Sybil sat at the kitchen table, looking around at all that had to be done around the small Dublin home. She had taken care of herself as a nurse during the war, yet she had never truly appreciated what the servants at Downton had to deal with every day. She had never really had to prepare her own food, since dinner at the hospital was served in a cafeteria. As time went on, Sybil had found it hard to adjust to being a full time nurse and having a house to run, small though it was.
Yet, she never regretted for an instant what she had done, she loved Thomas Branson more than anything in the world and, altogether, their lives together had been exceedingly enjoyable. They lived in their small house in Dublin, and Tom went to work every day as a journalist. Sybil had gone to work at a local Dublin hospital every day when she had first arrived after they were married. Yet, after she had discovered she was pregnant, and as she began to grow larger and larger, the head nurse, Mrs. O'Connell, had insisted that she not come in every day. When Sybil tried to protest, she merely smiled and said, with her customary kindly, if loud Irish way,
"Ah, dearie, I remember when I had a mind like yours, but you must protect your babe all the same."
It was irksome having to stay at home, but she did understand why Mrs. O'Connell told her to stay at home some days. She did find that she grew more tired easily. It only took a few hours of her on her feet at the hospital. Tom came home early a good deal, so that they could spend some time together. They normally ended up staying in the house, but, coming from a family where she was never left unsupervised, Sybil was immensely grateful for the freedom that had been denied to her for so long. They would sit in the tiny sitting room and kitchen, Tom's head on Sybil's lap, talking about the likely approaching fighting in Dublin for the Irish Civil War.
And Granny thought that 1920 was going to be the year to remember, thought Sybil, as she stroked through Tom's hair, as he read the evening paper.
"What do you think of the war?" asked Sybil, pausing in her caressing of his hair, staring off into space.
"I don't know," said Tom, looking up at her from his paper, "You know I think that Ireland should be free from the Brits. They take our land and never expect the people to fight back. I don't think so."
"But what will Ireland do if they split from Britain? Can they really sustain themselves as a country?"
"Of course we can."
"I just think that war is a poor way to settle things. Violence and bloodshed and all the other nonsense."
"Sometimes violence is necessary to win what is truly that of the people."
Sybil sighed, and put a hand to her stomach. She didn't want her child to grow up in a world of war. As any mother, she wanted them to grow up with peace, happiness, and wealth. She sometimes feared that she had taken the third option away from them, after leaving her high status and class, and running off with the chauffeur. But he was not just the chauffeur. He was the love of her life. But they were probably destined to be poor, though her father's money had certainly helped. Although, all things aside, even though it had been hard to be poor, and it had been even harder to get used to no servants, she was relatively happy to be where she was. Suddenly, she drew in her breath, pressing on a spot on her stomach.
She was almost six months pregnant, and had not quite yet become used to the kicks that were becoming harder and harder every day. She had already sought out a midwife, and though she had wanted Mrs. O'Connell to be the one to help her through the exhausting pain that was to come, she understood that she was not a midwife. She had settled on another coworker at the hospital, Mrs. Barry. She was a stern woman, but she had heard from many that she was an excellent midwife. She would liked to have been home for the birth, but she knew that she could not travel now, and that her father would not have approved. Though he had given them her blessing, she knew he was less than happy about her marrying Tom. Mama had said that she would not be kept away from the child by Papa, but Sybil found it hard to believe that she would travel to Dublin by herself, especially since the ever increasing possibility of civil war breaking out.
With her intake of breath, Tom sat up, and looked concernedly at her. He was always worried about her, every little thing she did that suggested pain or discomfort put him on edge. Sybil could understand why, both his mother and sister had died in childbirth, and he had never really gotten over their deaths. She also knew how much this baby meant to him, to both of them. Their first child had been lost only a little way into the pregnancy, and Sybil had almost died from it. She remembered the pain and the realization of what was happening to her only too well. The way she had doubled over to try and save her baby, even though she knew it was no use. The way she had screamed for Tom to run for the doctor. The way she felt when she knew that she was passing out, and that it was too late to save her child, and maybe even her. When she had awoken to find Tom white as a sheet beside her, and a terrible pain in her stomach, with the doctor speaking meaningless words of how lucky she was. It had taken them almost a year to get over the loss and now, in 1922, here they were again. But Tom as still paranoid about anything and everything to do with her. Anything that had to do with the pregnancy, even the most trivial things, he wanted to know immediately.
