Chapter Eighteen
Au Départ!
A short while later, with Robert and Danny now firmly back down on the surface of the platform, along with Matthew and Tom, the boys - indeed all four of them - made their happy farewells to both Pierre and François. To the obvious amusement of Sybil, and watched by a now equally smiling Mary, the engine crew of the Rome Express posed happily for a couple of commemorative photographs, firstly with Matthew and Robert, and then with Tom and Danny, before finally giving their enginemen's caps to the two younger boys as lasting mementos of their impromptu visit to the footplate of the locomotive.
Thereafter, Tom and Matthew, along with Danny and Robert, the faces of all four of them begrimed and streaked with sweat, with the two boys still wearing the dirty, greasy caps of the engine crew, chatting animatedly about all that they had seen on the footplate of the locomotive, set off back up the platform towards their carriage, leaving the countess of Grantham and her youngest sister to bring up the rear, shaking their heads in utter disbelief at the antics of their men folk. Robert had even gone so far as to shyly proffer his last gobstopper to his mother, which Mary had graciously accepted, although she did not go as far as to put in her mouth.
"Honestly, men!" exclaimed Mary shaking her head, as they weaved their way steadfastly through the milieu of passengers continuing to board the waiting train. "I've absolutely no idea what I am going to do with this awful thing!" Mary glanced askance at the gobstopper now held betwixt the thumb and forefinger of her gloved hand. "Of course, I blame it all on the General Strike".
Sybil looked questioningly at her eldest sister.
"The General Strike? But Mary that was years ago!"
"Don't you remember darling, I wrote and told you... how Matthew drove an engine at York, to try and help keep the trains running?"
"Oh that" said Sybil dismissively.
"Yes, that!" said Mary emphatically. "At the time, Matthew even had the gall to suggest that I might like to help out too, working as a waitress in a restaurant car. I mean, I ask you, can you see me working as a waitress in a restaurant car?"
Sybil smiled broadly. Indeed, the thought of dear Mary working anywhere was quite impossible to contemplate.
"Matthew said if Prince George of Russia could serve as a Special Constable up in London and Lady Eleanor Fortescue work for the LNER as a waitress then we ought to do our bit too! Mind you, I suppose if the Bolsheviks had murdered most of your own family by throwing them alive down a mineshaft, you'd want to do your bit to prevent revolution breaking out here. Personally, I didn't see the need myself, and in any event it was all over in a matter of days".
Sybil nodded, remembered Tom having told her what had happened to some of the relatives of the last Tsar who also had the misfortune to fall into the hands of the Bolsheviks.
"Oh really! Sybil! Just look at the pair of them now! Whatever would granny have said?"
Ahead of them, Matthew and Tom had laughingly purloined their sons' newly acquired railwaymen's caps and despite the two boys' voluble entreaties were evidently refusing to give them back; were instead now wearing them themselves.
"Did you say men?" asked Sybil shaking her head equally expressively, before catching her sister's eye, whereupon the two women dissolved into laughter.
"Something's amused those two!" observed Matthew without turning round.
"Well, it's not us for sure", remarked Tom, as all four of them continued walking down the platform to where Edith, Max and Saiorse were standing by the steps of their carriage.
Now some distance behind them, Mary nodded her head emphatically in the direction of the group of people now gathered on the platform by the far end of their carriage. Sybil followed her sister's steadfast gaze to where, still cradling little Fritz snugly in her arms, Saiorse, followed in turn by Max, who with some difficulty was stoically negotiating the steps of the carriage, and with Edith bringing up the rear of the little gathering, were both in the process of boarding the train.
Having reached the others, Tom, Matthew, Danny and Robert were standing close by; the two boys now chatting to their aunt, gesticulating wildly, obviously telling her enthusiastically all about their trip down to see the engine. Edith was nodding her head, albeit disinterestedly, could be seen at the same time watching Max negotiating the carriage steps, about whom she obviously then said something to both Danny and Robert, as Sybil saw the two boys glance up at Max, who, at length, having at last negotiated the steps was standing just inside the door, and who in turn was now looking down at his two cousins, nodding his head, and smiling. A moment later and Max's two cousins had joined him in the doorway to the carriage.
