Chapter Forty One
Three Musketeers, A Dog, And A Wheelbarrow Part III
Here, high in the Alps, at the dizzying height of some 2,000 metres in altitude, situated on the narrowest of rocky ledges and therefore wholly inaccessible to any predators, over the course of several weeks during the spring of this year, a large nest had been built. A huge, intricate construction formed meticulously from laboriously collected small branches and twigs and then lined thickly with grass, the latter serving to help keep the chicks, of which exceptionally this year there had been born a trio, warm and also to protect them from the harshness of the sun's rays.
Now, in a measured flapping of broad wings, one of a pair of adult golden eagles, the builders both of the nest and the parents of the afore-mentioned three chicks, rose slowly from off the narrow rocky ledge. A succession of deep wing beats, interspersed with short glides followed, as the eagle climbed effortlessly skywards, higher and higher into the pure alpine air where it soared on the wing, drifting effortlessly on a thermal rising upwards from the distant floor of the valley of Maurienne lying hundreds of feet below.
Even at this very great height, ever alert, ever watchful for the appearance of suitable prey with which to feed not only itself but also the voracious chicks, the sharp eyes of the eagle could detect all manner of movement be it of hare, rabbit, fox or even a young chamois. And, it was now, with the coming of daylight, detecting movement on the faint ribbon of road far below him in the vicinity where the previous evening he had lighted upon a plump chicken, in the hope of similar easy pickings, that the eagle dived earthwards to investigate.
Mary had regretted her outburst almost immediately the words were out of her mouth but it was not in her nature to apologise; at least not yet. Now, with Tom and Sybil and Edith having returned to their own compartments, Mary stood facing Matthew. There came a roar and a heavy train thundered past on the opposite line. Here in the confines of yet another tunnel the noise of its passage made all conversation momentarily impossible but the sound of the passing train rapidly died away and a minute or so later the Rome Express burst out of the tunnel and began the last part of their outward journey which would be made on French soil as it now headed towards Modane and the Italian border.
"So, what was all that about?" she asked frostily.
"All what?" responded Matthew.
"With the Chef de whatever?"
"The Chef de Bord? I was seeking to ascertain from Pierre exactly what happens at the Italian border. Obviously Edith did her best to worm that out of one of the stewards over dinner and now of course we all know the reason why".
"All the right people speak English," Mary said dismissively.
"The right people?" Matthew lofted an inquisitive brow. "Honestly, Mary. I know how you must be feeling but what you said to Sybil just now, that... that was inexcusable. Why, darling Sybil and Tom, let alone poor Edith, as if she didn't have enough trouble already, all three of them must be out of their minds with worry over their boys!"
"And do you think I'm not?"
"No, of course I don't".
"To blame Danny for all of this... You surely can't have forgotten Robert's impromptu expedition into Ripon last year? That was hardly Danny's fault, was it?"
"No, of course not!"
"In any event, we can do nothing about all of this, any of it, until we reach the border at Modane. And then, God knows!"
Mary nodded her head.
"Matthew, I'm not angry. Truly I'm not. It's not just Robert. I'm sure he's all right. Don't ask me how, but I'm certain he is! It's us, it's Papa... it's everything!" And, it was now that finally, Mary, countess of Grantham, did what she rarely ever did; she gave free rein to her emotions and burst into tears.
In one sense Matthew was right but to be scrupulously fair to Mary, her husband was being somewhat disingenuous. That young Robert's excursion into Ripon last summer could not be laid at the door of Danny was not strictly true.
As both their grand parents and parents were well aware, while they were apart, the two boys kept up a fairly regular correspondence. In the last letter he had written to his English cousin, Danny had made mention of the fact that the previous Saturday he had been allowed to travel by train into Dublin all on his own. What Danny omitted to say was that Ma, Saiorse and little Bobby had seen him off at the station at Blackrock and that Da was meeting him at the end of the line at Westland Row in Dublin, to take him on a visit to the National Museum at Leinster House.
As he grew older, young Robert Crawley's interests had likewise increased in number. Of course, he still had his lovingly maintained vegetable plot in the kitchen garden at Downton, a legacy of the family's visit to Dublin back in the summer of 1926 although, because of the continuing depredations caused by rabbits, much to his mother's distress, Robert had given up long ago trying to grow carrots.