"What is it?" he demanded.
"Just another kick, Tom. I just am not used to something kicking inside me, that's all."
He didn't look too convinced, but slowly lowered himself back onto her lap.
"Are all these kicks a normal thing? What if something's wrong with the child?"
"It's normal, Tom, Mama told me so in her last letter."
"What's she to say about it?"
"Tom," said Sybil, half annoyed and half patient, "Mama has had three children, and lost another one. I think she knows what she is talking about on this."
"She shouldn't be meddling."
"She's not meddling, she's concerned about me!"
"I don't want them to abandon you again, because they are so narrow-minded, because they cannot comprehend the fact that the chauffeur could be interesting enough for the lord's daughter to even notice. They will not care about our child."
"You can't say that, Tom. You don't know them."
"I know their kind! I know their opinions, ideals, morals, and all the rest of it."
Sybil sighed and stood up, looking at Tom with anger and hurt in her eyes.
"You can't separate me from my family, Tom. I love you, but I love them too, and nothing you say to me can change that."
"They will never accept me as anything less than second class."
"Give them time, Tom. I won't tell you it hasn't been a shock for them, because they hardly expected one of us to run off and marry a chauffeur. But I will not break with them because of my decision."
Her voice had become dignified, and had the sort of pleading that she had once used against her father when she had wanted something as a child. He looked at her, and he knew that he would have to give in.
"I know, and I'm sorry, but I hate the idea that people with no money are always doomed to have a second class life. Just as the Irish people are doomed to be second class to the English. It is why they have to fight for what they want, and for their independence and freedom!" Sybil approached him, and wrapped her arms around him. This, she thought, was why she had married Tom Branson, because he had his beliefs, and those beliefs could not be changed. He loved who he loved and disliked who he disliked, and that was just one part of why she loved him. All in all, though she had thought it many times, she knew she had made the right decision in marrying Tom and making an new life for herself; away from her parents and the money and class system and parties and expectations to act like a lady and sit quietly when there was so much she wanted to say. Mary and Edith had always been better at that sort of thing than she had. She had always been distracted, always thinking about other things. She would never have been able to tolerate marrying someone only for their money, and never being able to expected to say what was on her mind.
She and Tom stayed, wrapped up in each other and their own thoughts for some time, until they heard a disturbance outside in the street. They looked out the front door, wondering what anyone was doing out so late at night. A young man was sprinting up the street yelling to the night. Doors opened all over the street, and people with tired voices called out to the man. As he passed their door, they heard what he was shouting:
"There's fighting, the British rats are taking all our freedoms! Down with the treaty! Down with the provisional government! Freedom for Ireland!"
He ran around the corner, and out of sight. Sybil and Tom looked at each other, and she put her hand on his arm and said,
"Not now, Tom, let me sleep peacefully for one more night."
"And if I do nothing? What will happen then?"
"I don't know, but you cannot decide tonight! Please come back inside and think about it before making any rash decisions. Come on, please."
They went back inside, and he collapsed on the couch, lost in thought.
"I'm going to bed, Tom, but I will go after you if I hear that door open."
"I won't go anywhere."
She went up to bed, thinking about what they had just heard. The Four Courts had held the garrison at Dublin for a long time, but they had always know that the government would try to take it back. It was early April, and she was worried that Tom would try to join the revolutionary forces that were surely gathering in Dublin at this moment. Even though she had known he was a revolutionary when she married him, she did not want to risk losing him, to death or to prison if the battle went ill.
She laid down, and tried to think of something other than the future.
…
June 1922
"No, Tom, no, you cannot go! You can help in another way, surely, please, no!"
