Chapter Forty Eight
A Severe Case Of Indigestion
After having met Friedrich for the first time and then gone into dinner, Tom and Sybil's surprise announcement, about the forthcoming addition to their family, had been met with heartfelt congratulations from everyone else seated there at the polished mahogany table in the ornate, panelled, candlelit dining room of the Villa San Callisto. Thereafter, during the meal, as the conversation ebbed and flowed, both the Bransons and the Crawleys gradually became better acquainted with Edith's fiancé, Friedrich von Schönborn, who proved to be a good conversationalist and a convivial guest.
Under the ever watchful but paradoxically the equally sightless gaze of white marble busts of Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius, known to history as the "Five Good Emperors" and of whom even Tom, arch Irish republican that he was, might well have approved, dinner had been served. Commencing with a mouth watering selection of hors d'oeuvres which included Grapefruit Maraschino, Parma and Westphalia Ham and Smoked Salmon, followed by Cold Consommé, then Trout Grenobloise and Beef Wellington both cooked to perfection and served with fresh green peas and boiled new chateau potatoes, the meal itself proved excellent; added to which, much to Matthew's delight, here in Florence, the Ashingtons also kept a very good cellar.
In the immediate aftermath of the end both of the Great War and her ill-starred engagement to Sir Anthony Strallan, well away from the stifling, stultifying conventions of life as it was then lived at Downton Abbey, determinedly and quite single-mindedly, Lady Edith Crawley had set about carving out a new existence for herself. Thereafter, as the years passed, by the dint of her own labours, she had become accepted in her own right as an accomplished archaeologist by the likes of Howard Carter, Gertrude Bell and the Christies, all but fluent in several foreign languages, a seasoned traveller in the Near East in the course of which she had become an expert horsewoman much more so than Sybil who never liked horses or even for that matter Mary, and had learned how to fly.
It was as Innocenti and the footman began serving them all their second course that, happening to glance in Friedrich's direction to where he was chatting enthusiastically with Tom, if for no-one else seated around the table that evening, for Sybil being the undeniably perceptive woman that she was, it was not at all difficult to see why it was that Edith had instantly found Friedrich to be so attractive. For, despite only having met him for the very first time but a short while ago, it was obvious from whom young Max derived his good looks. Undeniably handsome, possessed of much the same sort of colouring as Tom, sandy haired with greyish-green eyes that seemed alight with mischief; charming, with immaculate manners, rather self-assured although given his background and lineage this was hardly surprising, Friedrich was not only intelligent, well spoken with an excellent command of English but he was equally very well informed on a whole variety of contrasting subjects.
If, for reasons best known to herself, Mary remained somewhat aloof, tonight Matthew was playing his part of the evening's host to perfection; warmly welcoming Friedrich into the bosom of the family, made easier by the earl of Grantham's easy-going charm and their shared aristocratic background even if Friedrich's was by right of birth and his own only by the accident of inheritance occasioned by the loss of a life claimed by the icy waters of the North Atlantic, along with both of them having fought for their own country, albeit on opposing sides, during the Great War.
The Trout Grenobloise was truly excellent and it was as Matthew asked that their compliments be conveyed to the cook that, from the other end of the long table, happening to glance in his wife's direction, he had caught Mary looking seemingly distracted although in the soft glow of candlelight it seemed that no-one else seated around the table had caught the present, wistful appearance of the countess of Grantham. And, Matthew was right: Mary was in a contemplative mood.
Why it was she had chosen to react precisely the way she had this evening when she and Friedrich had met for the first time in nearly twenty years remained a mystery, even to Mary herself but then wasn't so much in life was just that: a mystery? Thank heavens for darling Tom who, seated opposite Friedrich, was tonight, as he had done several times in the past, once again proving to be her saviour; just as he had been all those years ago on that long gone summer's afternoon in Dublin shortly before the bomb had exploded outside the Shelbourne Hotel.
She recalled she had told Tom exactly that, later that same day, standing close to Nelson's Pillar on Sackville Street, after they had all ridden down on the tram together into the city something which in doing so she had surprised herself as much as the others; remembered too how she had slipped off her glove, had opened her purse and had taken out a silver sixpence. Then, her eyes had been like quicksilver, alive in equal measure with both amusement and pleasure. Reaching forward she had placed the small coin in Tom's palm, closing his fingers upon it within her own.
