Chapter Fifty Five
Il Duce's Italy
Villa San Callisto, Fiesole, Tuscany, August 1932.
In the aftermath of the near calamity involving the Fiat Tourer up in the hills above Fiesole, the following day, while down below in the valley of the River Arno the magnificent terracotta tiled domes and crenellated stone towers of distant Florence shimmered golden in the afternoon heat haze, here at the Villa San Callisto, the adults and children were all gathered together on the upper terrace, sitting in the shade, seated in wicker chairs, and taking afternoon tea. With Nanny Bridges sitting reading to Rebecca, Bobby, and Simon, watched closely by Danny and Robert, Friedrich was teaching Max and Saiorse, how to play chess.
Along with Matthew, Tom and Sybil were yet again mulling over all that had occurred, reliving the minutiae of what had happened; what had so nearly come to pass.
"And you're absolutely certain, old chap, what you said, about the brakes?" asked Matthew.
"In case you've forgotten, old chap, I was a chauffeur. I do happen to know something about the workings of motors!" laughed Tom.
Matthew ghosted a thin smile.
"Touché! But then ... that would mean it was no accident. That what happened up there was ..." With realisation dawning, Matthew sounded absolutely appalled.
"For sure! Just as I'm certain that, in due course, the garage down there in Florence will confirm what I found when I looked the Tourer over. Those brake pipes had been cut through!"
"Then why wouldn't you believe me when I told you about ..."
"Sybil, darlin', we've been through all that. It's nothing to do with feckin', bloody Fergal. How on earth could it be?"
Mary and Edith were equally engaged in conversation but about something far more pleasant.
"Have you come to a decision yet?" asked Mary softly.
"No," sighed Edith. "I know that you're right. That, as head of the family, it should be Matthew who gives me away but I don't want to risk offending Tom".
"I'm sure Tom would understand".
"Maybe. All the same, I ..."
"Well, you'll have to decide on one of them ... and soon. Time's running out. In case you've forgotten, the wedding's on Friday!" Mary smiled.
"No, I haven't forgotten. Still, I suppose there's always the possibility of X!" laughed Edith.
"X?"
"Someone else".
"But who?"
"That's just the point, Mary. There is nobody else".
"No, sis! Not there, silly! The knight moves like this". So saying, Danny reached forward and, picking up the small carved chess piece with its horse's head, moved it onto an adjacent square. Raising her head, squinting up at him in the bright afternoon sunlight, Saiorse glared angrily at her brother and then, not that he had said anything to merit it, for good measure at Robert too.
Not of course that Saiorse would ever admit it but, if the truth be told, she really didn't much care about learning how to play chess; was only doing so because it meant that she could spend more time with Max. Indeed, both Tom and Sybil had been very surprised when, earlier that afternoon, Saiorse had announced blithely that Uncle Friedrich was going to teach her and Max how to play chess. After all, as both of them would readily have admitted, Saiorse was not known for her patience. Indeed, a year or so earlier, when Tom had tried to teach her the rudiments of the game, but only because he had already shown Danny how to play, and so as not to be outdone, Saiorse had insisted that Da teach her too, the attempt had ended in tears and with the chess pieces scattered across the floor of the sitting room in Idrone Terrace by an angry sweep of Saiorse's hand.
"Ma?"
"Yes darling?"
"Is it true that the ... " Saiorse pointed hesitantly to another piece on the board and looked questioningly across at her Uncle Friedrich for guidance.
"Die Königin. The Queen," said Friedrich helpfully and with a smile.
"Is it true that ... the Queen ... is the most powerful piece on the board?"
"I really don't know, darling. Why don't you ask your Uncle Friedrich?"
"Indeed she is". Friedrich's eyes sparkled with merriment.
"Well then, that's only as it should be!" exclaimed Sybil promptly.
"Definitely," said Edith.
"I concur!" laughed Mary.
"Crawley women," mouthed Tom silently at his brother-in-law.
Matthew grinned and nodded his full agreement.
"What was that?" asked Sybil.
"Nothing, darlin'," chuckled Tom.
"Honestly! You two!" exclaimed Mary.
