A Scandalous Affair Chapter 2
Note: last couple of sentences included in this chapter as I thought it flowed better and refreshed your memory if you didn't read the previous chapter directly before this one.
Bad News Night…Tom tried to reason, "There has been a mistake."
"That's what they all say," the other man grumbled.
"No, it's true," Tom argued. "This is Lady Mary Crawley. I'm Branson, the chauffeur. I was taking her ladyship to visit family in Scotland when the motor broke down. I had to get a room for the night."
Lady Mary finally regained her voice, adopting an imperious tone that only Lady Mary could manage. "Yes, I was going up to my cousin Shrimpy's estate, and the motor broke down. I instructed Branson here to get me a room. This is the only one left."
The men looked at Tom and Mary suspiciously, not quite sure if they believed their unexpected guests. The room felt charged with tension as the reality of their predicament sank in.
The officer's suspicious gaze lingered on Tom and Mary, his brows furrowing in doubt. He sensed something wasn't adding up.
"Eddie, bring me the guest register," he ordered, his voice firm and commanding.
Mary felt a rush of anxiety, knowing what the guest register contained. She shot a quick, irritated glare at Tom, silently conveying that he should remain quiet and let her handle the situation.
Tom, looking apologetic, nervously met Mary's gaze, fully aware that his actions had led them into this predicament.
A red-faced sergeant soon entered the room, holding the inn's guest register book tightly in his grasp.
"Now let's see what we have here then," the officer said smugly, his tone dripping with satisfaction. He addressed the sergeant, "What room number are we in, Sergeant?"
"Room 5, sir," the sergeant replied promptly.
"Hmm! Room 5," the officer declared dramatically, savouring the moment as he appeared to catch Tom and Mary in a compromising situation. "How strange, it says here the occupants of Room 5 are a 'Mr & Mrs Branson.' Yes, how strange. Now, you said your name is Branson, but this here is Lady Mary Crawley. Is she your wife?" The officer directed his questioning gaze at Tom.
Mary attempted to interject urgently, her voice trembling slightly. "Let me explain—"
"Shut up!" the officer barked, cutting her off abruptly. "Branson, is this woman your legal wife?"
Tom, feeling the weight of the situation, responded quickly, "No, I said that because there was only one room, and I wanted to protect Lady Mary's reputation." He prayed silently that his explanation would suffice.
"So you wanted to protect your 'mistress's' reputation?" the officer sneered, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Mary and Tom shared a worried look, realising the depth of their predicament.
The officer tapped the register with his finger. "The register says only 13 of the rooms are occupied out of 15," he pointed out meanly.
"Sergeant, arrest both of them. They're up to no good," he ordered, his decision firm. "We will let the brass sort it out back at the station."
Mary's face went completely white as the reality of their situation sank in. "No! It's a mistake!" She cried out, her voice quivering with desperation. The sergeant, not showing any sympathy, roughly grabbed her arm, causing Mary to wince in pain as she tried to pull away. He then produced iron manacles, clamping them onto Mary's delicate wrists.
Tom, witnessing Mary's distress and knowing that he was responsible for their current plight, attempted to come to her aid. But the second police officer struck him across the face with force, causing Tom's lip to bleed. He stumbled back in pain, realising that any resistance would only make matters worse.
Mary, now trembling and with tears streaming down her face, was truly frightened. She had never been treated so roughly before in her life, and the harsh reality of their arrest weighed heavily upon her.
Mary and Tom were dragged down the narrow, dimly lit stairs of the inn, their footsteps echoing in the confined space. Mary couldn't believe the turn of events. Just forty minutes ago, she and Edith had been stealthily creeping through the inn, searching for Sybil, and now they were being forcefully ushered out.
The sergeant's rough handling had caused some of Mary's hairpins to become loose, and strands of hair escaped her formerly neat hairstyle. Dishevelled and disoriented, she stumbled down the stairs, the harsh treatment contrasting sharply with her refined upbringing.
Finally, Mary was pushed through the inn's front door out into the dark night. Her eyes squinted against the sudden brightness as a blinding light flashed in her startled face, causing her to falter and fall to her knees.