"Here".
"Why, whatever for?" he had asked her, obviously genuinely mystified.
"For luck and for being my guide to Dublin! What else?" She had laughed and had then become serious although her voice had grown ever softer, even tender. "But... for being... for being so much more than that. For loving Sybil the way you do, for what you did for Edith, for what you did for the both of them today at the hotel, while I ..." She had paused, her eyes shimmering in the glow of lamplight. He had waited while she had recovered herself; had nodded gently, thanking him silently for his innate understanding. "...while I was off... sightseeing in the park". She had swallowed hard, fighting desperately to keep her composure.
Tom had smiled.
"But, also for what you did for me as well".
"What I did for you? But I did nothing," he had said wonderingly.
"Yes you did Tom, although you may not have realised it".
"But even so, surely, I should be thanking you. For what you did for me".
At that, she had shaken her head; had placed her forefinger gently across his lips.
"No, Tom. Helping you at the hotel? That, at least for me, was the easy part. What I mean is for... for saving me... from myself. For making me see that I've been so wrong about you, in fact so very wrong... about so many things. That what really matters in life is not what position a person is born into, but what they are like in here". She had brought Tom's hand to rest over her heart.
"You understand, don't you?"
He had nodded; clearly understood the nature of her true torment.
"You understand everything. Sybil is so very, very lucky to be marrying you. Whatever comes, be assured you have both my love and support now... and always. I'm so very proud to have you for my brother-in-law. God bless you, darling Tom". At that she had reached up and gently kissed his cheek. At the touch of her lips, he had blushed scarlet; his eyes misted with tears.
"I suppose, I'd better go and find that cab," he said huskily.
"Yes, I suppose you should. Now where on earth is Sybil?"
At that, she had turned away from Tom, not trusting any longer to be able to keep her own emotions in check.
"Ah, there she is," she had said, catching sight of Sybil standing but a short distance away chatting animatedly with Edith. So saying, she had turned on her heel and made her way briskly over to join her two sisters.
And, later, after Tom and Sybil were married, when they were all on the quayside in Kingstown saying their goodbyes before she and Edith sailed for England on board the S.S. Ulster, if it had not been for Tom daring to put into words what Mary herself knew to be true, then she and Matthew might never have married, they would not have three children and she would not be countess of Grantham.
"You may think it presumptuous of me, and now may not be the best of times, but, may I give you some advice?" had asked Tom. Letting go of her hands and placing his own firmly on her shoulders, he had gazed directly at her, causing her to think once again how deep a blue were his eyes.
"Said the millstone to the barley?" Recovering her outward composure and covering Tom's hands with her own, she had smothered a half laugh. "Well, Tom if you must ..."
"Don't marry Carlisle. You deserve better than him ... You deserve to be happy".
At that she had coloured; gasped at his words.
"Tom, darling, you don't know what you're saying. If only it were that simple".
"Trust me, Mary, it is. Whatever you may think you owe him, whatever hold you may think that he has over you ..."
"How could you possibly know that?" The colour had faded swiftly from her cheeks.
"So, the rumours I've heard over here are true then".
"What rumours?" she had asked, aghast, recalling that there had been a sudden edge to her voice.
"Oh, nothing solid - merely that amongst other things, having made his fortune in the newspaper business, obtained his knighthood for ... how shall I term it ... services rendered to the Crown ... here in Ireland ... he has connections with the British administration in Dublin Castle, with the Irish Times ... Sir Richard is seeking to ... How was it I heard someone say? Oh yes "consolidate his position" by marrying into the ranks of the English aristocracy … to assist in the maintenance of an ancient house …"
"Consolidate his position? Assist in the maintenance of an ancient house? How presumptuous of him! But then, oh how very like Sir Richard Carlisle," she had said bitterly. "If only you knew but I thank you for your concern, truly I do".
He had released his hold on her; for a moment had eyed her curiously.
"If ever I can be of any help to you, Mary ..."
"You already have, Tom. More than you could possibly know. Thank you. And when I said ... that I was very proud to have you as my brother-in-law, rest assured, I meant it".
