Chapter Twenty Eight
The Tale Of Raffles And Bunny
Of course, so far this evening, neither Mary nor Sybil had yet had a chance to say anything to Matthew and Tom about what Edith had said to them earlier. At dinner, in the dining car, where the meal was served in public and in the company of strangers, seemed hardly the time or place to raise such a delicate matter. That being the case, at least for the time being, Mary, Edith and Sybil had all resolved to say nothing for the present; instead did their very best to forget their fears, and proved themselves especially convivial dinner companions, as indeed, still all unsuspecting, did both Matthew and Tom.
Dinner that evening, taken on board the Rome Express, was something not one of them would ever forget, not so much for the meal itself, which really was quite exceptional, all the various courses cooked and presented to perfection, the wine incomparable, the service excellent; but for what came after.
"I do hope the children are behaving themselves" observed Sybil between mouthfuls of Biscuit Glace Cote d'Azur.
"Darling, of course they will be. And, even if they're not, that's what nannies are for!" Mary smiled, set down her glass of dessert wine.
"Nanny Bridges said she would look in on Max and let me know immediately if there was any problem". Edith glanced nervously towards the end of the dining car in the direction from whence, over an hour or so ago, they had all come.
"And so she will. Darling, please do try and relax. I'm sure Max will be just fine" soothed Mary.
"I'm sure you're right" Edith smiled a half-smile. It's just that, after all these years I can't seem to help myself".
"To be sure. We all understand that". Tom smiled; reached across the table and patted Edith's wrist.
At the gesture, Sybil's eyes narrowed.
"Dearest Tom. Thank you". Edith smiled happily at her brother-in-law.
"How gallant!" observed Mary.
Sybil chose to be slightly less charitable.
"Given half the chance, darling Tom could charm the very angels out of Heaven!"
Ignoring his wife's obvious sarcasm, Tom chuckled.
"Now darlin' why should I be needing to be doing that, when I have you beside me?" He squeezed Sybil's wrist comfortingly.
Sybil smiled; shook her head in mock disbelief.
"Less of the blarney, if you please Mr. Branson! Now you all see what I have to put up with every day!"
"Well, darling, far be it from me to mention it, but it was you who chose to marry him!" observed Mary with a laugh.
"Yes, I did, didn't I?" Sybil turned and smiled happily at Tom. "And that is something I've never regretted".
"Not even for an instant?" asked Edith.
"No, never" said Sybil emphatically.
Tom's eyes shimmered in the lamp light. He leaned over and kissed Sybil on the cheek.
"Darlin' I don't deserve you!"
"No, you don't!" said Sybil archly.
At that, everyone laughed.
"Mm, this really is very good indeed" said Matthew who had chosen the Coupe Cressane Friandises.
"By the way, I looked in on Danny and Robert before we came in to dinner. They were both fast asleep" said Tom.
"Or pretending to be! Darling, did you check to see Danny wasn't reading under the bedclothes with his flash light?" asked Sybil
"No need. Both of them were out cold, flat on their backs, and fast asleep".
"And probably dreaming of Nayland Smith and Fu Manchu!" Matthew laughed. "Mind you, I took the precaution of locking the connecting door between their compartment and that of Simon and Bobby!"
"Matthew, given past experience, do you really think the minor problem of a locked door will defeat either Danny or for that matter Robert I shouldn't wonder?" asked Tom affably. "I expect they will both see it as some kind of a challenge!"
"Danny might, but Robert's not like that!" exclaimed Mary. She sounded horrified.
"Really?" Matthew raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Mary, you can't surely have forgotten what happened the summer before last, when both the boys managed to get themselves into Mrs. Fry's still room?"
Mary nodded.
"No of course not! How on earth could I… how could any of us, ever forget that!"
"Why, what happened?" asked Edith who, of course, had been abroad at the time, apparently in Mesopotamia, but as everyone else now knew, in Austria.
"Well don't expect me to tell you. Ask Tom! It was all his fault anyway!" exclaimed Mary.
"That's right, blame the feckin' chauffeur!" Tom chuckled.
"Feckin ex-chauffeur, actually" said Sybil completely unself-consciously.
"Darlin', let's not be splittin' hairs. Ex or not, I still got the blame!"
"So what happened?" Edith persisted, now intrigued beyond measure.
"Do you really want to know?" asked Tom.
"I do. I really do".
"All right then. Well…"
And so, with a nod and a wink to them all, and without further ado, principally for Edith's benefit, during dessert, Tom duly related the story of what, in later years, was always referred to in the family as "The Tale of Raffles and Bunny".
Back in the long hot summer of 1930, that particular July day had dawned hotter than most. The sun beat down, gloriously so, out of a cloudless sky, which in itself was especially fortuitous, since Downton was en fête, quite literally so, with the annual village fair being held down on the green outside the abbey gates.