"Oh, this is absolutely heavenly!" sighed Cora, reclining gracefully on a chaise longue. "Peace and quiet. After what happened yesterday, just what all of us need!"
"When that telephone call came through here to the villa, we were all so terribly worried!" said Mary.
"I've said it before and I'll say it again. Tom's the best man to have around you when there's a crisis," added Matthew.
Cora smiled. She reached across and patted Tom's knee affectionately.
"I couldn't agree more. I'm so very glad that all those years ago dear Robert saw fit to employ you as chauffeur at Downton. Otherwise I shudder to think what might have happened".
"Thank God darling Tom knew what to do". This from Edith.
"Well, someone was certainly looking out for us for sure!" Tom smiled.
"Darling, you're being far too modest. If it hadn't been for your skill as a driver, I doubt very much if any one of us would have lived to tell the tale!" exclaimed Sybil.
With all of the praise being heaped upon him, Tom found himself blushing and recalling to mind another time when most of those here present had been taking afternoon tea at which he had found himself the unwilling centre of attention; when too, the seed of this trip to the Continent, here to Italy, could said to have been planted.
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1920.
Outside, as the dusk drew down, beyond the centuries old stone walls of Downton Abbey the fog thickened perceptibly, swirled eerily about, a damp, dank, grey gauze of mist, which shrouded both the trees and surrounding parkland from sight and from the gaze of all those within the great house, whether family or servants.
Inside, the lamps had already been lit, the electric lights switched on, and here, in the magnificent Library of the abbey, before a splendid, roaring fire, heedless of the worsening weather without, the family sat at their leisure, taking afternoon tea. There was the polite chink of bone china and subdued chatter, so reminiscent thought Sybil, of the atmosphere in the dining room of the Shelbourne Hotel; she hoped fervently that this time afternoon tea would not end either as abruptly or as catastrophically as it had done at the Shelbourne.
"That was really yummy!"
Setting down his tea plate, Tom winked broadly at Edith, his eyes sparkling with merriment. He licked his fingers several times and chuckled. While Lord Grantham shook his head, raised his eyes heavenwards towards the ceiling, Cora smiled happily at her handsome Irish son-in-law who throughout tea had been explaining to them, something of his daily routine at the Independent.
"Of course, that's one of the things which make it all so interesting. You're never quite sure at all what's going to happen, what I might be called upon to cover. Mind you, I'd rather not go through another encounter at close quarters with the IRA. Once was quite enough for me!"
"For all of us!" said Sybil emphatically.
"Agreed!" chorused Mary and Edith.
Tom eyed the last piece of chocolate cake.
Catching sight of Tom, looking so enviously at the solitary remaining slice, Cora nodded him her encouragement.
"Go on, Tom, have it! After all, it's there to be eaten. I know Mrs. Patmore will be pleased. When they returned home from Ireland Mary and Edith both told me just how much you like chocolate cake. So, with you in mind, Tom, I asked Mrs. Patmore to make one especially for your visit".
"Well, if no-one else ..." Tom looked hopefully at his wife and two sisters-in-law.
"And just what would you do, Mr. Branson, if one of us said we wanted that?" asked Mary with a laugh.
"Then I'd say it was bad for you, that I was doing you a singular service by eating it!" Tom chuckled. He reached forward and swiftly took possession of the last piece of cake.
"Tom! You're absolutely incorrigible!" laughed Sybil.
"Thank you, Lady Grantham".
"Cora, please".
Between taking bites of chocolate cake, happy as a sand-boy, Tom grinned contentedly at his mother-in-law.
"That was very kind of you, asking Mrs. Patmore. And do you know the best thing about this chocolate cake... er... Cora?"
The countess of Grantham shook her head, waited patiently for an explanation while Tom finished his cake.
"This time I actually got to eat it!" Tom laughed, licking his fingers again and setting aside his now empty plate for the second and final time.
Cora smiled at him indulgently.
"Yes, Mary and Edith told us what happened at the Shelbourne, how brave you were..."
"It was nothing" said Tom modestly. "I'm sure that anyone would have done just the same as I did".
"Perhaps" said Cora evenly. "But it wasn't anyone that did what had to be done that day. It was you, Tom. After I found out what had happened, I know I wrote to thank you for what you did, but to the heartfelt, sincere thanks of the girls, now that you're here, permit me now to add my own. Thank you, from the very bottom of my heart!"