"From where we started, we've come a long way, haven't we?" said Tom and smiled.
At that she had nodded; smiled broadly back at him, and then had surprised both herself and Tom as leaning forward, she had kissed him gently on both his cheeks.
"Take care of yourself, Tom".
"You too, Mary".
There was nothing more to be said, and but a moment or two later, she and Edith had walked slowly up the narrow, wooden floored gangway leading to the gently heaving deck of the Ulster.
This evening, here in the Fiesole Hills overlooking Florence, once again it was darling Tom who had ridden to her rescue, this time on the most unlikely of chargers: the Japanese invasion the previous year of far distant Manchuria. In their discussion of the matter, Tom and Friedrich had found themselves to be in complete agreement; that the war in the Far East had severely compromised the authority of the League of Nations, showing the organisation to be powerless should a strong nation decided to invade another country; a view which was also shared by Matthew.
However, now between mouthfuls of succulent Beef Wellington and a glass of Château de Haut Brion 1926, it was the present political situation here in Europe about which Tom was chatting just as animatedly with Friedrich von Schönborn. From the approving nods and obviously sincere remarks proffered by Friedrich, along with further considered interjections offered by Matthew from the far end of the table, it was quite evident that Tom was extremely well informed. Bemused, almost imperceptibly, Mary shook her head. While much of what was now being discussed went over her head, long ago, even before they were married, Sybil had told her that Tom was both very intelligent and well informed. Now, all these years later, quite how it was that Sybil alone had been able to see Tom's true worth still remained a mystery to Mary.
Even so, with Tom and Friedrich deep in discussion over the machinations of Herr Hitler in Germany at least this meant that thankfully she was spared from having to make more than the occasional passing remark to Edith's fiancé. With this thought now uppermost in her mind, feeling very kindly disposed towards Tom, Mary bestowed upon her Irish brother-in-law a dazzling smile. Sensing her eyes upon him, Tom turned to look at her. Clearly flustered by the warmth of her smile, he blushed and ducked his head in that endearing manner of his and which, notwithstanding the fact that he and Sybil had been married for over twelve years and he was the father of three children, always made him look so young and vulnerable.
"Mary, I'm forgetting my manners! I was getting quite carried away there for sure!" Tom grinned broadly at her. "This really is delicious!" He nodded at his plate and its rapidly diminishing portion of Beef Wellington.
"We both were," observed Friedrich. "Nonetheless, it is a very great pleasure to meet with someone who is so well informed".
Tom smiled.
"Thank you. Even so, I've been rather neglectful of Mary".
"We both have"; this again from Friedrich. He nodded at her although his smile was not returned.
"Oh, don't mind me Tom!" Mary smiled warmly at him. "Just like you and Matthew, I'm sure the two of you have a very great deal to talk about. Besides which, most of it goes over my head anyway!" She dabbed daintily at the corner of her mouth with her napkin; glanced down the table, heard Sybil saying something to Matthew and Edith about Tom proposing to hire a motor. Mary grimaced. With his love of speed, having recently had another couple of close shaves on the roads around Downton, she hoped most sincerely that Matthew did not harbour any similar plans especially since, now recalling fragments of a conversation she had recently had with young Robert, that over here in Italy they drove on the opposite side of the road.
At the same time, Mary saw Edith incline her head. The crown of her magnificent tiara flashed and glittered in the soft glow of candlelight; saw too Edith glance in Friedrich's direction and bestow a radiant smile upon him. Both the tiara and that smile rankled with Mary; she reached for her glass of wine. It was her considered opinion that in any delicate situation Edith could always be relied upon to put her foot in it and in the most artless, guileless and tactless of ways. And, true to form, singularly unaware as she undoubtedly was of the sensitivity of tonight's situation, this evening's dinner party proved to be no exception.
Edith's eyes now alighted on Tom and, giving him an equally warm smile, began chatting to him about his intention to hire a motor, thus for the present diverting his attention away from Friedrich.
"Tom, darling, Sybil says you're thinking of hiring a motor and driving her and the children up into the hills tomorrow?" asked Edith, turning his attention from Friedrich.
Tom nodded his head.
"Yes, for tomorrow or perhaps the day after, for sure. That's if it can be arranged".