"Sybil, I have to, I must fight for our freedoms, the freedom of our child. I will go, and you cannot stop me."
He rushed out the door, as the mob gathered outside. The battle was unfolding on the streets of Dublin. After the bombardment of the Four Courts, they had become all the more frequent. Tom had been leaving more and more to go to meeting and planning sessions about the warfare. Sybil tried to stop him, but he would not listen, and she would wait up for hours to make sure that he indeed came home.
She heard the shouts and gunfire and screams of the battle only a few streets over, and sat down, and tried to relax. She was eight months pregnant now, and the stress surrounding her was not good for her or the baby. Everyone at the hospital had told her so, and yet she found it so hard to not focus on what was going on outside. She knew that it would do no good for her to dwell on it, but she was too concerned for Tom not to dwell on it. She sat there for a long time, thinking over and over about what she would do if Tom was killed. She could not return to Downton immediately, because she could not travel when she was eight months pregnant, but she supposed, if the worst happened, she would return home, and try to seek solace in her family, even though they would never understand.
After well into the night, after the din of the battle had long since died, Tom finally came home. He walked into the house to find it still lit, and Sybil asleep in the raggedy armchair next to the couch. He shook her arm gently, and she sat up, too quickly for his liking.
"Thank God! I thought you were dead, Tom! The fight ended hours ago! Where have you been?"
"Nowhere. It's nothing that you should worry about."
"Of course it's something I should worry about it, Tom. You're my husband, I can't help but be worried," she stared at him, still looking frightened.
"I have to fight for what's Ireland's. That damn treaty will get nothing done."
Sybil stood up. She was still breathing rather hard, and she had a stomach ache that had been growing worse as she had sat in the chair, waiting for Tom. She took his hands in hers, feeling the dirt and still fresh cuts there from throwing bottles, glass, and who knew what else.
"Tom, please. I know you want to help, and I know where you stand, but it all worries me so."
He wrapped his arms gently around her, burying his nose in her hair.
"I know," she said, "but that doesn't make what's going on any the more right."
"But-" Sybil began and then, suddenly, she gasped, putting a hand to her stomach.
"What-?" Tom demanded, pulling away to look at her.
"Fetch Mrs. Barry, and Mrs. O'Connell for good measure, Tom, quickly please. But first, get me to bed," said Sybil, calmly.
Tom hastened to obey, panic clear in his face. When he had settled her on top of the bed, he sprinted out of the house, slamming the door behind him. It was lucky, Sybil thought, that both women lived nearby. She tried not to think about the fact that the baby was just under a month early, and prayed as she had never prayed before that they would both make it through. As the minutes ticked by, Sybil used the last moments of alone time for what she knew would be a long time to ready herself for what was to come. Mama had warned her of the pain she was going to experience when she had become pregnant the first time, and Mary had as well after the birth of her and Matthew's son, named William for the footman who saved Mathew during the war. She took several deep breaths and said, to no one in particular,
"I'm ready."
As if in answer to her call, suddenly Mrs. Barry, Mrs. O'Connell, Tom, and several of Mrs. Barry's helpers were there.
"Ready dearie?" said Mrs. O'Connell, smiling, "I must say I am excited to see the wee babe."
Mrs. Barry was barking orders at those around her, for hot towels, warm water, medicines from the nearby hospital, and all the rest. Tom fought his way over next to her and immediately took one of her hands, looking half terrified, half radiant.
"Tom," she said, quietly, "I need you to write to my family, the whole group if you can, and tell them to come at once, because I'll need them either way."
She knew that usually Tom would have argued that she didn't need them, that they could manage on their own, but he was too scared and eager to please her to argue with her now, and immediately went downstairs to the writing desk in the corner.
Sybil closed her eyes, and breathed deeply again, trying to block out all the noise around her.