"I wonder if Edith has said anything at all, to Saiorse, to any of them, I mean…about Max's condition?" asked Mary.
"I shouldn't think so, at least not yet. After all, there really hasn't been any time for her to do so. I expect she'll probably say something to them on the train, but, it goes without saying, Tom, Matthew… they'll have to be told, whether by Edith… or by the two of us. All of them, apart from Bobby and Rebecca, who are really much too young to understand what it means, And, sooner rather than later" said Sybil thoughtfully.
Mary turned back to Sybil.
"Yes, I suppose you're right" she said softly, "Oh, Sybil! That poor little boy. And Edith… Poor, poor Edith". Mary's voice suddenly faltered. Evidently in need of some form of support, she rested her gloved hand on the side of the carriage adjacent to her, leaned against it, singularly unaware that at the same time she had let go of Robert's last gobstopper which now fell disregarded to the ground and was lost among the ballast.
"I know darling..." began Sybil but now her own pent-up feelings suddenly overwhelmed her. "Oh, Mary!"
At the sight of her ever practical, no-nonsense youngest sister giving way to her emotions, Mary could contain herself no longer and also burst into tears. Sobbing, the two sisters fell into a tearful embrace. That Max's tragic plight had moved them both was all too obvious. That apart, Sybil could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times, of which this was one, that Mary had openly given way to her emotions in private: never as now, in public. For her to do so was surely an indication of just how distressed she truly was. That apart, as far as Sybil was aware, in the past, when all three of them were younger, Mary had never once expressed the slightest concern for Edith's well-being. Indeed, quite the reverse.
"It's all right, Mary. Really, it is. Well, no, it isn't, but you know what I mean nonetheless".
At her kindly spoken words, as they broke apart, Sybil saw her sister nod her head, swallow hard, then straighten up in a valiant attempt to regain her customary composure, assume her habitual, glacial mask of seeming indifference to the world and all its woes, as though any overt show of emotion on her part was to be avoided at all costs, fearful that it would be construed as a sign of weakness rather than simply for what it undoubtedly was: heartfelt compassion.
"Thank you, for always being so sweet" said Mary gently, enfolding Sybil's hand within her own.
"Mary, you know there's really nothing wrong in letting your feelings show" said Sybil gently.
Dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, Mary nodded her head, seemingly in agreement with what Sybil had just said.
"I know you're right, darling. But then, you see, that's just not me. That's not who I am. I'm not like you, or dearest Tom! I never have been and it's rather too late for me to start changing now! Even darling Matthew… for all his usual reserve and sang froid… he's far more open about showing precisely just how he feels, even in public. Do you know… no, of course, you won't, well, at the end of last summer, when the annual cricket match between the house and the village was over, when the house team won, darling Matthew was so overcome that he kissed me openly in front of everyone, in the marquee! I mean, could you imagine dearest Papa ever doing anything like that to Mama? And then, when it fell to me to present the prizes, when it came to me presenting Matthew, as the captain of the victorious side, with the winner's trophy, why, he did it again!"
"Did what again?" asked Sybil mischievously.
"Why, kissed me again in public, darling. That's what. Everyone in the marquee cheered, even the boys. I was utterly mortified!" Seeing Sybil grinning at her, Mary realised, too late that Sybil knew precisely to what it was she had been referring.
"Sybil! Honestly!" Mary grimaced.
"Honestly, nothing, Mary. Tom did just the same to me, in the pub in Blackrock, when his team won at skittles".
"Skittles? Tom kissed you? In a public house?"
Sybil nodded her head enthusiastically.
