Extra Duties

Early 1916 went along much the same as most of the previous year. Tom's writing was improving and he learned many of the pitfalls to avoid. He had four articles published in the first four months of the year, one of which was reprinted in two other papers. He was steadfastly avoiding the Tory papers and the scandal sheets and concentrated his work on articles surrounding how the war was affecting people he met in his everyday life. It wasn't the highly political or controversial style he would have preferred, but it was a start and he had earned the trust of a few editors.

In April the papers were full of the stories of the Easter Rising in Ireland. Tom had thought about handing in his resignation and heading back north, but there was something keeping him in England. He was in love with Sybil Crawley. There was no getting around it. He just couldn't give up the shred of hope that she returned his feelings when he looked into her eyes or she sought him out during her afternoon walks.

He had asked for her help in choosing a Christmas gift for his mother last December and she had suggested a pair of kid gloves that would be suitable for church. Tom's face had gone white at the thought of entering a ladies shop and actually making a purchase. He picked up parcels regularly for the ladies of the house but he kept his eyes straight ahead and exited the shop as soon as he could. More than once he had seen other men being drug into those shops by their wives who needed "a male opinion." Almost all had a look of abject horror on their face at entering the feminine land of lace and frilly drawers.

When Sybil asked him what size gloves his mother wore he looked at her with one raised eyebrow.

"Size? They come in different sizes?" What he didn't know about ladies clothing could fill all the volumes in his lordship's library he thought to himself.

She had laughed and grasped his wrist holding her hand up to his.

"Of course, silly. Are her hands like mine or larger like yours?"

Her fingers had teased a light touch across his and he had longed to close his hand around hers, draw her closer and kiss her until she clung to him. Of course he could not do that as the difference in their positions prevented him from initiating any form of physical contact. He withdrew his hand quickly and shoved it in his pocket to keep from reaching for her.

"No more like Mrs. Hughes', I think," he said as he quickly averted his eyes.

Lady Sybil had taken pity on him and arranged a shopping trip to Malton under the excuse of wanting to look for something different for her own Christmas gifts. He had stood a respectful distance behind her while she made a selection. No one thought it was at all strange when he paid for the gloves. It wasn't unusual for aristocratic young ladies to never physically handle money.

He couldn't leave Downton. Not yet. Not until he at least had spoken to her about his feelings and had an answer one-way or the other. The letter containing the news of his cousins' death during the Easter Rising had filled him with grief and anger at the arrogance of the British government and their occupation of Ireland. His views on the situation though had changed somewhat since coming to work in England. There were many people here who didn't agree with their government's actions or the war but were helpless against the tide of those in control. The lack of voting rights not only for women but anyone who did not own property or pay rent meant that many of those sent to fight in the killing fields of the France had no say in how things were run. Even Lord Grantham had been a surprise and much different than he had expected from someone of the aristocracy.

The weather that year had been particularly stormy and had restricted his lordships' trips to York for his meetings. By May, Tom had had only two chances to stop by the Merrifield's shop for any amount of time. In June the second of the stationary engineers who maintained the estate electricity generators was called up for the army. Tom was the only person left on the estate with mechanical experience and it was decided between the estate manager, his Lordship and Mr. Carson the task of maintaining the generators would go to Tom until a replacement could be found.

The maintenance was an essential part of the estate especially at this time of year when produce from the home farm would be put up for the following winter. The generators required constant maintenance and a heavier type of tool set than Tom was used to. The type of mechanics was somewhat different than motorcars so Tom spent a great deal of time reading manuals and figuring out what needed to be done.

Free time became a thing of the past. Pratt could do some of the driving but the man was completely useless at vehicle maintenance and Tom's workload was almost doubled. He barely had time to keep up with the papers let alone write any articles or think about his grief over his cousin. He had managed to write a note to Mr. and Mrs. Merrifield explaining his extra duties and had received a reply stating that he was always welcome to stop by once things slowed down on the estate.

By early August Tom decided the main generator needed an overhaul and would have to be shut down for a number of days. The announcement was met with some hostility and of course Miss O'Brien made a few disparaging comments when she heard the news. Tom was one man instead of the two previously employed and there was nothing he could do about the inconvenience. He had to double-check all of his work against manuals and it took time.

It was a hot day when he began work on the overhaul and he had given up on wearing the starched shirt and tie under his coveralls while he worked on this blasted contraption.

Sybil came to see him that afternoon. She had been more and more preoccupied the last few times he had seen her. Her visits had been less frequent as his extra duties were keeping him away from the garage and her grief over the loss of so many of the young men she knew was taking its toll on her.

Today she sat on a crate in the machinery shed while Tom took a short break to get a drink of water. He settled on the ground beside her for a few minutes. She was particularly low today. A letter had arrived from one of her London friends to say all three of her brothers had been killed in Belgium. The tears slowly trickled down her cheeks as she stared at her lap and struggled for composure. Her hand had reached out, grabbed his grease-covered one and held on tightly. Tom did not say a word, just sat and held her hand until she had risen silently and walked away.

The work on the generator was slow and difficult. By the end of the third day the job was completed and he was exhausted. When Tom hadn't shown up for lunch or dinner in the servants' hall Mr. Carson decided to walk down to the chauffer's cottage at the end of the day and get an update on when electricity would be restored. When he arrived the door to the cottage was ajar. He spotted the younger man fully clothed slumped over asleep on the small table with his head resting on an unopened newspaper. Mr. Carson decided to speak to Lord Grantham about a bonus for Mr. Branson. He certainly deserved it after the long hours he had been putting in with absolutely no time off over the last few months.

A week after the power was restored Mr. Carson called Tom into his office.