In any event, since then, partly thanks to his dearly loved grandfather but also because of his own innate curiosity, other hobbies had claimed young Robert's interest as well: sketching, ornithology, philately, photography and, to his mother's amazement, following in the footsteps of his Aunt Edith, archaeology, to name but a few. In fact, by the time of his eleventh birthday, Robert had so many varied interests that his mother had ceased to try and keep up with them all.
In the summer of 1931 and which, although no-one knew it at the time, was the last that his beloved Grandps was ever to see, just after his eleventh birthday, and shortly before the Bransons arrived at Downton for their annual summer visit, Master Robert Crawley made a momentous decision. Availing himself of some of the money Granny Isobel had given him by way of a present, he decided to catch the local train from Downton into nearby Ripon where, after the summer holidays he was to begin school that autumn.
This, much as young Robert's steadfast refusal to ride to hounds, had been something of a bone of contention between his parents, with Matthew insisting that if his eldest son did not want to go fox hunting then so be it; as far as his sons were concerned, when the time came, Matthew could see no earthly reason why they should not be schooled locally.
Nonetheless, neither Robert's grandfather or his mother could understand why it was that the young boy didn't want to ride to hounds. After all, until a matter of a few years ago, his grandfather had done so regularly and Mary continued to do so herself. Of course, Matthew himself was not that keen rider and his wife suspected that might have something to do with it. As for the boys' schooling, Mary was firmly of the opinion that both boys should follow in their grandfather's footsteps and go up to Eton. In this her father privately concurred but wisely both he and Cora refused to become involved in the fraught matter as to where precisely the boys were to be schooled. That decision, they both were agreed, rested with the boys' parents. However, in the end, Matthew's view prevailed and on both counts. Robert, he said, was quite old enough to make his own decision about whether or not he went hunting and both boys would go to school in Ripon if for no other reason than the cost of sending them off to board at Eton was, prohibitive.
That sunny day, the reason which took young Robert, on his own, into Ripon had been quite simple: he wanted to see the new collection of fossils on display in the local museum, not only for himself but so that he could tell his grandfather, all about it. Like several of his other interests, that in fossils had been stimulated by Grandps who, several years earlier, had taken his eldest English grandson on a hike over to the long abandoned Hoare's Quarry which lay on the northern edge of the estate. Here, in the course of poking about in the scree, they had found a superb example of an ammonite. And with that young Robert's interest in paleontology was well and truly kindled.
The new exhibition at the museum in Ripon had been reported in the local paper and Robert's grandfather had promised to take him to see it. However, when the time came, much to his annoyance and young Robert's disappointment, the earl of Grantham was confined to his bed, insisting grumpily that his breathlessness was down to nothing more than the recent spell of hot weather. Privately Cora, Matthew and Mary were not so sure.
However, with Granny Cora insisting that his grandfather needed to rest, with his own father preoccupied with running the estate and the harvest about to begin and with Mama's constant social whirl, with Simon and little Rebecca under the watchful, vigilant eyes of Nanny Bridges, until the Bransons came over from Ireland in a few weeks' time, young Robert found himself left to his own devices. Not that he was lonely; far from it. Indeed, until Danny arrived, Robert was quite content mooching about the estate on his own and, it was while sitting alone in the bright summer sunshine on top of one of the mellow brick walls enclosing the kitchen garden, tossing pebbles down into a broken flower pot, that he came to his decision. If Danny could travel into Dublin on his own, then Robert would not be outdone; he would catch the mid morning train into Ripon, inspect the exhibition, eat his packed lunch in the shadow of the cathedral, catch the afternoon train back to Downton and tell Grandps all about it. That would, he knew, cheer up "the old boy", as Danny fondly referred to their grandfather, enormously.
With Grandps being laid up in bed and with Simon and little Rebecca eating their midday meal up in the day nursery, when young Robert did not appear for luncheon in the dining room with his parents and grandmother, no-one immediately thought anything of it. Until that was, Barrow let slip the fact that earlier that same morning Master Robert had been down in the kitchen after breakfast to ask if one of the kitchen maids would make him up some sandwiches and if he might have a bottle of ginger beer and, apparently, had said something about going into Ripon on the eleven o'clock train. With the veracity of this being established and with there still being no sign of young Robert, all hell broke loose.