"Oh, Sybil, really! Although, in fairness, I must concede that Matthew's not quite as relaxed about that sort of thing as I know both you and Tom are! And I am equally aware that when you all come over from Ireland, Matthew and Tom do rather enjoy paying their surreptitious visits down to the Grantham Arms in the village. They both seem to think that I don't know about them. But of course, I do!"
Sybil's eyes widened perceptibly.
"You do?"
"Yes, of course I do. Sybil, darling, I'm not completely stupid, whatever you may all think of me. Apart from the smell of liquor, I always know when Matthew and Tom have been down there, because Matthew becomes rather…"
"Rather what?"
"Well, you know…"
"No, I don't".
Mary lowered her voice.
"Well, Matthew becomes… well… he becomes rather… amorous".
"Oh, you mean randy! Tom's just the same" said Sybil flatly.
"Sybil! Honestly!" Mary exclaimed, doing her very best and then failing miserably in her endeavours to maintain a straight face. She broke into a broad grin and beamed happily at her youngest sister.
"That being so" continued Mary breezily, "I suppose it's probably just as well that as the countess of Grantham I am not given to frequenting public houses with my husband, be it the Grantham Arms or indeed any other similar such establishment. Otherwise, bearing in mind what happened in the marquee after the cricket match, and how Matthew behaves after he's been drinking, Heaven knows what he might be tempted to try and do in public!"
Mary grinned happily again at Sybil, who chuckled with laughter, as for a brief moment, she found herself reminded instantly of one particular scene from The Sheik by Edith Maude Hull, although to be scrupulously truthful, even if it was quite possible for her to imagine her sister Mary as Lady Diana Mayo, given his colouring, casting darling Matthew in the guise of a dark-haired, dark-skinned Arab chieftain intent on seduction and rape, stretched even Sybil's mental powers of creativity.
"Mind you", continued Mary, "when he's with the boys, Matthew's just as ready to act the fool as much as he is when he's with darling Tom. After all, you saw what they were both up to a few moments ago on the platform. Not that I'm criticising, but, I just can't imagine dearest Papa ever behaving like that, can you?"
Sybil smiled again, shook her head. After all, what Mary was saying came as no surprise to Sybil; was indeed perfectly true. Ever since Matthew had asked Tom to be his Best Man back in 1920, the two of them had become the closest of friends and when they were all at Downton it was very noticeable to Sybil, that, in the company of both the adult Bransons, but especially that of Tom, Matthew was so much more at ease.
It was now, as they resumed walking down the platform towards the others, Sybil saw Mary's eyes suddenly glisten, her facial expression change, as once more she let her mask of seeming indifference slip to display her innermost feelings.
"Oh Sybil! That poor, poor little boy! God knows how Edith must be feeling deep down inside, knowing that young Max inherited his awful condition from her. And when the doctors can do so very little for him, I can't begin to imagine how utterly bereft she must be. I wonder…"
"Wonder what?"
"I wonder what else it was she wanted to say to us… before Max disappeared off outside?"
Sybil smiled wanly again at her eldest sister.
"Oh, I expect it was something about how she was going to break the news … to Mama".
"You mean about her and Friedrich and dear little Max of course. And… what it is that's wrong with him?"
"Yes, I expect it was something like that" said Sybil laconically, realising that even now, Mary had still not fully comprehended the potential implications of Max's condition for both her and Sybil… and for all of their children.
Just before they reached Matthew and Tom, Mary paused once more, and turned to Sybil.
"Darling, we've both got to be strong in all of this. Not just for Edith I mean, but also for that poor little boy, for us as well. I don't know how I'm going to break this to Matthew".
"Nor I to Tom".
Further down the platform, Tom and Matthew watched the approach of their wives, Matthew with some sense of trepidation. While Mary would never make a scene in public, she was, as he knew well, not at all tolerant of what she saw as his laissez-faire attitude towards his responsibilities as earl of Grantham, including how he conducted himself in public.
"Now the boys are out of the way, stand by for the reprimand" he muttered.
Tom smiled at his friend and brother-in-law.
"Do you have any particular last request?" asked Tom with a grin.