"Mr. Branson you will be happy to know a suitable candidate as been hired to see to the generator. He will be arriving next week. I am sure I can count on you to update him on the status of the machine works."

"Thank God!" Tom thought to himself. He could not see why anyone would prefer that bloody contraption to the sleek lines of an automobile. He wouldn't miss it one bit. He was careful to keep his expression neutral.

"I must admit I am looking forward to handing my generator duties over to another."

"Yes, well," Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "I have spoken to his Lordship and he has decided to grant you a bonus for your service in this matter. As well you will be entitled to three full days off once the new man has settled in. As an additional bonus you may have the use of the town car for your leave."

Mr. Carson named a sum for the bonus that was quite generous. Tom knew the stationary engineers position was one of the most prestigious and highly paid on the estate at almost ten times his own salary, but the amount of his bonus was still a surprise.

"Thank you Mr. Carson, I am happy to accept."

Tom arranged his time off for the second week of September while the Crawleys would be away in London. The trip from Ireland had taken a week when he first came over and even with the recent improvements in rail travel, the trip still took much too long for his allotted days off.

Tom had missed his writing while he did double duty and wanted to get back to it. He wrote a note to Mr. Wilson at the Herald to inquire after writing assignments. As well he sent a pitch letter to the editor of one of the papers that had reprinted his story earlier in the year. He also sent a note to the Merrifields and one to Iann, a friend he had worked with previously but not had the opportunity to visit in the last two years.

Before he left Tom received offers for articles from both papers. He also received an invitation from the Merrifields to come by for a small get together. Their youngest son, Reggie, was home on leave from the merchant marine and he was welcome to join them for a small party at their home. His return message from Iann was worrying. Iann had received his conscription notice and would be reporting for duty at the end of September. He would be glad to see Tom and renew their friendship.

Tom packed his belongings into the town car. He had his pen and leather notebook, typewriter and a bag of personal items secured in the back seat. He found writing to be a joy rather than work and planned to spend his three days off working on the articles, catching up on his reading and visiting with his friends.

As Tom drove along the familiar roads he found he was enjoying himself. No one was looking over his shoulder and counting the minutes until his return. The town car had been purchased before the war for household errands but with the fuel shortages it now saw little use. He stopped in Ripon and made inquires for some interviews and collected background information. He arrived at the Merrifield's at the appointed time and was greeted by Mrs. Merrifield as she was just closing up the shop.

"Oh Tom, I am so glad you could come," she said. Reaching over to give Tom a quick hug. "We've missed you these last months. Come through and meet our son and the others."

"I'm glad to be back, even if just for a short visit." Tom realized the last time anyone had greeted him in that manner was his Mam on his last visit home before he left for England. He felt slight moisture in the corner of his eye at the thought.

"I'm afraid most of our guests are female as there isn't many young men about these days. You're a welcome addition to our little group."

Tom headed upstairs after Mrs. Merrifield and was promptly introduced to Reggie their youngest son. He was the image of his mother with auburn hair and bright green eyes. He liked to make jokes and his personality quickly made itself apparent. Also in attendance were Reggie's fiancée Mary, her older sister Jane and two of their friends. Introductions were made and conversation flowed all around.

Reggie was a steward on a merchant ship and had been on convoy duty in the North Atlantic for the last two years. On his last trip he had brought home a large can of maple syrup from Montreal. He stood in the small kitchen wrapped in one of his mother's aprons making pancakes and regaling them with humorous antidotes about life at sea. Pancakes and maple syrup he claimed were the ambrosia of the French Canadians and he was determined to recreate them for the evening meal.

"I can't seem to make the pancakes come out right if the deck isn't heaving," he joked. There was a lot of good-natured banter back and forth until everyone got a plate with a stack of misshapen pancakes covered in maple syrup. The taste was smooth and sweet. It reminded Tom of a Christmas toffee he had had once as a small boy with a nutty flavor mixed in.

"My Dad tells me you're a chauffer," Reggie said to Tom as they were finishing their pancakes.

"Amongst other things. These days I seem to be a Jack-of-all-trades, master of none. I work for a large estate and write in my spare time."

"How did you meet my parents, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I was looking for a typewriter and wound up helping your father with his lorry."

"I sold him the Corona for a good price," Archie said. At this he caught his son's attention and looked him directly in the eye.

"I see," said Reggie with a suddenly serious look. "I hope you are making good use of it."

"Well, I am trying but this last couple months I have had double duty at the estate with all the labor shortages. It hasn't left much time for anything. Now that they have hired a new man I'm back to writing. I've got a couple articles to do over the next week."

"Are you planning to enlist?"

"No, I will deal with the conscription when the time comes."

"As the bard said, the pen is mightier than the sword," Reggie quickly turned back to his joking demeanor. "Too bad out, out damn spot won't work on all this batter I spilled on myself. I'll be in the laundry tub all day tomorrow."

Once the dinner was finished the younger people headed to a local pub for dancing and a few drinks. All of the women in the group had beaus either in the merchant navy or serving in France. Men were in short supply and the two men danced with each of the girls in turn. They drank a few pints and shared more than one laugh. They all put aside their grief and worry over the war and shifting politics for a few hours and enjoyed the company.

Tom was having a good time, but as he danced with each girl he could hear a whisper in his head, "Sybil."

That night when Tom retired to the inn his dreams were filled with Sybil, Sybil laughing and talking with his friends, Sybil dancing with him at the pub, Sybil beside him in bed. Her blue eyes looked into his and he gasped as her hands ran over his bare skin. She sighed and groaned as he touched and kissed her. Her breath tickled across his shoulder as she whispered his name. It felt as though they would never get enough of each other. Tom woke suddenly and turned to reach for her only to find himself alone.

"Its just a dream," he said into the darkness of the room.