Tom blushed red to the very roots of his hair; nodded his head. Sybil patted his knee encouragingly. Robert cleared his throat expressively, glared at the Irishman through narrowed eyes.
"Thank you, Cora. That means a very great deal to me," Tom said softly.
There was a moment's awkward silence.
"Well, I'm so very glad to see you've regained your usual appetite!" laughed Sybil.
"So, how was your crossing?" asked Mary eyeing both Tom and Sybil over the rim of her teacup.
"In a word, eventful!" laughed Sybil. "Mind you, I suspect that even if the Irish Sea had been as flat as a millpond, and not as rough as it was, Tom still wouldn't have enjoyed the voyage. I'm afraid my poor darling isn't a very good sailor! Are you?" Sybil shot Tom an affectionate look.
While this exchange of pleasantries had been taking place, Robert had sat silent, stony faced, until, that was, Sybil had admitted to Tom's singular lack of sea legs,
"Humph! Well I never! So there is something he can't do after all!" muttered Robert peevishly.
"Robert!" hissed Cora.
The earl of Grantham felt his left eye begin to twitch. That was bloody Branson's fault too. Robert raised his eyebrows expressively, shook his head in exasperation. He had contrived to be out when Sybil and Branson had arrived, but with the worsening weather, the earl of Grantham's unexpected visit out to High Moor Farm on the far western edge of the estate had to be curtailed, and he had been forced to return here to the Abbey rather earlier than he had intended. Of course, Jarvis could perfectly well have seen to the matter in hand himself, but Robert enjoyed immensely playing the part of the concerned landlord and there was, not that he would ever admit it, not even to himself, the added benefit of not having to be present when bloody Branson arrived.
Now, following Dr. Clarkson's most recent advice, in an attempt to calm his frayed nerves and rising temper, Robert reached slowly forward and ruffled Isis affectionately under the chin. The elderly Labrador who until now had been dozing contentedly at her master's feet, pulled herself up on her haunches, with her deep brown eyes looked mournfully for a moment at Robert, and then without so much as a backwards glance, shambled slowly across the hearth-rug to flop down with a satisfied grunt in front of Tom, resting her front paws contentedly on the Irishman's brown shoes. Tom reached down and chucked Isis under the chin.
Robert winced; in his misery, he even thought he saw the dog's canine features break into a satisfied smile thoroughly content with all the undivided attention she was now receiving. Judas, thought Robert irascibly. Why, bloody Branson's even managed to inveigle his way into the affections of my very own dog!
"Never mind Tom!" laughed Edith. "Both of you are here now, safe and more or less sound. That's really all that matters. And we'll all take very good care of you! Won't we, Papa?" she asked almost as an afterthought.
Still smarting from what he saw as Isis's unforgivable betrayal of him, Robert cleared his throat, but forbore to make any answer. He was too upset; too unsure of what he might say if indeed he opened his mouth and spoke. In the circumstances, he thought it was far better to say nothing at all.
"Why Tom, you poor darling," sympathised Mary. "When you arrived I thought you looked a bit ashen round the gills!" Setting down her teacup and saucer, she smiled warmly across at her brother-in-law.
Robert fumed silently.
What about poor Robert? The earl of Grantham glanced bad-tempered at the happy throng surrounding him. Never had he felt so distant, so removed from his own family. Why, he thought, if I was to spontaneously combust, I doubt any one of them here present in this very room would even notice, let alone make any attempt to put out the flames! And as for Branson, why that bloody Fenian would probably run outside in search of as much paraffin as he could ruddy well find!
"Don't even joke about it, Mary". Tom contrived to pull a miserable face. "But Sybil here, well she looked out for me on the steam packet. Didn't you love? I don't know what I'd have done without her". He patted Sybil's knee, gazed at his young wife adoringly. Sybil covered his hand with her own, out of the corner of her eye saw her father wince again at their open display of verbal affection, of unabashed, unfeigned physical intimacy.