With Tom and Sybil and their children paying their now customary annual summer visit to Downton, that morning, after breakfast was over, just after eleven o'clock, when Robert, Cora, Matthew, Mary, Tom and Sybil were all gathered together in the Morning Room, much to Sybil's annoyance, Mama had announced, and quite unilaterally, that luncheon that day, to be served on the terrace if the fine weather held, would be an adults only affair; the children were to eat upstairs in the day nursery. The weather did hold, Cora had her own way, a cold luncheon was duly served out on the terrace, and all the children were relegated to eat their own meal upstairs in the day nursery. So far, so good.
After luncheon was over, while the younger children slept upstairs, downstairs, outside on the flagged stone terrace, in the shade cast by the ancient walls of the abbey the rest of the family chatted or else dozed, among the latter young Robert's namesake and grandfather with Osiris sleeping contentedly at his feet. At the same time, having managed to evade the watchful eye of nanny, with young Robert leading the way, both he and Danny had crept downstairs in search of further liquid refreshment, the jug of iced water served upstairs in the nursery at lunch time proving, at least as far as the two boys were concerned, wholly inadequate.
According to young Robert, Mrs. Fry's homemade lemonade was especially cooling and delicious and with that tempting prospect before them, the boys set off on their expedition down through the silent house to liberate some of the same from the still room, which, Robert reliably informed Danny, was to be found "below stairs". Now this in itself proved an irresistible lure, at least to Danny, since below stairs at home in Blackrock amounted to nothing more than a dark, dank cupboard, infested with spiders, as Saiorse had found to her cost when Danny had shut her inside, he said by mistake, she said on purpose. Whichever it had been, when he got to hear about it, young Robert thought it an absolute hoot. However, here at Downton, "below stairs" took on an entirely different meaning: a whole rabbit warren of rooms, some now derelict, but most of which Danny had never even heard of, let alone seen.
It was only when, unseen, the two boys reached the Servants' Hall, that they hit an unforeseen snag. Mrs. Fry had been given the afternoon off to go into nearby West Dalby to see her sister who was ailing, taking with her the keys to the still room and those other domestic offices directly under her control. Although Mrs. Fry would not be back until later, arrangements had been put in hand for the serving of afternoon tea, which had been left in the more than capable hands of Emily, Daisy's replacement. So, Mrs. Fry's temporary absence should not have caused the boys any undue problem; Emily held a spare set of keys, but that afternoon, with the fair down in the village in full swing, Mr. Barrow - who, not of course that anyone knew it, had an assignation of his own planned - had allowed several of the servants, including Emily, the afternoon off, on the strict understanding that they would all be back at the abbey in time to undertake the necessary preparations for that evening's dinner, the guests for which included the Bishop of Ripon.
Now, as part of Matthew's continuing and relentless drive for all manner of economies, the domestic establishment at Downton had been considerably reduced from what it had been before the war and with Mr. Barrow having allowed several of the remaining servants the afternoon off, when young Robert and Danny crept stealthily into the Servants' Hall, they found the room to be completely deserted. No matter, Robert remembered the way to Mrs. Fry's still room. And, so he did. Of course, given what then happened, it would probably have been better if young Robert's remembrance of the layout of the rooms below stairs had not been as encyclopaedic as it was, but that is to anticipate. No such luck.
In but the twinkling of an eye, Mrs. Fry's still room was duly located. Of course, the door to it was locked, but that proved but a minor and temporary inconvenience, to someone of the calibre of young Daniel Branson of Blackrock, a veritable Irish version in the making of Arthur J. Raffles, with young Robert Crawley, his partner in crime, cast in the role of Bunny Manders.
Like most young boys his age, Danny Branson was an inveterate collector; his pockets filled with all manner of things which he considered might come in useful, although for precisely what purpose, until the opportunity duly presented itself to utilise one or more of them, if asked to do so, he would have found impossible to say. The small needle file, which he had been carrying around with him for several days, and which Danny had found down in one of the disused outbuildings down at Home Farm, now proved to be of inestimable worth.
Of course, as everyone found out afterwards, Danny would never have known how to pick a lock in the first place, had, earlier that same year, his beloved Da, not forgotten to take his front door key with him, when Tom had taken Danny and Saiorse over to see their "uncle" Ruari and his family in Inchicore for the day. Arriving back home in Blackrock, on that dark, wet November evening, to find the house in darkness and only then remembering at the last moment that Sybil was working late at the hospital, then finding he had forgotten his house key, while Danny watched, fascinated by what his Da was about - was there no end to his talents - with the aid of a bent nail, by the light of a hurricane lantern, Tom proceeded to expertly pick the back door lock, a trick he had learned during his time spent living rough on the streets in Dublin.