Cora, Matthew and Mary were all unanimously agreed that nothing should be said so as to alarm Robert's grandfather. Nonetheless, an urgent telephone was put through at once from the Abbey to the local constabulary in Downton, followed by Police Constable Thwaites bicycling post haste up to the great house; enquiries being put in hand thereafter down at the railway station in the village where it transpired that, yes, earlier that morning Master Robert Crawley had indeed bought a Third Class Return to Ripon. At the time, Matthew was not quite sure whether Mary was more appalled that Robert had gone off on his own to Ripon or that he had travelled Third Class in order to do so. Further enquiries in Ripon led to the apprehension of the missing Robert at the city's museum and to him being put forthwith on the very next train back to Downton in the charge of Albert Yeomans, a tenant farmer from off the estate, who happened to be at the railway station, having been in Ripon for the market, and also with the prospect of having to do a very great deal of explaining to both his worried parents.
When she had begun to cry, Matthew had drawn her forward into his arms; was holding her close.
"I'm sorry. Whatever must you think of me? I don't know where that came from". Mary sniffed heavily, then took out a dainty lace trimmed handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
She saw her husband smile down at her.
"What?"
"I was just thinking, the last time you spoke those very same words to me. Twelve years ago, on the very eve of our wedding when you suggested that we call the whole thing off. He saw that she too was thinking back, perhaps like himself remembering that it was Tom who had helped save the day. Evidently she did.
"And darling Tom came riding to the rescue!" Mary smiled wanly.
Matthew grinned. The image that conjured up, of Tom on horseback, was too ridiculous for words.
"Yes, he did. Given all the circumstances, may I suggest that we try and make ourselves a little more comfortable?"
Gently, Matthew took Mary's arm and she let him guide her not to the nearest pair of chairs but through into the adjoining compartment. He was grateful that when he suggested they both sit down, on the bed, that Mary did not object.
"Well..." He looked quizzically at his wife while she wiped her eyes once again and waited for her to continue.
"Matthew, I may give the impression to all the others, even to you, that I'm aloof, cold, uncaring..."
She saw his blue eyes twinkle; chose to ignore the faintest of smiles which played about the corners of his mouth.
"The truth is, Matthew, this... this new world... which all four of you seem to inhabit with such ease, darling Sybil with both her hands more than full juggling her life between the demands of her family and her nursing; dearest Tom having reached the position he has with his journalism and his involvement with politics over there in the Free State; Edith constantly flitting round the globe out to her excavations in the Near East, to Berlin, to Vienna, teaching herself to speak several languages, even learning how to fly, and you my darling, with your attendance at the Lords, your work at the League, let alone your preoccupation with running the estate, your involvement with the tenants, the farms..."
Matthew laughed out loud. He reached gently forward and took her hand.
"I don't know that I'd call it a preoccupation, darling! All I want is to ensure that when Robert finally inherits Downton, he has something that is in good shape".
"I can understand that". Mary nodded, smiled weakly.
"Then..."
"What I said just a minute ago, about the others, about you. Somehow it frightens me. Does that sound foolish? I feel... that the world I knew and loved, with all its certainties has ceased to exist. The old life, was it all so very wrong? And, while all of you have moved with the times, I feel... It's as though... I don't belong anymore. All I have to latch on to are you and the children. So, when someone I care about, someone I... love deeply like Robert, is threatened, I..."
She fell silent. Never had Matthew seen her look more abject, more at a loss. He slipped his arm gently about her shoulders.
"About Edith's little boy. Mary, I do know that you're worried that our children might too..." He paused. "I'm certain that isn't the case," he said softly.
"But what if you're wrong?"
"What if I'm right?" Matthew smiled. He drew her into his arms. "My darling, I still want you, so very much".
"And I you. Matthew, I know how much I've hurt you..."
Mary knew how upset he had been when she had banished him to the dressing room. Whether Tom knew all about it, she didn't know; she thought it likely that he did. After all, the two of them were as close as brothers. The estrangement between Mary and Matthew had nothing whatsoever to do with the view he had taken of Robert's refusal to go hunting; nor had it anything really to do with their differing views as to where the boys should be schooled. She could see it made sense that the boys were not sent away and went to the grammar school in Ripon but it was another chipping away of the edifice of the world Mary had known.