"Well, I'm very glad you're here. Both of you," said Cora with a warm smile. She patted Tom's knee. "Your grandmother is joining us for dinner, along with Cousin Isobel. And Matthew too, of course!" Cora smiled sweetly across at her eldest daughter.
"So how are the plans for the wedding progressing, darling?" asked Sybil.
"Slowly, but we're almost there now!" laughed Mary.
"Your engagement ring really is quite magnificent" said Sybil sweetly, fingering her own plain gold wedding band.
Mary nodded. Glancing down at the diamond encrusted ring circling the fourth finger of her left hand, she blushed with pleasure.
"Yes. Yes, I suppose it is. It was frightfully expensive of course. Matthew was terribly extravagant".
"And no doubt you did your very best to curb his wanton extravagance," observed Edith sarcastically.
Mary's eyes glittered.
"Not at all. As the future countess of Grantham, I must look the part. And anyway, Matthew can deny me nothing!"
"Obviously".
Mary let her younger sister's acerbic remark pass without further comment.
"Naturally, there was nothing suitable in Ripon; far too provincial, so Matthew and I went into York for the day to choose it".
"Naturally," echoed Edith, whereupon Robert now cleared his throat expressively. That visit by Mary and Matthew to York, in search of an engagement ring, continued to be a wearisome bone of contention between the earl of Grantham and his eldest daughter. Mary glanced resignedly at her father.
"Oh really Papa! We went there un-chaperoned you see," she offered to Tom and Sybil by way of explanation.
"Un-chaperoned? In 1920?" queried Tom airily and with a chuckle. "Why, whatever next?" At that, Mary laughed while the earl of Grantham glared angrily at his son-in-law.
"Anyway, chaperoned or un-chaperoned, after several false starts, I ..." Mary paused. "Of course I mean we!" She smiled happily. "We found what we were looking for, eventually, in Hoppers, on New Street".
Sybil nodded.
"This apart ..." Mary held up her left hand, the facets of the cluster of diamonds of her ring reflecting in them the light from the fire. "... thus far, it seems to have been a never-ending round of dress fittings, sending out invitations, choosing who to ask to be my bridesmaids, and deciding where to go for our honeymoon. And Matthew still hasn't decided who to ask to be his Best Man. The chap he was going to ask has just been unexpectedly posted out to India, or was it Egypt? Either way, Matthew's got to find someone else and quickly too. The list of things still to do seems endless. And Grandmamma is arriving in Liverpool the week after next on board the Aquitania. As for our honeymoon, darling Matthew's suggested Paris and then catching the Méditerrannée Express down to the French Riviera, but I would much prefer to see Florence".
"Disagreeing before you're even married, Mary," observed Edith. "Surely that doesn't bode well for the future!" she said with a brittle laugh.
Mary's brows furrowed but for the sake of Tom and Sybil she bit back a biting retort.
"Hardly that," she said coldly.
Seeing the warning signs, Sybil shot Edith a reproving glance.
"Well, after you've both tired of the French Riviera, you could always travel on to Genoa".
"And why, pray, would we want to go to Genoa?" asked Mary, genuinely mystified by Tom's suggestion.
"Because from Genoa you can catch the Rome Express to Florence," offered Tom. "With, or without, Matthew!" He grinned.
"I might just do that!" laughed Mary.
"Well, if you do, then be sure to sit on the left hand side of the train. That way, you'll get an excellent view of the Leaning Tower of Pisa".
Sybil turned to look at her husband in utter amazement.
"And just how do you know so much about the train to Florence?" asked Sybil open-mouthed with astonishment.
"It's surprising the things a chauffeur gets to learn!" Tom chuckled.
"Why, you're better informed than Bradshaw's!" laughed Mary.
"I have to agree with you Mary. Florence is very beautiful," said Cora. "It would be lovely to see it. Perhaps one day ..."
Villa San Callisto, Fiesole, Tuscany, August 1932.
With both afternoon tea and the game of chess now over, with all the children down on the lawn below, and for once playing happily together, a further discussion was now underway between the adults sitting out on the terrace.
"Well then, are we all agreed that tomorrow evening's visit to the fair in Fiesole, to mark Danny's thirteenth birthday is to go ahead as planned?" asked Matthew.