…
Sixteen Hours Later
Another scream rent the air, and Sybil felt that she could not be the one making that terrible noise, that it must be some manifestation of the pain. Tom was there, flickering oddly, holding her hand, and saying words that could not penetrate her mind. How long had it been, since this ordeal had begun? Minutes? Hours? Days? Years? The room was still full of noise, but Sybil could hear, feel, smell, see, and taste nothing but the pain. Another contraction ripped through her and she screamed again, unable to bear it. She felt Tom's hand tighten in hers, as though he, too were bearing some of the pain. She tried to see his face, but the room was too dark, or was she blacking out? She heard Mrs. Barry yell,
"More towels!"
Some part of her, the tiny part of rationality that had not yet been consumed by pain knew that she should be farther along by now, that the birth was going badly, and that the longer it dragged out, the less of a chance she and her child had.
She heard the low voice of the doctor who had arrived some time ago, and wished she could hear what he was saying. Mrs. O'Connell had left her side only to speak to him, and she could not even make out her normally booming voice over the din of her pain.
She wanted it to end. That was all she wanted. She had seen all kinds of horrible pain as a nurse, but never anything like this, so drawn out, so agonizingly slow and terrible, and all that made her keep going was the idea of the child. That was the dull mantra that pounded inside her head like a headache, all that made it possible to exist under all the pain.
She continued for what felt like hours, still consumed in pain, trying with all her might not to die, and then she heard Tom's voice in her ear, and her brain struggled to comprehend what he was saying.
"Sybil, love, they're going to try and save you both."
When these words made impact with her brain, something in her said,
"They're going to end it!"
She immediately nodded vigorously, and suddenly, without warning, she could understand what everyone was saying around her,
"Only a small cut should do it, Mr. Branson, the child is twisted, and if we continue this way it could suffocate and die, along with your wife."
"I'll be right here with her, Tom, if you want to-"
"I didn't say anything, and I'm especially not going to leave her now. Just do what you have to do and pray, for your sake and mine that it works."
Sybil knew now what was happening, and, tears of pain and premature grief slid down her face as she realized the reason all this had taken so long, and the danger that she and her child had been in.
She saw, out of her darkened vision, the doctor take out a long scalpel, and she fleetingly hoped it had been sanitized after its last use, and she felt Tom next to her, taking her hand again, and staring at the doctor with something close to menace on his face.
The doctor bent down, and she felt the cold tip of the blade, and the cut that it made, and then, almost immediately, the greatest relief in the world. She let out her breath, and heard the unmistakable cry of a baby. Tom shot up, still clutching her hand, and looked at the child she could not see. Mrs. Barry and the doctor had already turned away with the child, Mrs. O'Connell behind them. Tom sank down on the floor, looking at Sybil, covered in sweat and blood, and looking imploringly at the backs of the medics.
Mrs. O'Connell came back to her, smiling,
"It's a boy, m'dear," she said, grinning tiredly, "They're just looking at him to make sure he don't have no problems, what with a birth that long an' all."
Sybil nodded, and looked at Tom, who looked half shocked and half delighted.
"Well?" Sybil, croaked, stroking her thumb along his hand, "What should his name be?"
"I-I-" he stammered, then, his face softened, and he looked at Sybil, with a small smile on his face, "What about Robert?"
"Robert?"
"For your father. Robert John Branson. For both of our fathers."
Sybil smiled, thrilled that he would even consider giving their son her father's name. They had had such a terrible start, and she knew that Tom was unwilling to accept any help or hospitality from her family, much less her father. She hoped it was a sign that he wanted to work together. Maybe she would be able to have tom and her family after all.
After several minutes, the doctor and Mrs. Barry brought the baby over. Sybil had never had much tolerance for children, but this child was not just a child. He was perfect. He was sitting quietly, but she had the distinct impression that this would not last, not with Sybil and Tom as the parents, as they had both been loud children. He had bright blue eyes, just like Tom's and was small, smaller than normal children, but it didn't matter, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and she loved him more than anything else in the world.
She glanced at Tom to see him looking almost reverently at the child, who Sybil took in her arms. He was warm and squirmed at the chilled skin of his mother. She lay her head back on the pillows and let out her breath exhaustedly. Tom bent down and put one hand on her, and the other on the baby's head.