"I'm sure that it can. I expect someone down at the pensione would be able to assist; unless, of course, Innocenti knows of someone?" She looked questioningly in the direction of the butler.
"Sì, signore". The Italian nodded, smiled affably; spread his hands expansively and, eager to please, said that he did and that he would make the necessary enquiries and if the signore would decide precisely when it was that he wanted the motor, he would put in hand the arrangements for one to be placed at his disposal.
"Capital idea, Tom!" observed Matthew. He looked questioningly down the table at Mary who, realising what it was that he was suggesting, shook her head emphatically.
"Do you drive?" asked Friedrich.
"I beg your pardon?" asked Mary as Innocenti and the footman began serving the dessert course.
"I asked if you have learned how to drive?" repeated Friedrich.
"No, of course not".
"Why of course not?" persisted Friedrich.
"Because we have a chauffeur. That's why not," said Mary flatly. She saw Tom do his best to smother a smile. "In any case, Sybil doesn't know how to drive either".
"I assume she doesn't have a chauffeur?" asked Friedrich, clearly amused.
"I suppose… in a manner of speaking… yes, she does".
Mary now turned her head and glanced at Tom who was presently applying himself with gusto to his dessert which Innocenti had informed him was called tiramisu; a delicious coffee-flavoured Italian pudding which had in it some kind of cheese or so the butler had said. Perhaps he had misunderstood what it was he had been told because it was unlike any cheese which Tom had ever tasted back in Ireland.
"In a manner of speaking?"
"This is incredibly yummy!" Tom licked his lips.
"Better than Mrs. Patmore's trifle?" asked Edith with a merry laugh from the other end of the table.
"Well, almost! Tom winked and grinned back at her.
"In a manner of speaking?" repeated Friedrich evidently still puzzled.
"What Mary means is me!" laughed Tom.
He had been on the point of explaining not that he had been in service as a chauffeur something which, from a conversation he had had with Edith on the Rome Express, he knew she had told Friedrich about a very long time ago, but rather that after Sybil and he were married on several occasions down the years he had tried to teach her how to drive. That each attempt had ended miserably and in failure with him coming close to losing his temper and Sybil in tears over her inability to master what others did with seemingly effortless ease. However in this Mary forestalled him.
"You don't count!" She smiled.
"Given the fact that she lives in Dublin I would assume that the need for Sybil to learn how to drive has never arisen," offered Friedrich.
"What has need to do with it?"
"Well, I would venture to suggest that as in all capital cities be it in Vienna or in London, it is possible for a citizen to catch a tram, a train or else walk. I would presume it is the same for those living in Dublin?"
Tom nodded his head.
"Perfectly. When Sybil's on duty at the hospital, she usually takes the train into town for sure".
"Have you ever ridden on a tram?" Friedrich cocked an inquisitive eye at Mary.
"As a matter of fact, it may surprise you, but, yes, I have; when Edith and I were over in Dublin for Tom and Sybil's wedding".
Chatting amiably, the four of them had been strolling along the north side of St. Stephen's Green, in the warm glow of a summer's evening sunshine. For the time being at least, if only for the present, all thought of what had happened at the Shelbourne but a matter of hours before was laid aside. Tom and Sybil were arm in arm, with Mary and Edith following close behind, all three women keeping to a deliberately slow pace, very mindful about what the doctor had said about Tom not over exerting himself unduly after the savage beating meted out to him at the hands of constables of the Dublin Metropolitan Police.
"Do you really mean it? You'll actually do it?" had asked Sybil with a grin, casting a backwards glance over her shoulder, unable to conceal her incredulity at what Mary had just said.
"Darling, why of course I do; whatever makes you think I meant otherwise?"
"Well, it's just that I never ever thought I'd see you, of all people, riding on a public tram!"
"Neither did I!" exclaimed Edith.
"Then, perhaps neither one of you knows me as well as you seem to think you do!"
"Obviously not but then isn't that true of any one of us? Do any of us really know each other the way we think we do?" had asked Edith.
With Edith's prescient parting words ringing in her ears as clearly as when she had first spoken them back in Dublin in the summer of 1919, it was Friedrich's voice which now brought Mary back to the present and this evening's dinner party here at the Villa San Callisto.