"Come along now, none of that playacting," the sergeant snapped impatiently as he yanked Mary back to her feet. He roughly pulled her toward a waiting police wagon, opened the back door, and shoved Mary inside without ceremony.
Once inside the wagon, Mary had a moment to collect herself. She looked around and realised she was in the company of a group of women, all in various stages of undress. Panic welled up within her as she recognized the situation – they were in the back of a police wagon, and these women were likely connected to the inn's less reputable activities.
Mary's heart sank as she realised that Branson had indeed managed to find an "Inn of Disrepute," probably the only one around for miles. She had to think quickly to protect her identity.
One of the other women, not recognizing Mary as one of the working girls at the inn that night, spoke up, her voice tinged with suspicion. "Who the hell are you?"
Realising that revealing her true identity would be unwise, Mary quickly improvised. "Mary Crawley," she replied, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and desperation. "I was traveling to Scotland for a family emergency, and my motor broke down a little way away." She tried to maintain an air of dignity in front of these women. "I thought the inn was just a normal coaching inn," she added, hoping her explanation would be enough to deflect their curiosity.
The women exchanged smirking grins with each other. At this point, they had no reason to doubt Mary's story. They knew she wasn't one of them, and her predicament seemed to amuse them. Mary was trapped in a situation she couldn't have imagined just a short while ago, surrounded by strangers who, for now, believed her fabricated tale.
Tom Branson found himself roughly manhandled into another police van, this one filled with male prisoners. Blood from his split lip dripped down his chin and fell onto his shirt front. He brought his cuffed hands up to his face, attempting to staunch the bleeding with his sleeve. The rough treatment had left him dishevelled and shaken.
As he glanced around at the other men in the van, he knew he was in deep trouble. He had managed to get Lord Grantham's eldest daughter arrested, and the reality of the situation weighed heavily on him. "Dear God, for prostitution!" he thought to himself in shame. Tom hung his head, fully aware that he might not get out of this without serving some time. The dream of marrying Sybil felt like a distant fantasy now. After this scandal, her family would likely take drastic measures to separate them, possibly sending her far away, even to America.
A better-dressed man in the van tried to offer some reassurance to Tom. "Don't worry, old chap," he said, attempting to ease Tom's anxiety. "They'll just take your photo, give you a slap on the wrists, and fine you." Tom looked up hopefully at the man, desperate for any glimmer of hope. "You'll probably be out and on your way by lunchtime," the man continued.
Tom couldn't help but ask about Mary. "Will my companion be let out too?" he inquired, his voice tinged with worry.
A few of the other men in the van chuckled at Tom's innocent question. "Lord, no," one of them replied bluntly. "They'll probably get a month in the slammer," he added.
Tom felt his heart sink further. "You don't understand, she's not a prostitute," he insisted, desperately trying to convey the truth to the sceptical men. "Oh God! She's my boss's daughter. I was just meant to drive her to Scotland, and the motor broke down. I thought the inn was reputable."
One of the men whistled in disbelief. "Mate, if that story is true, you can kiss your job goodbye," he opined, giving voice to Tom's worst fears.
"Do any of you know what will happen to her?" Tom asked desperately, seeking any information that could shed light on Mary's fate.
The other men exchanged bewildered looks, clearly out of their depth in such matters. "Do you have any ID with you? Does she?" one of the men asked, trying to be helpful.
"I have my ID with me," Tom answered, though he didn't mention that he also had some money. He knew Mary probably didn't carry ID when traveling, as her servants typically handled all the bureaucratic aspects. But he had seen her offer him money, and he hoped that she might have enough to pay a fine if it came to that.
"When they let you out, you'll probably have to call her father," the man suggested, offering what little insight he could. "They probably won't let her contact anyone straight away."
Tom's heart sank further as he contemplated the nightmare of their situation and the uncertain future that awaited both him and Mary.
Edith and Sybil had just reached their motor, ready to make their escape from the inn, when a sudden commotion erupted in front of the building. The motors that had previously been parked further down the street, now pulled up suddenly there. Edith and Sybil turned to watch the unfolding chaos with puzzled expressions, their concern growing with each passing moment.
Their shared look of concern soon turned to alarm as they heard whistles and the sound of men shouting. Edith paled visibly. "Oh no! I think they are the police," she exclaimed in alarm.
