March 1938
"After all, my wife and I have given nine hostages to fortune. Our children and your children are more important than anything else in the world. The kind of America that they and their children will inherit is of grave concern to us all." -Radio address by Joseph P Kennedy endorsing Roosevelt's third term, October 1940.
"We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air. We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing-grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender."-Winston Churchill, June 1940
Sybbie gathered her books quickly, stacking them atop one another and cinching the leather strap tightly around the worn bindings. Pushing away from her desk, she rushed by the rest of the girls filing out of the classroom. The laughing, crystalline voices of her friends called out to her in her hurry and Sybbie twirled around, the skirt of her uniform billowing at the pleats. Waving to the girls, she continued to race through the hall, only to stutter to a slower gate and straighten her posture as she passed Headmistress Stone. The older woman turned her severe eyes on Sybbie as she walked by.
"You would not be running through the halls, Ms Branson? Surely that was not the sound of your feet clomping about." Mistress Stone peered over her wiry framed glasses, her mouth puckered distatestfully.
"No ma'am." Sybbie answered, her chin tucked into her chest and the heat rising in her face.
"Hmph…" The woman answered before resuming her progress down the corridor.
Sybbie ducked through the doorway, bursting out of the building and charging down the stairs. Once at the bottom, she looked up, her eyes gazing up the expansive limestone ashlars of the building. The octagonal turrets towered above her, climbing toward the blue sky and Sybbie exhaled, taking the moment to appreciate that her time at St Peter's* was coming to an end. Her classmates meandered out of the school in a haze of chatter, their combined conversations a harmony of gossip, confidences and trifles.
The air, unseasonably warm for March, stagnated around the wool of her collar and she unbuttoned her coat, feeling only marginal relief. The first of the crocuses reached colorfully from the dull patches of hardened dirt they were buried under and birds sang from their perches on bare trees. The bells of St Peter's chapel chimed out the tune of an ancient hymn and Sybbie looked to the steeple, the scrolling numbers of the clock telling her she would be late. Dashing away, the stiff soles of her shoes clattered along the cobblestone.
Her path was a familiar one, one she could navigate without thought, passing the usual sights. South Church. Mr. Brewster's Confectionary. The Castle and Swan Inn. Old Mr. Hill, who had been selling newspapers outside the York Post Office since she'd entered primary school frowned at her running silhouette.
The Italianate-styled Royal York Hospital loomed ahead and Sybbie slowed her steps as she approached. A group of staff congregated outside along the high stone wall encircling the entrance and they smiled at her as she went by.
"Good day, Miss Sybbie," Dr Charles, chief of surgery, greeted her.
"Hello," Sybbie sang, nodding at the the others before hurrying into the hospital.
Sybbie traversed the halls, discreetly peeking into doorways as she walked by. The hospital had always held special interest for her, its chemical smells and starkly appointed rooms. The building whispered of science and progress and the answers to age old riddles, just waiting to be discovered.
This place was part of her, like some element in her blood. It made her feel close to her mother somehow, thought she'd never worked within these halls. And then there was Granny. Granny who had, who did, work here so dedicatedly. Granny, who Sybbie had been meeting in her office after school three days a week since she'd begun at St Peter's ten years prior.
As she rounded the corner, Sybbie heard the gentle inflections of her grandmother's voice drifting out of her office. It seemed strange but Sybbie was always filled with a sense of pride when seeing Granny at the hospital. Respected and highly regarded, Granny was terribly popular with the doctors and directors and her sweet facade and even temperament helped smooth many egos.
"Hello, darling!" Granny called out, looking up from her work as Sybbie crossed the threshold. "Is it that time already?"
"Yes, Granny. I am dragging you away." Sybbie declared, smoothing back a lock of hair that had come loose of its barret and was swaying into her eyes.
"Very well. Dr. Evans, I shall be here tomorrow to finalize the last of the fundraising plans." Cora told the young man who had stood at Sybbie's entrance.
Sybbie threw a shy smile in his direction before she turned serious, addressing her grandmother. "But Granny, you never come to the hospital on Fridays. You musn't over-tax yourself."
"Hmmm," Cora replied distractedly as she pushed back from her desk and put on her coat. She came around and met Sybbie by the door, looping her arm through her granddaughter's.
"I think dear Donk has been influencing you too much." Cora cooed as the two women strode through the halls of the hospital.
"He just worries. He thinks you should slow down." Sybbie said.