Mary smiled. How things had changed. After all, many years ago, when she and her sisters were children, never once had they ever been allowed to go down to the annual Statute Fair held in Downton.
"For sure!" exclaimed Tom with a laugh. "Do you really think the boys would ever forgive us if we cancelled it?"
"No, I suppose not," chuckled Matthew.
Tom nodded.
"Of course not. In fact, I heard Danny talking to Rob and Max upstairs about it yesterday evening, not long after we arrived back here. The three of them were really excited, making plans as to what they want to ride on and all the ice cream they're going to eat!"
At the image that Tom had evoked, Edith also smiled.
"They very well may be. Even so, with all that's happened, I'm not at all sure if we should let Max go. I know that since they met, especially after their adventure together in the Alps, how much Max loves being with both Danny and Rob. However, apart from being a couple of years younger than the two of them, he has to understand that there are some things which, with his haemophilia, he just can't risk doing. After all, what so nearly happened over there on those steps a few weeks ago could so very easily happen again".
"Mein Liebling, I've had a long talk with him. Now I know we're both agreed that we can't …" Friedrich paused before continuing in German. "Wickeln ihn in Watte".
Edith nodded.
"Wrap him up in cotton wool. Yes, Friedrich, I know that. But, all the same, I think it would be for the best if ... "
"In return for letting him go with Danny and Rob, he's promised to repay the trust we're placing in him by being on his very best behaviour," said Friedrich.
"Well, maybe". Edith still sounded unconvinced. "Darling, you know how excitable he is. The doctors said he might react like this. Doing what he knows he shouldn't. Remember when he tried to ride that bicycle ..."
The sound of raised boyish voices and excited laughter echoing up to them from down below the terrace caused Edith to stand and look over the balustrade, where she saw Danny being chased hell for leather across the wide swathe of grass by both Robert and Max, with Fritz, who, since they had arrived here at the villa, had spent much of his time during the day curled up in the shade, now trotting behind the three boys just as fast as his short little legs would carry him.
"Max! No!" screamed Edith. But his mother's shouted warning came too late as, a matter of seconds afterwards, her young son went sprawling head over heels, Max, either having tripped over his own feet, or else having been thrown off balance by an unseen, sudden dip in the ground.
In an instant, followed by Friedrich, Edith was down the terrace steps and running swiftly across the broad sweep of the lawn to where a clearly shaken Max was now being helped slowly to his feet by both Danny and Robert. On reaching the three of them, Edith went down on her knees before Max, holding him by his hands, searching his face, and then, when finally she was satisfied he seemed unhurt, at last giving full rein to her frayed emotions in a stream of highly voluble German.
"Geht es dir gut? Wie oft habe ich dir gesagt? Sie nicht von jemand denken, sondern sich selbst?"
For his part, clearly embarrassed to be so taken to task by his mother in front of his cousins, Max flushed red. It was as if in an instant his whole world had fallen about him. He looked utterly crestfallen and appeared to be on the brink of bursting into tears.
While neither Danny nor Robert understood a word of what their aunt was saying, from her tone, her meaning was very clear.
"Aunt Edith, please don't be angry with Max. It's all our fault!"
Slowly Edith rose to her feet. Seeing their frightened faces, she smiled at each of the two boys in turn.
"No, boys, it isn't. Neither of you are to blame for this. And I'm not angry with Max. Just very concerned that he hasn't hurt himself".
"Honestly?" asked Robert.
"Yes, honestly".
"Really?" asked Danny, clearly relieved.
"Yes really". Edith fondled his head, then pulled Robert to her.
By now the little group on the lawn had been joined by all the other adults, Cora included, along with the rest of the children.
"Is Max all right?" asked Mary anxiously.
"Yes, as far as I can tell, thankfully he seems not to be hurt," replied Edith.
"Ihre Mutter Sorgen. Sie müssen sich selbst kümmern, Max," said Friedrich gently.
Max nodded his head.
"Es tut mir Leid, Mama," he said softly as Edith hugged him to her.
"Yes, of course I do". Edith also nodded her head. "Friedrich told Max that as his mother I worry and that Max should take greater care," she explained quietly.
Then, with Max carrying Fritz, flanked by both his mother and by an equally concerned and tearful Saiorse, the family made its way slowly back up the steps leading to the villa.