In a matter of minutes, half-dressed men and women were pulled from the inn and herded into waiting police vans. Edith and Sybil watched in shock and disbelief. The situation had taken a perilous turn, and they were caught in the midst of it.
Edith, gathering her wits, saw a constable on the periphery of the scene. She decided to approach him, hoping to glean some information. "Excuse me, constable, what's going on?" she inquired, her voice filled with urgency.
The constable turned around, surprised to see a well-dressed woman standing beside him. His eyes squinted in suspicion as he responded, "What are you doing here?"
"My sister and I are traveling back to our father's estate, and I'm afraid I had to stop for a call of nature," Edith explained quickly, pointing out Sybil standing next to the motor.
"Oh right, miss," the constable said, though Edith corrected him firmly, "Lady."
"Well, my lady, this is a raid on a 'knockin' shop," he explained. Sybil, having walked over to hear the conversation, furrowed her brow in confusion. "What's a 'knockin' shop?" she asked, her voice filled with worry. "Oh sorry my lady, it's a brothel," the constable explained. Sybil's and Edith's faces drained of all colour when they heard this explanation.
The constable, misinterpreting their reactions, reassured them. "Don't worry, my ladies, you aren't in any danger. This inn is well known in the area and gets raided every couple of months, there is usually no trouble from anyone."
Edith pressed further. "Where will they be taken?" she inquired.
"Back to the main station in Carlisle, my lady," the constable informed them. "Just to be safe, you best be on your way now," he suggested.
The sisters nodded in agreement and made their way back to the motor. As they settled in, Sybil whispered in distress, "What should we do?"
Edith, with a determined look on her face, replied, "Just wait and look out for Mary."
It didn't take long before they saw their sister Mary being pulled from the building in manacles. As she was roughly pushed into the street, they watched in dismay as a man took Mary's photo. "Oh my God! I think that's a reporter," Edith gasped in shock. They saw Mary being placed in a police wagon alongside the other women.
A moment later, Tom too was brought out into the street. Sybil stifled a cry of alarm, her heart sinking as she realised that Tom had also been arrested.
"Edith, what are we going to do?" Sybil's voice trembled with worry, tears welling up in her eyes. She felt the weight of the trouble she had unwittingly brought upon her beloved sister and the man she loved.
Edith turned to her sister, her resolve unwavering. "We have to tell Papa," She declared firmly, as they watched the police vehicles drive away from the inn, determined to face the impending crisis head-on.
Edith and Sybil hurriedly climbed into the motor, the engine sputtering to life as Edith skilfully started the vehicle. She pulled away from the kerb with determination, the powerful engine propelling them forward into the inky darkness of the night.
Sybil's voice quivered with concern as she broke the tense silence. "It'll take us over two hours to get home. Should we try calling Papa first?" she suggested, her anxiety palpable.
Edith, her nerves frayed and her frustration evident, replied crossly, "Where are we going to find a telephone in the middle of the night?" Though Edith and Mary were far from close, the thought of her sister in distress stirred a protective instinct within her. She was angry with Sybil for her foolishness, which had ultimately led to this troublesome situation.
Sybil's worry for Mary grew with every passing moment. She watched as the police wagon pulled away, carrying Mary away from them, and a sense of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. The urgency to help her sister overwhelmed her, and she frantically began to think of possible solutions.
Suddenly, an idea struck her like a bolt of lightning, and she exclaimed, "A train station! They often have public telephones for the use of passengers. All we have to do is be on the lookout for a train station and see if they have a public telephone."
Edith nodded in agreement, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as she navigated the winding roads in the dead of night. She recalled passing a train station not too long ago, approximately 40 minutes away, and she hoped it would have a working public telephone.
The motor raced through the countryside, the engine's roar matching the racing of their hearts. Edith's determination to reach a telephone and help Mary was unwavering, even if her relationship with her eldest sister was far from perfect. In this moment, family bonds and a shared sense of responsibility compelled them forward into the night, hoping to find a lifeline for Mary and, perhaps, a chance to mend the rifts that had divided them.