"Are you calling me old, dear?" Cora admonished.
Sybbie tossed her head in laughter. "No!"
"Good! Because we have a dress fitting we are going to be late for if we don't hurry." As if to prove her point, Cora pulled her along the corridors of the hospital quickly and down to the waiting car.
"Ugh, Granny! Really, do I have to?" Sybbie complained as she crouched into the back seat, scooting along the leather interior.
Cora settled into her spot, neatly arranging her coat around her slight frame, placing her clutch delicately in her lap. She moved with a fluidity that disguised her age, a grace that Sybbie wanted to emulate, despite her natural reaction to rebel against such constraints.
The motor stuttered to life with Bennet's turn of the key and the car lurched forward, gaining speed as he eased them onto the road. Sybbie unbuttoned her coat and shrugged out of the bulky garment, the air in the back of the car stale and suffocating.
"Sybbie, dear, you know it means a great deal to your grandfather." Cora responded.
"It just seems silly. Afterall, I am the daughter of an Irish car salesman. What am I doing being presented at court like some grand laddy-da!" Sybbie sulked, picking at a thread in the hem of her sweater.
"You are also the granddaughter of the Earl of Grantham. His first." Cora said, covering Sybbie's hand with her own. "Besides, who knows how long the tradition will continue, with things the way they are."
"Granny…" Sybbie whined feebly, knowing her protest would end up getting her nowhere.
"I'm sorry darling, I fought on your father's side for your schooling. I won't fight to get you out of this." Cora said. "And selfishly I'm thrilled I get to present another of my girls!"
"Oh Granny, there's a monarchist hiding under all of that modern Americanism!" Sybbie quipped.
Cora raised her eyebrows and dropped her voice. "It will be our secret."
In spite of herself, Sybbie laughed, leaning toward Cora so that their shoulders touched. She hadn't wanted to be presented, a 'coming out' seeming archaic and ridiculous in 1938. But ever since she was young, there was a soft spot deep within her for her grandfather. Just as he would give her any heart's desire so she found she couldn't deny him either. And knowing how much joy her grandmother was getting from the ordeal sealed Sybbie's fate. Her father, whom she had counted on to fight just as hard as she initially did, turned out to be disappointingly conciliatory. As he told her quietly after dinner only a few evenings ago, sometimes we allow the people we love to have their way over our own.
Though she would never admit it outloud, wouldn't attest to it if questioned, she did enjoy some of the fussing Granny did over her as they picked out fabrics and patterns. The whole circus made bearable by the way her dress made her feel as beautiful as the mother she had never met.
"You must be getting very excited for the end of term," Cora's voice cut through Sybbie's distracted musing.
"Granny," Sybbie shifted in her sheet, rounding so that she could see Cora more fully. "Can I tell you a secret?"
Cora's eyes glimmered. "I love secrets!"
Sybbie sighed affectionately. "Granny, it is a serious one."
Cora's features dropped and she grasped Sybbie's hands. "It isn't a terrible one, is it?"
"No, no!" Sybbie assured. "But it may be hard for some people to hear."
Sybbie unstrapped her books from one another, carefully opening up her Linguistics primer, the packet of papers she had tucked in there still folded. She placed her palm on them, already knowing their words by heart. Just thinking of what she had read only hours before, she felt the same drop in her belly, the delicious, dizzying flopping that had occurred. She was excited and nervous and her hand shook as she took them from their hiding place. In place of words, she gave Cora the top sheet and watched as Cora looked it over, her brows threading together over the slope of her nose before they shot straight up. Her grandmother gasped and covered her mouth and Sybbie couldn't help the broad smile that stretched across her face.
"Sybbie," Cora whispered. "Is this what I think it is?"
"If you think that it is an acceptance letter to university, than yes!" Sybbie squealed.
"Oh my!" Cora placed her hand on her chest and shook her head. "But how? When?"
"Mrs Poole helped me fill out the application and she sent it. And they sent this back to her just today." Sybbie explained.
Cora looked back at the paper in her hands, reading the words. "Bedford Women's College, London."*
Sybbie nodded. "You'll help me Granny, won't you? When it comes to it, you'll fight my corner?"
Sybbie watched her grandmother hopefully, took in the way Cora's eyes widened at her words, the way tears pooled in their depths. When Cora's chin wrinkled, her grandmother trying to repress the quiver building under her skin, the ballooning excitement pressing against Sybbie's breastbone began to deflate. Cora reached out and Sybbie let herself be pulled into her tight embrace.