"Well, no harm done for sure," said Tom quietly. "Hallo what's going on up there? It looks as though we have a visitor". He now pointed towards the terrace, to where Innocenti was standing in the company of a dark haired man in uniform.
Back on the terrace they were met by Innocenti who informed them that their visitor was none other than Captain Rossi of the Carabinieri from Florence and who wished to speak with them on a matter of some urgency, whereupon Tom and Sybil now exchanged meaningful glances.
Villa San Callisto, Fiesole, Tuscany, August 1932.
Captain Rossi of the Carabinieri of the city of Florence now paused in what he had been saying; looked slowly round in turn at each of them now gathered together in the cool of the Drawing Room of the villa.
"Who knows?" he said, speaking in heavily accented English. He gave an expressive and dismissive shrug of his broad shoulders. "Here … in Italia there are those who … who do not take kindly … to foreigners who unjustly criticise our glorious leader, Il Duce". As if to emphasise what he had just said, the captain now tossed a couple of recent copies of the Irish Independent, both of which bore headlines which were hardly favourable to the Italian leader, Benito Mussolini, onto the circular oak table, and looked pointedly at Tom who had been the author of both the offending articles. "I wonder, signor, if your own countrymen would be understanding of an Italian writing … lies … in a foreign newspaper, about say, your own President de Valera?"
"I don't lie!" snapped Tom.
"Indeed?" Sensing that he had struck a raw nerve, Captain Rossi's dark eyes lit with a barely concealed amusement. "Then let me tell you, signor Branson, no, they would not. That being so, perhaps the real reason for this … most unfortunate incident … is to be found in your own country rather than here in Italia".
Tom contrived a thin lipped smile.
"If it pleases you to think so for sure".
"It does".
For a moment the heavy jowls of the officer quivered and the dark eyes narrowed, grew darker still, lighting almost immediately, as now the officer turned his attention once again to Sybil who was seated next to Tom.
"Signora, I must tell you, most regrettably, that no trace, none whatsoever, can be found of the man you mentioned. Fergal Branson ... He is not in Italia".
"But he is, I tell you. He is! In any case, how can you be so sure? You haven't had time to …"
"Signora, we make it our business to know all about those foreigners who enter our country. I can assure you that we have made all the enquiries necessary to our investigation. I repeat, your husband's cousin is not in Italia".
"Then where on earth is he?"
"Who knows? His present whereabouts are not my concern; nor that of my officers and men". A moment later and Captain Rossi smiled broadly at Edith.
"Permit me to extend to you my sincere felicitations on your forthcoming marriage. On Friday? At eleven o'clock? At the English Church?"
"You seem remarkably well informed," observed Edith tartly.
"As I told you, signora, I make it my business to be so. Especially where foreigners are concerned. Permit me also to give you some advice. After your wedding, for your own safety, I suggest most strongly that all of you reside here, in this villa. That is until you leave the country. Here you will be safe. Outside, beyond these walls, one never knows what might happen … to any of you". The captain spread his hands disingenuously.
"Are you really suggesting that because we are foreigners, here in Italy we are not safe, that we are in some kind of danger?" asked Matthew, clearly incredulous.
"No, of course not!" snapped Captain Rossi, angered at what he perceived to be an unforgivable slight upon the honour of Italy. Nonetheless, he recovered himself almost immediately; now said rather more affably: "Under Il Duce, our great country has become the safest on the Continent, not only for its own citizens but also for foreigners: those who of their own free will chose to reside in the kingdom of Italia or those who, like yourselves, come here to visit our beautiful country on holiday. What I am asking you do, is to appreciate the reality of the situation under discussion".
"And just what is that?" asked Matthew.
"That up in the hills above Fiesole, the brakes of your brother-in-law's hired motor failed".
"They didn't fail! As I told you yesterday, the brake pipes were cut!" repeated Tom forcefully, clenching his fists in frustration. Obviously angered, he now began to rise from his chair, at which point Mary laid a gentle but restraining hand on his arm. Tom smiled weakly at her and resumed his seat.