"Robert…" he said, looking at the baby.
"Robert John Branson," said Sybil feeling, for the first time, as though they were a proper family.
…
Three Days Later
Sybil was sitting in the kitchen at the dining table with Robert, nursing, three days after the ordeal. She was still exhausted, but was glad that she had given birth when she did, for several reason. For one, the doctor said that if the pregnancy had come full term, there was a good chance that he would have suffocated because of his strange position in her stomach. For another, Tom had refused to leave her side, even for the revolution. It made it easier for her to sleep at night, and she felt much more relaxed when he was always around, helping her and the baby whenever he could.
At this moment, he was sitting across from her, trying to mend a blanket that was coming apart at one seam. He had never been every good with a needle, and Sybil was just thinking of going and rescuing him when there was a knock on the door.
Tom got up to answer, and Sybil was just going to get up to see who it was when Mary, Edith, Matthew, her mother, and her father entered the room.
Her sisters and mother immediately ran to her, gushing over the baby and telling her how tired and pale she looked. Matthew merely smiled from the doorway, and her father was speaking to Tom. She looked nervously at the last pair, hoping everything was alright. But then her mother said,
"Oh darling, he is just beautiful! What have you decided to name him?"
The whole room looked at her, and she glanced fleetingly at Tom, who smiled and nodded at her. She took a deep breath and said,
"Robert…Robert John Branson."
There was a moment's silence, they were all clearly stunned at the chosen name, and then Papa said,
"You chose the name I assume."
"No, I didn't actually, the name was Tom's idea."
More shocked silence followed this pronouncement, and Papa turned to look, incredulous at Tom. For the first time in Sybil's life, he looked lost for words
"I-Well-I-Thank you, my dear chap, Tom, that is," he stammered, clearly flustered.
"You're welcome, Lord Grantham."
"Robert will do."
Sybil smiled as they shook hands, and knew that her prayers had been answered, that she could indeed have her family and her husband together.
The din continued for several minutes, all the newcomers still talking quickly to Sybil and Tom all at once, so that hardly any words were distinguishable. Tom had hastened to make everyone tea, and Papa had come over to look at the baby.
"He's beautiful, my dear," he said, smiling at her.
"Thank you Papa," she said, smiling back, "Mary, where have you and Mathew left William?"
"Oh, with Isobel and Granny. They are both staying at Downton while we are away, but they both told us to send you their love, and hope that you would visit with the baby soon."
"Oh, well-" Sybil began, but was cut off by Tom, who said,
"We've actually been wanting to discuss that, and what better time than when we're all here."
Sybil looked at Tom, curiously, wondering what he could possibly say to her family that was not the usual, they would try to make it, but weren't sure they could this year.
Tome stood by Sybil at the head of the small table, looked at her, as though for support and said,
"I was thinking that there are plenty of jobs in the papers in Britain. And that I might transfer to one closer to Downton. We would find our own home of course, but it would make it easier on all involved for us not to be so far away."
Sybil looked at him, her shock mirroring that of the rest of her family. They all stared from Tom to Sybil and back again. Slowly, however, they all expressed their joy at this news, and Sybil was hugged by her mother and sisters, and Tom's hand was shaken by Matthew and Papa. In the midst of all this joy, there was a knock on the door.
Tom froze. He turned to everyone in the room and said,
"You must all leave out the back door, quickly. I will follow as soon as I can. If I don't meet you within the day, you must go back to Downton without me."
Sybil stared at him, horrified. But, what could he be saying? Leave? Without him? It was unthinkable. She started to shake her head when he said,
"You must go, Sybil. I love you, so, so much. And I will come back."
He kissed her, a long, deep kiss without thinking about her family standing right there.
"Go! Sybil's things are by the back door. Meet me at the ferry. If I am not there by the time the last one leaves, leave without me. Go, now!"