Good News NightTim Cartland, a reporter for 'The Daily Bugle' in Carlisle, couldn't believe his luck when he managed to snap a photo of the last woman being dragged out of the Inn. His heart raced with anticipation, and he couldn't contain his excitement.
"Hey Eddie! Who was that last tart you dragged out?" he eagerly asked the nearby sergeant. Tim had cultivated a rapport with the local constabulary over the years, often slipping a few shillings to the officers to ensure he got all the juiciest tips.
"You won't believe it," the sergeant replied in disbelief, shaking his head. "She tried claiming she was a Lady Mary Crawley. Have you ever heard the like?" Tim feigned surprised disbelief, even though he knew exactly who the woman was.
"Caught in one of the rooms, was she?" Tim asked innocently, playing his part in this charade.
"Yeah, shacked up with a guy called Branson. She tried to claim he was her chauffeur, and that their motor had broken down," Eddie explained, his scepticism evident. Tim couldn't help but grin; he was excited about the story that was unfolding before him.
"Sounds suspicious to me, Eddie," Tim encouraged, though in truth, he knew the situation might be more complex.
"You're telling me, Mr. Olson wasn't buying it for a minute. He told me to get the guest register, and sure enough, they were registered as 'Mr. & Mrs. Branson,'" Eddie explained.
Tim was astonished. "You've got to be kidding me!" he exclaimed. "Did Mr. Olson ask the Branson chap to produce a legal marriage license?"
Eddie chuckled, recalling the scene. "Hahahah! You should've seen the look on their faces—a couple of rabbits they were, caught red-handed. Mr. Olson had them arrested for indecency anyway; they were obviously up to no good."
Eager to gather more evidence, Tim seized the opportunity. "Is there any chance I can get a look at the register, Eddie?" he inquired.
"It's a free country, ain't it? Just pop into the hall; the register is on the desk," Eddie told him.
"Thanks, Eddie, you're a true friend," Tim said, shaking Eddie's hand while discreetly slipping him three shillings.
Tim ventured into the Inn, his excitement growing. As he examined the guest register, he confirmed what he had suspected all along. There, in Room 5, was a record of 'Mr. & Mrs. Branson.' With his sharp eye, he also noticed that only 13 of the 15 rooms were occupied that night. Quickly he took a photo of the register as evidence.
Grinning to himself in devilish delight, Tim realised that tonight's story was going to be a lucrative one, earning him a tidy sum of £5.
'The Daily Bugle' was owned by Sir Hamish McLeod, one of many papers he owned in the north, a man who harboured a fierce animosity towards Sir Richard Carlisle. Sir Hamish had openly offered a £5 reward to any reporter who could uncover damaging information about his rival. Little did he know that a goldmine of scandal had just fallen into their lap.
The illustrious Sir Richard Carlisle's own fiancée, Lady Mary Crawley, had been arrested for indecency in a well-known 'knocking shop.' To make matters even juicier, there was concrete evidence that she had been in a room with a man who wasn't her fiancé, all the while posing as another man's wife. For a man as proud and image conscious as Sir Richard, this revelation would be a devastating blow to his reputation.
Tim Cartland, clutching his camera and the incriminating evidence from the Inn's register, couldn't believe his luck. He knew that this story would be the scoop of a lifetime, and the £5 reward was just the beginning of the potential riches that awaited him.
Unlike Edith, Tim knew exactly where to find a public telephone in Carlisle. He had a plan. He was going to call the night editor of 'The Daily Bugle' to let him know that he had stumbled upon a humdinger of a story. With the evidence in his possession and the photograph he had taken, Tim had all the ammunition he needed to break this sensational story.
Tim was only 15 minutes away from his office at the newspaper, where he had his own darkroom to develop the photos. As he raced back to the paper, he knew that time was of the essence. While waiting for the photograph to develop, he could start writing the copy that would accompany the damning picture.
With excitement coursing through his veins, Tim hopped into his motor and sped towards his office, eager to deliver the news that would send shockwaves through the upper echelons of British society.
As he made the short journey back to his office, Tim couldn't help but rub his hands together in glee. He hoped that the editor had the foresight to send a runner down to the police station so they could secure Lady Mary's mug shot. This story had all the makings of a scandal that would rock society to its core.
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