"Ah, yes. I remember Edith telling me… But I somehow doubt you would have ever considered doing something like that … before".
Perhaps it was nerves, maybe it was something else but Mary didn't see the trap which Friedrich had set for her.
"Before? Before what?" she asked in all innocence.
"Why, before the war. Oddly enough, I seem to remember asking a young English lady I chanced to meet at a ball given at our embassy in Belgrave Square in the summer of 1914 whether she had ever travelled on a tram".
"And had she?" asked Tom, evidently amused.
"From what I recall of our brief conversation, she said she wouldn't be seen dead on one".
At that, Tom pricked up his ears. He chuckled, turned his head and smiled at Mary.
"It wasn't you, was it Mary?"
But Mary didn't answer him.
In fact, she seemed not even to have heard his question.
In fact, she had but, instead of responding, she had drifted off, was hearing once again the gay, infectiously foot tapping strains of Strauss's Radetsky March, the cheering of the crowds of people lining the pavement; found herself thinking back once again to that long gone afternoon at the Shelbourne Hotel in Dublin.
Branson was now asking her something else about their journey here from the railway station. Well, she thought that was just the kind of ridiculous question one would expect, from the likes of a former chauffeur. Studiously, she said nothing in reply.
"The hotel sent both a driver and motor over for us," said Edith by way of explanation.
"A concept with which I'm sure Branson is very familiar," she said, coolly sarcastic.
"If you'd both taken the tram from the station, you could have seen more of Dublin on your way here," said Sybil brightly.
"And why should I want to do that? I've seen quite enough of Dublin - from the motor. And as for travelling by tram, well I ..."
"Aren't they awfully crowded?" interrupted Edith.
"Sometimes, but you get used to that".
"How utterly ghastly!"
"You've been on one then Sybil?" Edith sounded intrigued but then, she would.
"Why of course; we use them all the time. Don't we, Tom?"
Branson smiled and nodded his head in confirmation of the fact.
"Yes. We both travel in to Dublin, from Clontarf, on the tram each morning. Then back out there again in the evening, either on our own, or else together. Of course, it rather depends on Syb's shifts at the Coombe and also what comes up at the paper. Sometimes I have to work late".
Work late? Syb? Syb? Never once had she ever heard anyone call her sister that. If granny or her parents heard Branson do so, they would be utterly appalled.
"I would like to have taken a ride on a tram. All those hundreds and hundreds of people, from a wide variety of both backgrounds and places … off on their different journeys," said Edith sounding almost wistful.
"Well, if you'd really like to, Edith …, before Sybil and I take the tram back out to Clontarf later this evening, we could all do that. Take a ride down to the Pillar and back; just for fun. What about it?" Branson suggested.
"Yes, let's!" said Sybil enthusiastically.
"Pillar? What's that?" asked Edith genuinely mystified.
"The tall column. Down on Sackville Street. Both of you must have seen it from the motor. The one with the statue of Nelson on top. All the tram lines in Dublin meet there," Branson explained.
"Oh, so that's what it was. I did wonder. Yes, I saw it," said Edith.
"Well, I suppose it's another way for you to try and find a beau". She looked pointedly at Edith. "Mind you, I expect they're all crammed full of bank clerks, insurance salesmen, commercial travellers and other riff raff". She shot a meaningful glance at Branson, before turning back to Edith. "Mind you, I suppose you can't afford to be too choosy when it comes to finding a husband". Clearly her withering observation had struck home and found its target as Edith looked utterly crestfallen. She saw Sybil reach across the table and squeeze her gloved hand.
"Personally, I wouldn't be seen dead on a tram".
"There's very little chance of that," Branson said.
"Meaning what, if you please?"
"That the tramway company here in Dublin is rather particular about the kind of person to whom it permits its tickets to be sold. If it wasn't, they'd be having all kinds of, what was it you said? Oh yes, riffraff getting on and off their cars".
She heard Sybil stifle a giggle, saw Edith bestow on Branson a smile of singular sweetness and then asked her if she would like another cup of tea.
"I've taken tea," she said tersely.
"So, how do you find Dublin?" Branson asked. He really was quite infuriating.
"Look for it on a map?"
"That's not what I meant," he said. "And well you know it".
"Do I?" She gazed steadfastly out of the window.