"Of course I will, darling." Cora promised, her voice cracking. "Of course I will."
Robert strode into the Great Hall, little Tut galloping at his ankles, nipping at his loafers playfully. Bending down, he gave the pup a good rubdown, the golden's tail wagging excitedly at the attention. Robert looked up at the sound of heels clapping the marble and saw Thomas entering from the library.
"Good afternoon, my lord." Barrow stopped his progress at noticing Robert.
"Hello Barrow," Robert said, shrugging out from his overcoat and handing it to Thomas along with his hat. "Do you know where her Ladyship is?"
"In the library my lord." Thomas replied calling to Tut as he exited the hall.
Nodding, Robert concentrated his steps in that direction, aware of the scraping of Tut's nails as he scurried after Thomas. He inhaled deeply, the walk around the grounds energizing him and clearing his head. From a distance he had seen the car twisting along the drive bringing Cora home. He had been angry the night before, her announcement that she would be at the hospital again coming on the back of a stressful day of bookkeeping with Mary and Tom. His temper getting the best of him, he had turned his back to her in bed, laying down in the silence and sharpness left by his words.
When he woke that morning, she had already left.
Robert entered the library, searching the room for Cora and finding her on the window seat, a letter resting limply on her lap as she stared out the glass. He couldn't place her expression but her immersion in her own thoughts, her ignorance of his entrance, put him on edge.
"Cora," Robert said softly and she shook herself and tossed a faint smile in his direction though her eyes remained troubled.
He felt a stir of guilt, hoping his ire the night before wasn't the cause of her upset but then she held the piece of paper out to him. Taking it he scanned its content, unsure of what had piqued her. It looked like any other letter she'd received, signed by someone whose face he couldn't quite conjure up
Sensing his dimness, Cora sighed. "It is from my cousin Elise. Remember, we visited with her when we were in Vienna?"
"Oh yes!" Robert said with a certainty that remained partially shaky. "It isn't bad news, I hope."
"No…" Cora replied, her head tilting to the side. "The usual talk of her children. She'll be a great-grandmother soon."
"Well, that is something!" Robert said before sitting down beside her.
"Yes," Cora's voice drifted as she took the letter back from his hands. "And Austria has been annexed by Germany."
"Ahh…it was voted on recently." Robert explained. "But it isn't anything to trouble yourself over."
"I don't know Robert. I cannot seem to forget poor Michael Gregson and his fate." Cora said.
"My dear," Robert placed his hand on Cora's knee. "What happened to him was tragic, but unfortunately not uncommon. A foreign man in a pub can sometimes be the victim of violence."
Cora met Robert's eyes, searching for something there that would tell her he was shielding her from his true thoughts but he seemed unphased. And yet, she couldn't let go of the knots her stomach twisted into when she read the newspapers. It felt as though they were perched on the brink of something.
"The world is quite volatile at the moment." Cora said quietly.
"Oh not anymore than it always is, darling." Robert soothed. "Why, when I was at the club last week Lord Dormer was speaking about how his oldest granddaughter is in Bavaria as we speak for finishing school.* From her letters it seems she's having the time of her life. She even dined with Hitler himself."
"Really?" Cora leaned back, incredulous.
Robert nodded. "Now why don't you tell me about your preparations for Sybbie's presentation? May will be here before we know it."
Cora exhaled heavily, a momentary squint to her eyes that Robert thought peculiar, as though she had more to say, but she swallowed and forced a smile upon her face.
"Everything is fairly set. Sybbie had her last fitting yesterday, and Robert she looks so beautiful!" Cora gushed.
"I do not doubt it," Robert responded, pleased at the way Cora's eyes lost the greyness clouding them and instead twinkled with delight.
"She really is a dear for going along with it. As is Tom. You know it isn't something he believes in." Cora said.
Robert shrugged. "He has a great influence on her, obviously. But we cannot let her forget that she is also a Crawley."
Cora rolled her eyes. "How could she? When you remind her so often."
Robert grinned, slapping his knees and standing. "It is my duty as her grandfather."
Cora smirked up at him. Robert looked down at her, the grin fading from his lips.
"Between the hospital business and the preparations for Sybbie's ball, you've been running hither and thither. Why don't you come up and rest before lunch?" Robert held his hand out to Cora, wagging his fingers for her to take it.