"But don't tell your Ma, otherwise she'll have a fit!" had said Tom with a conspiratorial wink. Danny winked back. Of course, Danny said nothing, but Saiorse most certainly did. After all, she reasoned, Da hadn't sworn her to silence.
"Ma, what's a fit?" Saiorse had asked innocently the following morning in the kitchen at breakfast; Tom and Danny both exchanged horrified, meaningful glances.
"Something… something that's not very nice" said Sybil. Then seeing the same guilty look on the faces of her two men folk, Sybil had asked the inevitable question.
"Why do you want to know that, darling?"
At which Saiorse went on to relate exactly what it was that had happened the previous night, from them all climbing over the back wall in the dark and the rain, and using the branches of Mr. Byrne's apple tree to help them do so, to Da doing something with the lock of the back door so as to be able to open it, which, if Ma ever got to hear about it, apparently she would have a fit; or so Da had said. It was shortly after this particular exposé on the part of his telltale sister, that Danny had shut Saiorse in the cupboard under the stairs.
Danny's opinion of his father then soared still higher, when having found out what had happened, Ma duly had the fit of which Da had spoken so prophetically, and which took the form of Ma being extremely angry with Da. Not that she stayed angry with him for long. She never did, for, when about an hour later Danny had ambled into the kitchen, it was to find Ma seated on Da's lap with her arms around his neck - in what Ma called "her favourite place". A few moments later, disturbed by the large amount of inexplicable banging coming from the cupboard under the stairs, when Ma found out the cause, she then had another fit, which again took the form of Ma being angry, but this time with Danny himself, causing Da to remark later, when Ma had gone off to work at the hospital, and he and Danny were out in the garage, that they had both been in the dog house, prompting Danny to ask what that was.
"Well son…"
Aged ten and nine respectively, the two boys had eventually emerged from the coolness of Mrs. Fry's still room decidedly worse for wear. There had been no problem finding the lemonade of which Robert had spoken so glowingly and once sampled it proved to be just as deliciously cooling as he said it would be. It was when the boys decided to sample the contents of some of the other bottles, and in particular one containing, on further inspection, a dark viscous coloured liquid marked "Elderberry 1929" that the problems really began.
It was sometime later before the two boys managed once again to successfully negotiate the rabbit warren of passages below stairs, young Robert's hitherto infallible sense of direction having unaccountably deserted him. "All these feckin passages look the same Dan" he said. Having heard Danny use the word "feckin" several time that afternoon, young Robert had decided he might just as well do the same. After the passages, came the flight of steps leading back up into the main hall of the abbey. According to Danny, during the subsequent parental inquisition," those feckin steps just kept moving Da", the two boys made their unexpected entrance into the hall just as their grand parents and parents arrived in precisely the same place in order to welcome the Right Reverend Edward Burroughs, the Bishop of Ripon, who had arrived unaccountably early for dinner. With Danny still clutching the now half empty bottle of Mrs. Fry's Elderberry 1929, the two happy, but decidedly tipsy boys emerged as if from nowhere, giving a noisy, spirited rendition of "Molly Malone" in their high-pitched treble voices, thereafter promptly collapsing on the floor in a heap in front of an appalled, startled prince of the church and their equally appalled, startled parents and grandparents.
The fact that Cora, then countess of Grantham was, at the time, Patron of the Downton and District Branch of the National Association for the Protection of Children from the Evils of Drink only served to make matters worse, especially when news of what had happened leaked out. Admittedly aimed at protecting the deprived children living in the slums in the East End of London and in other cities elsewhere in Great Britain from drunken parents, nonetheless, Cora considered her position to have become untenable and resigned her position as Patron of the Downton and District Branch of the aforementioned Association a week later.
Cora, Mary and Sybil continued to be utterly mortified by what had happened for some considerable time. However, once the two boys had both apologised and had been made to make proper restitution to Mrs. Fry for the havoc reached in her still room, Mr. Barrow having seen to it that the rascals were provided with two mops and several pails of hot soapy water specifically for the purpose, Robert, Matthew and Tom managed to see the funny side of what had ensued. For several weeks after the event, Robert who adored all his grand children but had a particular fondness for his eldest grandson, took to ribbing Tom mercilessly about an Irishman seemingly unable to take his drink. Tom took it all in good sport, but felt duty bound to correct his father-in-law on one point.
"Half Irish, actually! It's the English half of him that can't take his liquor!" said Tom with a laugh.
Author's Note:
Arthur J. Raffles, cricketer and gentleman thief, along with with his chronicler and partner in crime Harry "Bunny" Manders, were both fictional characters created by Ernest William Hornung (1866-1921) the brother-in-law of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Between 1898 and 1909, Hornung wrote some twenty six short stories and a novel featuring Raffles and Bunny, their exploits later being adapted for film, radio, stage and television.
At the time (1930) Edward Burroughs was indeed Bishop of Ripon and served as such from 1926 until his death in 1934.