"Don't joke!" laughed Matthew. "You know what Mary's like!"
Tom smiled.
"Yes, but somehow, I think this time, you might be rather wide of the mark" whispered Tom mindful of how Mary had reacted but a few minutes earlier on finding all four of them up on the footplate of the locomotive, sensing that a marked change had come over her. And, once again, Tom found himself wondering why that might be so.
In the thirteen years which had elapsed since Tom and Sybil's marriage, the former chauffeur and his decidedly aristocratic sister-in-law had managed to develop an exceptional modus vivendi. And, while from time to time they might carp and snap at each other, ever since what had happened at the Shelbourne Hotel and that as far back as June 1919, both Tom and Mary had come to love and respect each other dearly, each perceiving the other's true worth.
Not that he had ever dared to try to do so of course, but Tom was only too well aware that he would have had no more luck in recruiting Mary to the cause of Socialism than he had had in trying to explain the policies of Sinn Féin to his late father-in-law. And while Tom Branson firmly still believed in a society where position was achieved through merit rather than by birthright, he had come to realise that a truly classless society could never be realised except by force, and not even then.
Whatever his late father-in-law might once have thought of him, Tom had never been a revolutionary: the brutal excesses of the Russian Revolution, the continuing repression in Soviet Russia, let alone what had happened in Ireland during the Civil War, were all as much anathema to Tom as they had been to Robert Crawley, as indeed they were to so many others. In one sense or another, Tom had come to realise long since that there had to be some form of hierarchical structure in society, of servants and masters, whether they were chauffeurs and earls, workers and commissars, or even cub reporters and deputy editors of newspapers.
Tom also knew that Mary was her own worst enemy; hidebound by convention, still far too concerned with what other people might think of her, reacting to individuals and situations as she thought befitted her position as countess of Grantham, rather than instead trusting to her own innate good sense and better judgement.
And, knowing Mary as well as he did now, Tom was certain that something in her had now changed. Exactly what that was, he could not say, but deduced that it must have something to do with whatever it was Edith had wished to impart to her two sisters out of the earshot of both Matthew and himself. Seeing Sybil's tear-stained face only merely served to confirm his suspicions.
Mary drew level with both Tom and Matthew. Walking slowly forward, she reached up and kissed Matthew lightly on the cheek; then surprised herself by doing exactly the same to Tom, causing both men in turn to smile at her in wonderment.
"What on earth was that for?" asked Matthew with a broad grin, and kissing Mary soundly back, while beside him Tom hugged Sybil to him in a warm embrace.
"Isn't a woman permitted to kiss her husband in public?" asked Mary with a gentle laugh.
"Of course. But I thought you said..."
"I say many things, my darling, most of no consequence, but as to why?"
Mary's expressive dark eyes flicked from her husband's face briefly to that of her dearly loved brother-in-law and then back again. "For simply being you; the both of you" she said softly.
"What's wrong, love?" asked Tom of Sybil, ever solicitous for his wife's welfare.
"I'll tell you about it later" whispered Sybil and then with her next remark promptly changed the subject. "I think, it's time we boarded the train" she said with an audible sniff; whereupon, as if by way of confirmation, from the far end of the platform there now came a shrill blast on a whistle.
The Rome Express was ready to depart.
Author's Note:
During the General Strike, fearing a Bolshevik style revolution, many members of the British upper and middle classes tried to help keep basic services running, undertaking all kinds of manual jobs, including driving trains, trams and buses, many with the minimum of training.
LNER: the London and North Eastern Railway.
The brutal murder of several other members of the Russian Imperial Family, including three of Prince George's brothers, at Alapaevsk in Siberia in July 1918, took place the day after the shooting of the Tsar and his family at Ekaterinburg, and happened in the manner Mary describes.
The Sheikh, by Edith Maude Hull, was published in 1919. The novel was the basis for the famous silent film of the same name starring Rudolph Valentino and Agnes Ayres and which premiered in 1921.