When Cora hesitated, Robert shook his head.
"I know what is on the verge of your tongue and I will not take no for an answer," Robert instructed firmly.
Closing her eyes in defeat, Cora relented, taking his grasp and Robert pulled her up.
"I suppose a short nap won't hurt," Cora said as they walked hand in hand from the library.
"No, it will not." Robert said, placing a grazing kiss on her cheek before they both entered the great hall.
April 1938
Tom rested his hand on the cold metal of the knob, trying to remember the comforting words that kept filling his head all evening. He placed a hand on the decorated frame bordering the door, listening for any signs of distress behind the walls but there was only quiet. He couldn't help but think of her face, her smooth, joyful face as she had delivered the news over dinner. His little girl was going to university. Never had he experienced a moment like the one downstairs, Sybbie's voice clear and honeyed. A shiver of his flesh had sent every hair on end, from his arms to his scalp. His stomach had clenched, his eyes had stung. He had wanted to laugh and shout and scoop her up into his arms and dance her around. The baby he had cradled not so long ago, with eyes the color of her mother's was growing into a woman.
Tom looked up to the ceiling, blinking. He pictured Sybil, how she had jumped up and down when Gwen had gotten that secretary job. What a jig she must be doing now!
Our girl, Sybil! Our girl!
Folding his fingers, Tom rapped his knuckles against the door, a shallow sound vibrating through the wood. Sybbie's muffled voice reached him, the dull Come in, twisting at his gut. Tom opened the door carefully, glancing around before stepping in. Sybbie had her back to him, curled on top of her bed, still in her dinner dress. As he closed the door behind him, she leaned back, peaking in his direction before turning once more.
"Sybbie." All of the words Tom had plotted out were lost to him, all his energy channeled into the syllables of her name. To see her narrow shoulders rise and fall with her breathing, her disappointment pushed out on every exhalation, was a pain as tangible as any he had felt.
"How could he not be proud of me, Dad?" Sybbie asked, still facing away from him.
"Oh darlin'," Tom replied, sitting on her bed and rubbing her arm. "Don't think that he isn't."
Sybbie sat up and slid back against the padded headboard. "It's hard to think anything else when all he did was grumble. He is more concerned about the reputation of the family than my education!"
"Donk loves you very, very much." Tom insisted, taking a strand of her hair and tugging on it gently. "This is just something that will take him getting used to."
Sybbie scrunched up her mouth. "He has a funny way of showing it."
"You are right, my dear. I do."
Tom saw Sybbie's eyes dart to the door before his own followed. Robert stood just over the threshold in his bathrobe, his hands held behind his back. Bringing his arms forward, he motioned at the center of the room.
"May I?" Robert asked.
"Yes," Sybbie answered quietly. "Did Granny tell you to come?"
Robert cleared his throat. "Well, it seems the dividing door has been locked. From her side. So perhaps not in actual words…".
Tom coughed in order to disguise the laugh he'd let loose but Sybbie remained passive, crossing her arms and meeting Robert's eyes. "I don't think you were fair, Donk."
Robert struggled for his words, his mouth opening and shutting around the idea of a few before sighing and letting his shoulders sag.
"All that I can say is that I am sorry. I never meant to upset you; it just took me by surprise. I didn't realize you were interested in attending university." Robert explained, holding up his hands.
Sybbie let her arms drop, softening. "I am, Donk. I want to be important one day."
"You already are." Robert said, his voice straining.
Sybbie rolled her eyes. "I mean, I want to contribute to the world."
Robert let out the breath he was holding, his eyes falling to the floor. "I couldn't be more proud of you, my darling girl. Truly."
Tom turned to Sybbie, her face glowing. He took her hand. "You are going to do great things."
*St. Peter's is a real primary and secondary school in York. It started out as just a boys school and then became co0ed. For the purpose of this story, it is an all girls school.
*Apparently, lots of aristocratic girls were sent to Germany in the mid to late 30's for finishing school, Bavaria being the most popular. Germany at the time was a lot like England. It was clean, the weather was better, as was the food. And many of the young women were infatuated with all the young men in uniform. They were also embraced by Hitler and his cronies as well as the remaining German aristocrats, whom their families still had ties. It was only once Germany invaded Poland and war seemed inevitable that they were brought back by their families.
*Bedford Women's College is an actual college in London that is now co-ed but started as one of the first women's universities in England.