"Yes you do. And if you had one ounce of the breeding you think you possess, you'd stop behaving like a spoilt child," said Branson his voice rising.
Turning her head, she saw Sybil and Edith exchange meaningful glances. Apart from Papa, no-one had ever spoken to her in so peremptory a fashion. She became aware that people near to them had begun to cease talking, to stop what they were saying, and to turn their heads in the direction of their table.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard what I said … Mary," said Branson icily. His impertinence was quite breath-taking. That he, of his own volition, should choose this moment, and in public too, to arrogantly presume such familiarity and to dispense with her title was quite disgraceful. Even Sybil who was so besotted with the low born creature was appalled.
"Tom, you promised," she began and reached out a restraining hand.
"I know, love. But once and for all this nonsense has got to stop!"
"I won't have anyone make a fool of me".
"No need to worry about that," said Branson. "You're doing an admirably good job of it all by yourself".
"Well really! This is quite intolerable". She rose haughtily to her feet. "I think I shall do better in the park".
It was then that all four became suddenly and painfully aware that the quiet murmur of conversation in the elegant dining room had ceased. From all corners of the now silent room people were watching them, listening, waiting on their every word, while from outside, there drifted in through the open windows, the unmistakeable foot tapping, rousing strains of the Radetzky March.
In a display of perfect good manners, which, given the circumstances, their father and Matthew would have been hard put to emulate, Branson also stood up, earning him a look of admiration from both Edith and Sybil.
For her part, Mary looked absolutely appalled. Indeed, for one awful moment, she thought Branson intended to accompany her over to the park. Then realisation slowly dawned upon her. Ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, she inclined her head towards him, acknowledging, despite their recent heated exchange, the respect which the former chauffeur had just accorded her.
"Thank you. But I can find my own way there … and back".
And with that and without so much of a backward glance, ignoring the silent, studied gaze of everyone else who had chosen that very afternoon to partake of tea in the elegant dining room of the Shelbourne Hotel, Lady Mary Crawley swept imperiously out of the room, bound for St. Stephen's Green.
"I didn't realise you were at your embassy in London," said Matthew clearly surprised.
Friedrich nodded his head in confirmation.
"As military attaché, yes. But only briefly; in fact, I'd scarcely arrived in London before the assassination of His Imperial and Royal Highness Archduke Franz Ferdinand. When but a matter of weeks later war broke out between our two countries I returned home to Austria".
Matthew nodded.
"An appalling business that. And given what followed..."
But as it turned out, Matthew was destined never to finish what he was about to say. In fact a moment later dinner was interrupted and the evening completely demolished. Quite why it was that she chose to say what she said, Mary had no idea. Perhaps it was something to do with that damned tiara and the beatific smile of singular sweetness that she saw Edith bestow in Friedrich's direction and which she wanted to wipe off her younger sister's face forever. Then again, maybe it was neither of these two things and something else entirely.
"Actually, Tom, it was me".
"Was you what?" Tom sounded mystified.
"Who told Friedrich that I wouldn't be seen dead on a tram". She turned to Friedrich. "But as I just told you, after the war I rode on one over in Dublin". Mary smiled a thin smile. "So you see, I've changed".
There was a moment's silence while those around the table began to digest the implication of what it was Mary had just said.
"What do you mean you told Friedrich?" asked Edith haltingly.
"Exactly that".
"You hadn't met him until tonight. So I don't see how you could possibly..."
"Really? You know Edith, sometimes you can be remarkably naïve". Mary spoke like someone holding a trump card.
"And what did you mean when you said that you'd changed? Why should Friedrich think that of you?" asked Edith. "Unless…" Her eyes flicked from Mary to Friedrich and then back again. "My God!" she exclaimed with realisation suddenly dawning. "You two know each other! And from before tonight. Friedrich, darling, please tell me it isn't true!"
Friedrich shook his head. This was not how he had intended it to be.
"We met but briefly. Before the war. Three times in fact. A harmless flirtation. Nothing more than that, I assure you. At the time your sister went under an assumed name".
"How like her!" Edith now rounded on Mary. "And you! You never thought to tell me?"
"There was nothing to tell. Besides which I'd forgotten his name. A momentary distraction," said Mary dismissively. She had an absolute penchant for making a bad situation infinitely worse.