So far, she had not found it in her to try and explain to him the real reason which lay behind what she had done earlier in the year. How could she, when... And then, when Mary herself found out that what had given rise to it all had arisen out of a stupid misunderstanding on her part over that letter which had arrived at Downton from the comtesse de Roquebrune in Geneva, she hadn't known what on earth to do. Something to do with her Crawley pride she supposed. How could she have ever doubted him? Why, other than darling Tom, Matthew was the most honourable man she knew. But, now was not the time for explanations and, at least for the time being, all that would have to wait.
"I do understand, Mary. Rather more than you may think". And as his kiss deepened, it was only all too obvious that, as indeed he always did, Matthew spoke the plain unvarnished truth.
Many hundreds of metres below the swiftly diving eagle and completely oblivious to its presence or what it was that had attracted its attention, here, a matter of a few kilometres southwards from the station at St. Jean de Maurienne, the three boys had now reached an isolated level crossing. A little earlier, having been unable to make anyone aware of their predicament at the deserted, lamp lit station, they had set off slowly along the motor road and which they found, in climbing its way through the valley, for the most part, at least hereabouts, followed the same route as the railway line.
Since leaving the station, where a solitary blue and white enamel road sign had pointed them clearly in the direction of "Modane, 31", unwilling to risk Fritz running off again and in order to give young Max's arms a rest, they had taken it in turns to carry the little dog. Until, that was, Danny, who like his Da was an inveterate collector of all manner of odds and ends and which as Danny knew only too well drove Ma to near distraction, suddenly remembered the length of twine he had balled in one of the pockets of his shorts.
"There you are, Rob. I told you this would come in useful one day for sure".
Kneeling on the ground beside Fritz, Danny Branson glanced up happily at his best friend and English cousin, at the same time fondling the little dog's head. Then, satisfied that all was in order, well-pleased with his own handiwork, Danny rose quickly to his feet, at the same time giving into Max's hands the free end of the twine, which he had doubled and knotted and then doubled again so as to give it greater strength.
The young Austrian boy looked thoughtfully for a moment at the improvised leash and then nodded his head in acknowledgement of his Irish cousin's efforts on his behalf.
"Danke!" Max smiled broadly, while Fritz, delighted to now be able to trot along the road, barked his equal delight; blissfully unaware that he was, in effect, the author of their present predicament and of course equally ignorant of all the trouble he had caused.
A moment later, and with little Fritz, his claws clicking on the surface of the road pattering happily along beside them on the improvised long lead attached to his smart red leather collar, they all set off again. In an attempt to buoy their increasingly low spirits and beginning with "It's A Long Way To Tipperary", they began singing a succession of songs and in which even Max, unfamiliar as he was with the words, did his very best to participate.
Even before they had reached the end of the road leading to the station forecourt, for all his attempts at stoicism and to pull his weight, which drew admiration from his cousins, it had become abundantly clear that young Max would not be able to walk very far. Having made halting progress, with dawn now fast breaking,they had now arrived, not that they knew it, at the isolated level crossing at le Vieux Bourg.
Danny looked at Robert and shook his head despondently.
"We can't go any further, Rob. Not like this. Max is all in". The words were scarcely out of his mouth when almost in the same instant both Danny and Robert caught sight of the wooden wheelbarrow, to all intents and purposes abandoned, lying on its side at the edge of the road.
"Problem solved!" exclaimed Danny.
"But it must belong to somebody," observed Robert thoughtfully.
"Finders keepers!" laughed Danny. "Anyway, they don't need it now for sure".
Having righted the wheelbarrow, they helped Max clamber in and sit down with little Fritz seated on his lap. Then, with Danny and Rob taking hold of a handle each, the strange cavalcade of three boys, a dachshund and a wheelbarrow, set off along the road in the early morning light.
However, they had not gone more than a few hundred metres when they were brought to a sudden halt by an angry shout and the sound of booted feet pounding along the cobbled road behind them.
"Hé! Vous! La brouette! C'est a moi! Restez là où vous êtes! Au voleur!