"How very wise of you, contessa". Captain Rossi nodded approvingly at Mary who, imperious and stone faced, simply ignored him, choosing instead to smile, she hoped reassuringly, at Tom. The captain likewise smiled. "As I said, the brakes on the Tourer failed, the reason for which, as I have already explained to you, could not be discovered by the garage. A most unfortunate occurrence but such things happen and fortunately no-one was injured".
"Only thanks to my son-in-law!" observed Cora pithily.
Captain Rossi chose to ignore the Dowager Countess's spirited riposte.
"Again, permit me to remind all of you that the Rome Express departs Firenze, Florence, at the end of this week. Make certain that you are on it".
At that, and without any further ado, Captain Rossi came quickly to attention, saluted smartly, and then made his departure.
Of them all, Matthew alone shook his head in disbelief; was reminded forcefully of a conversation, to which he had been party, in Cork, back in the winter of 1921, when he had been trying to discover what had become of Tom and for his pains had found himself bundled unceremoniously into a motor and hauled off to the Victoria Barracks for an interview with the odious, unpleasant Major Arthur Ernest Percival.
Victoria Barracks, Cork, Ireland, January 1921.
In the dimly lit room here in the Victoria Barracks, having perused the file in front of him, Percival now pursed his lips, placed the palms of his hands together, rested his elbows on his desk and gazed intently at Matthew.
"Well, Captain Crawley, I trust that we now fully understand one another. I must say since your arrival here in Ireland, you have been very busy, making a thorough nuisance of yourself".
"Nuisance?" echoed Matthew.
Percival smiled grimly.
"Enquiries here, enquiries there. Always asking questions. If you will permit me the liberty of saying so, quite frankly I am rather surprised at you. As the son-in-law of the earl of Grantham, I would have thought that you would have realised that over here in this benighted country we have a full scale insurrection on our hands".
"Major, I and doubtless many others too are very well aware of what is happening over here, thanks in part to the articles published in the Irish Independent written by my missing brother-in-law".
"Indeed?" The truth is somewhat different than how he chose to represent it".
"Perhaps" said Matthew coolly. "But I somehow doubt it. After all truth, like God, is not always on the side of the British".
Percival smiled a thin smile.
"Spoken like a Shinner. Well, believe what you wish. Little good it will do you. Make no mistake, Captain Crawley, we will crush them, rest assured of that. We know all about your late brother-in-law... and his wife. Even so while our resources are considerable, they are also are finite. Accordingly, the fate of one missing Irish journalist who was highly critical of our policies is not our concern. So, I must insist that you now refrain from what you have been doing".
"And exactly what have I been doing?"
"As I said, making a nuisance of yourself. So I must now insist ..."
"Insist?"
"Require then. That you give me your undertaking to cease your present ... activities. Failure to do so on your part could have serious consequences both for you... and for your family".
"Are you threatening me?" asked Matthew quietly.
"Threatening? No. I am merely asking that you appreciate the realities of the situation".
"And what, precisely, are the realities of the situation?"
"Accept, as have the military authorities and indeed the civilian police that regrettably your brother-in-law died in the burning of Cork; killed may I say by the actions of his own people. After all, as Sir Hamar Greenwood has publicly stated it was the citizens of Cork who set fire to their own city".
"No-one seriously believes that and neither do I".
"Whether or not certain disaffected, ignorant sections of the populace choose to cling to some fanciful notion that a section of His Majesty's forces was somehow responsible for what occurred..." Percival shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "In any event you can do nothing further here. I therefore suggest most strongly that you leave Ireland immediately and return home to England, along with your wife and sister-in-law".
"And what if I choose to stay?"
Percival grimaced; shook his head.
"That would be very unwise; for all of you. After all, as I am sure you are aware County Cork is now under martial law. Go home Captain Crawley and leave us to look after Ireland. There is a Great Western steamer leaving Penrose Quay at 5.30pm this evening. Be on it".
Palazzo Niccolini, Via dei Servi, Florence, Tuscany, August 1932.
Back in his office at Fascist Headquarters in the Palazzo Niccolini on the Via dei Servi in Florence, seated at his desk, Captain Rossi reached for the telephone and lifted the receiver.
"Per favore, signor Fergal Branson," he said crisply.