He turned to the door, squared his shoulders, and marched towards it. They all hurried out the back door, and Mathew grabbed the two small bags next to the door. They all ran into the street, Papa holding Sybil's arm, and he lead her out of the house. As they passed the front of the house, Sybil saw that two military men were talking to tom, and that he was looking nervous, very nervous. She understood why he had made them get out. They had caught him as a rebel. She hoped he could talk his way out of it. She couldn't bear life without him, and certainly wanted Robert to know his father. She almost turned around, almost ran back to the house, almost grabbed Tom and ran with him, but she knew he wouldn't get far if they went together. Sybil led the way to the ferry, which was just around the corner, and they stopped, breathing rather heavily next to the dock.
"What in God's name is going on, Sybil?" Papa demanded, looking concernedly in the direction that they had come from.
"Well, Papa, Tom was part of the recent fighting in Dublin, and, apparently, they-they found him," her voice broke, and she clutched Robert to her, trying not to lose herself to her grief. Mama put an arm around her, and whispered comforting words that she could not hear. Mary gently lifted Robert from her, and they led the way to a nearby pub, which they decided to wait in until there was further news. Matthew agreed to be on watch for Tom, and he waited by a secluded place in the docks. The rest of them sat down in the pub, and Mary and Papa ordered drinks. Sybil looked out the dirty window of the pub, hoping to see something that might lead her to believe that Tom was safe. She sat that way for quite a while, until Tom's name caught her attention.
"I should have known Branson would be involved in the civil war. Why did we ever let them move to Dublin? It's only caused trouble, for all of us. He has no self control, and now he's paying for it."
"Robert-"
"No, Cora, I always knew it was a risk, what we agreed to, but I never dreamed the man would do so stupid! What was he-"
"That's enough Papa," Sybil said, quietly. They all looked up at her, surprised that she was making any noise at all.
"I beg your pardon, Sybil?"
"I said that's enough. Tom was fighting for what he believes in, which is no more than what Matthew and William and all the other men did in the War. How can you call him stupid for standing up in what he believes in? I love him for who he is, Papa, not what you can make of him. Yes, he's thick-headed and hard to change, but what's wrong with that? You will not talk about him that way, at least not in front of me. He is a great man, and I wish that you could see him the way I do."
She stopped, breathing heavily, and looking at her father. He stared back at her, a softened expression on his face.
"I'm sorry, Sybil dear."
"Thank you, Papa."
They remained silent for some time after that, just waiting. It was seven in the evening by this time, and the last ferry left at nine. Sybil was worried beyond measure that they would have to leave without him. She would not eat the supper that they ordered at the pub, and simply stared out the window, without really seeing it, resurfacing only to check on Robert. He had been asleep in Edith's arms for some time, and seemed already quite taken with her.
They continued this way for another hour and a half until, at long last, Matthew appeared and merely nodded. They all got up and, while Papa paid the tab, they followed Matthew out of the pub and towards the docks. There was Tom, hidden in shadow and with a bloody lip and a black eye, but there he was. Overcome, Sybil ran to him and threw herself into his arms. He returned her embrace enthusiastically.
"Thank God, thank God."
"I'm here, I'm here."
And that was all that mattered, that he was there, with her, and with Robert, and that they were a proper family. Papa came out of the pub and they all made their way to the ferry without any delay. They bought tickets and boarded the ferry straight away.
Tom took Robert from Edith, and held the baby, looking happily down at him. He still held Sybil's hand, and Sybil thought that nothing in the world could make her let go of him.
Only a short while later, the ferry announced that it was pulling out of the docks, and Sybil looked back at the town, where she could see their little house. She thought about all her friends at the hospital, and what they would think when they went to the house only to find it deserted, with most of the personal effects still there. She thought of Mrs. O'Connell, and how she would miss her booming advice and clearheaded advice. She thought of the purpose she had had at the hospital, and how all that was going to change. But she also thought of Tom and Robert's safety, and what it must have cost Tom to leave the rebellion at its height. She also though of how it would feel to go home, home to Downton, and how she and Tom could build their new lives together.
All in all, although her life had certainly not been what she had planned, Sybil decided, hand in hand with her husband, that she would not have had it any other way.