"So you say. Why should I believe you?"
"Because it's the truth".
"The truth? From you? Of all people! From someone who had a man die in her bed and then tried to cover it up? From someone who had a succession of affairs with half the foreign diplomats in London?"
"Edith, I don't think that's entirely fair…" began Matthew but Edith was in no mood to be silenced. She waved her hand at him dismissively. "Someone who then did her very best to wreck darling Tom and Sybil's engagement. The truth? Let's try and keep this conversation in the realms of the faintly believable, shall we?"
There was now another moment of absolute stillness. Appalled by what had happened, by what he saw in Edith's eyes, Friedrich rose and made to move towards her and, as he did so, it fell to Edith to break the pall of silence that had descended upon the room.
"Don't come near me!" she warned. Friedrich could only stand and watch as Edith now turned and vented her full spleen on Mary. "How could you? You're an absolute bitch! You ruin everything!" A moment later, in floods of tears, Edith had fled the dining room.
Later that same evening, after they had both undressed and made ready for bed with Tom for once having forgone his customary habit of wearing his vest, so as to admit what little there was by way of coolness in the night air he had thrown open wide the shutters to their bedroom. Even so, the room, now redolent with the scent of pine from the trees outside the window, still remained uncomfortably warm and save for a single sheet they had thrown back the rest of the covers.
As was usually the case, both Tom and Sybil were in complete agreement about the matter in question. Thinking back over what had happened Tom had said that, despite the wholly unexpected revelation that Mary and Friedrich had met briefly years ago, in London, before the war, there was no need whatsoever for matters to have turned out as they had. What still remained a mystery to each of them was why, after this evening had started so well, and with so much promise, things had come to the pass they all found themselves in now.
Lying together in the ornately carved bed, with Sybil's head resting comfortably on his shoulder and with his hands clasped behind his head, Tom lay staring up at the high ceiling while his wife's fingers, feather light, traced a pattern of ever decreasing circles among the soft downy mat of hair upon his chest. In the stillness, close at hand, a bird trilled and from somewhere in the distance there came the sound of a motor. At length, hearing him sigh, raising her head, Sybil glanced up and waited for Tom to speak.
"Penny for them, my love," she asked when he had remained uncharacteristically silent.
"Darlin' they're not even worth that for sure". Tom sighed again. Slipping an arm about her, he pulled her close; something that never failed to reassure her, which made her feel so completely loved and so utterly safe.
"I do so wish…" she began.
"Wish what?" he asked quietly, placing his free hand gently and protectively on the soft swell of her belly.
"That everyone we love could be as happy as we are".
"After tonight's grandstand performance, I think that's rather a forlorn hope, don't you?"
For a moment, Sybil said nothing. She knew that Tom had no intention to be unkind. It was not in his nature; that however unpalatable it was, he spoke the plain unvarnished truth.
"We've been incredibly lucky, you and I haven't we?" She snuggled closer to him.
"We have for sure".
"You know, that first time, when we returned to Downton after we were married, the night of the fire, after dinner, Mary asked me… if I ever regretted it".
"It?"
"My marrying you".
"And have you?"
"No, never. Not for one single moment".
"That's very reassuring to hear for sure!" Although it was dark, from the tone of his voice, she could well imagine that even now an unseen self-satisfied grin was spreading across his handsome features.
"Have you?" she asked haltingly.
"Have I what?"
"Regretted it? Marrying me".
"Never!" His answer came promptly and emphatically. "Sybil, darlin', I've said it before, I absolutely adore you. I'll love you forever; even after the angels call us both home". A minute later, she felt his lips brush the top of her head and for a moment each was so overcome with emotion that neither of them spoke.
"So, what do you think will happen now?" asked Sybil softly.
"God knows. I don't".
Author's note:
Japan had invaded Manchuria in July 1931.
The Ashingtons must have kept a very good cellar indeed. In 2015 a single bottle of Château de Haut Brion 1926 would cost you well over £1,400. Mind you, 1926 was a very good year for Bordeaux wines!
Opinions vary as to when and where tiramisu was first made. Some say as far back as in the late seventeenth century; others that it is of more recent creation. For the purposes of the story I have opted for the former.