my geography was never that good, we've never got on and we never will. We're too much alike I suppose. Must you go, Sybil? I know I shall miss you dreadfully. Mind you that's partly being selfish. After all who will be here to tell me about what to do when I…" Mary stopped what she was saying, blushed a fetching shade of red.
"You'll do very well. You know you will. Tom and I... that is... I know you'll make a wonderful mother. Although, if you don't mind me saying so, from what Matthew once told Tom, I'm just surprised it took you so long," giggled Sybil.
"Well, I can't deny the pleasure involved in the trying! God, I can't believe I just said that!" exclaimed Mary" She rested her linked hands protectively over her belly.
Sybil smiled.
"The last time we were here, for your wedding, Matthew told Tom, you know how those two are… I mean were… thick as thieves; that you wanted to start a family. As I said, I'm only surprised that it didn't happen sooner".
"It would have, but for the fact that…"
"But for the fact what, Mary?"
"I had a problem".
Sybil looked aghast.
"Nothing serious, darling. A minor surgical procedure was all that was needed, to put things right. And whatever it was, well you know I'm just like Papa where medical matters are concerned. I prefer not to discuss it. Anyway, now everything is working as it should!"
"So I can see. And I'm sure Matthew's absolutely delighted at the prospect of becoming a father?"
"He is; although I know he is worried that he won't be anywhere as good at it as was darling Tom".
"I know he told Tom that he was nervous but, well, now it's happened, tell Matthew from me not to worry; rest assured, he'll be fine!"
"Hopefully! But now that..." Mary fell silent.
"What is it?" asked Sybil.
"Darling, you know Matthew is dreadfully, dreadfully cut up about Tom. That day, when we found out... what had happened... over there in Ireland... he told me that he looked on Tom as the brother he never had. Matthew has been in tears over this terrible business more than once. We… we both have. And now that you're leaving too…" Mary's voice faltered once again.
"I understand how you both feel. Truly, I do. But I can't stay. Not here. Not now".
"But, Sybil darling, Downton is your home".
"It was, once".
"It still is. Darling, there'll always be a place here for you and the children. Both now and in the future".
"Thank you. That's very sweet of you, Mary. But, as I told Tom a long time ago, much as I loved Downton, there was always something missing. Tom was that something. Without him… well, I just have to get away. Can't you see? At least for now".
"But why on earth to Africa? Why not take up a nursing post at a hospital here somewhere in England?"
"Because I have to do this on my own. Make it work. If I stayed here in England, even if I went back to Ireland as Ma has begged me to do, I'd know that Downton was there just over the horizon as a safety net. That if I failed to make a go of things, I could always come back. Away from Ireland, away from England, away from here, well I will have to try just that much harder. Don't you see, I …"
"Sybil, darlin'"
"Sybil, darling, I don't pretend to understand you. If you feel you have to do this, then so be it. But if at any time you feel it's all too much, then don't let your pride stop you from coming home. Sybil, darling, what on earth is it?"
Sybil had risen to her feet, had gone chalk white.
"Just now. I… Didn't you hear?"
"Hear what?"
"I heard him. I heard his voice". Whose voice?" asked Mary cautiously; half fearful of what Sybil's reply would be.
"Tom's of course! Who else's would it be?"
Mary sighed, resignedly so. After all, sadly, she had been reconciled to something like this happening; knew that coming down here to the old garage with all the memories it must still have for Sybil had not been a good idea, that it might well produce this kind of reaction.
If this wasn't nipped in the bud, the next thing darling Sybil would be doing was trying to commune with the spirits. After all, ever since the war had ended, it seemed that half the damned country was involved in table rapping, attending séances, meeting with mediums, most of them no doubt fraudulent - darling Matthew had said every last one of them should be prosecuted for deception - trying desperately by one way or another to make contact with their dearly departed.
Sybil had now sat down again; staring intently at her hands resting in her lap, seemingly lost in a world of her own.
Mary eyed her sister furtively out of the corner of her eye and now hurriedly marshalled her thoughts. Perhaps… perhaps she really ought to have a quiet word with Dr. Clarkson down at the Cottage Hospital. Yes, that was it. He would be bound to secrecy by the sanctity of his Hippocratic Oath. Except, that if there was even the merest hint that Sybil was experiencing some kind of mental breakdown…
Of course things had changed somewhat since the time when Charlotte Brönte had penned Jane Eyre. Mad relatives were no longer confined to attic rooms and even if that was still the case, Sybil thankfully had never shown any tendency whatsoever towards pyromania. But even so, she might well be committed to an institution. Dr. Clarkson must know of somewhere suitable. However, while infinitely regrettable, conditions in such places had improved dramatically since the nineteenth century and it could be seen to it that any such situation was handled with the utmost discretion.
Obviously, the immediate family would have to know the truth of course. No doubt they would be distraught, but things could be so arranged that to all intents and purposes it appeared that Sybil had indeed gone abroad for her health. Then, when she was sufficiently recovered, she could return here to Downton completely restored to her normal equilibrium.
In the meantime the two children would, perforce, have to remain at the abbey. However, there was no escaping the fact that any committal to an asylum, whether here in Yorkshire or elsewhere in the country, even if arranged discretely, would put paid to any idea that Sybil might have of returning to nursing and working for a living. And yet, Mary knew that Sybil was not at all a fanciful person; was thoroughly practical and no-nonsense in her approach to everything in life. That being so, then why on earth should she even…
"You don't believe me, do you?" Sybil's words broke in upon Mary's thoughts.
"Sybil darling, I don't know what to believe. I know you're overwrought, understandably so".
"I'm not losing my mind if that's what you're implying".
"No of course not. But Sybil, darling, there's a time to let go of the past. I don't mean to forget, but to say goodbye".
"Maybe, but there's not a moment of the day when I don't think of Tom. And at night, I…" Sybil paused. "Well, you know how Tom and I…"
Mary raised an expressive eyebrow; despite all they had been though, wondered if this was an entirely appropriate conversation to be having with her youngest sister.
"Sybil, darling, I don't know what to say. I…"
"Last night…"
"What about last night?" asked Mary, intrigued in spite of herself. "What happened?"she asked, dreading what Sybil might say next.
"Last night…when I dreamt about him, this time, Tom was quite real. Flesh and blood. So much so, that I felt all I had to do was to reach out and touch him. And then..."
"And then?" asked Mary cautiously, gently probing, realising intuitively that this was dangerous ground. One injudicious word and it could send Sybil over the edge altogether.
"And then, I woke up" said Sybil simply and without any trace of self-pity.
Author's Note:
Captain John William Arthur (1881-1952) a Scotsman, served at the Kikuyu Mission in British East Africa between 1907 and 1937. To generations of Africans, he was known simply as "Doctor Arthur". On many occasions, his genuine concern for the welfare of native Kenyans brought him into conflict with the country's white settlers.
The Union Castle Line was a British shipping line. Between 1900 and 1977 it operated a fleet of passenger and cargo ships sailing between Britain and Africa, its liners easily recognisable from those of other companies on account of their lavender painted hulls and red funnels topped with black.
Built for the Union Castle Line and launched in 1914, the coal-fired RMS Llanstephan Castle had four holds and accommodated 213 First Class, 116 Second Class, and 100 Third Class passengers. She began sailings to East Africa in 1920.