Yes, you aren't dreaming...
It's here, it's arrived, after such a long time! But this isn't even the full chapter! I'd say this is about a third of what I wanted to put up, but I couldn't drag it out any longer. I had to put SOMETHING up! Hopefully the cut off here is okay, I hope it flows naturally because I wasn't sure. Probably the first 2/3 chapters will be from the episode and then it will be my own :).
This is for Yankee Countess, who wanted this idea to be written - she gave the title for the story. She has been soooooo patient with this and me - because I am so slow - and for anyone else who wanted this too.
Summary:
Series 2 AU. As Spanish Flu hits Downton, Cora slips further and further into illness and with the threat of her death, Robert can't help but feel that his youngest daughter has tempted fate by daring to change the order of the world by wanting to marry Tom. As tragedy strikes, Robert cannot bear to let any of his daughters leave. Sybil least of all. As guilt and grief consumes the house, Sybil has to get to Tom... because he wouldn't really wait forever, would he?
Cora felt that she would vomit. Her stomach was twisting and wrenching, it took all her concentration to avoid fainting. She could see O'Brien talking but she could only just hear what she was saying, due to the fever that started to cloud her mind. Her face felt terribly hot and her dress was far too tight, she felt like she was going to swell up. She took in a shaky breath, trying to fight the swaying vertigo. She could hear Robert pacing, his footsteps thundering back and forth in her head. It was beginning to irritate her but that wasn't the only thing.
Maybe it was just the stress of the past few days. Sybil, the wedding, the whole Bryant business... too much in so little time.
"Are you too hot in that, milady?" O'Brien's words came through. "We still have time to change."
"No," Cora panted. "I'm fine, thank you,"
Though O'Brien didn't believe her a bit, she couldn't refuse her Lady's word and turned away, picking up the rest of her things and leaving the room. She could feel the rage coming from Lord Grantham and didn't want to get in the way, though she desperately wanted to hear what would be said as soon as she left. To be a fly on the wall...
The door closed. Cora tried to take a calming breath, disguising her distress. She felt weary and tired, the heat of the room becoming a bit too much to bear. She almost collapsed into the seat, using the arms of the chair to prop herself up.
"So... What do we do next?"
"God knows!" he exploded, the volume stinging her head. He sounded helpless, trying to gain control of the situation and failing. "You see, this is what comes of spoiling her! The mad clothes; the nursing! What were we thinking of?"
"That's not fair." she disagreed. She couldn't have her husband saying things that she knew, in her heart of hearts, he didn't believe. She couldn't let him discredit their daughters good work. Her only good achievement to help people. "She's a wonderful nurse and she's worked very hard,"
"But in the process she's forgotten who she is,"
She hadn't seen Sybil since the night before, when she - well they - had made the surprising announcement. Cora had relived that shock over and over, seeing the firm faces of Sybil and Branson. This was no joke. This was no folly, her daughter was serious and for the first time in her life, Sybil had demanded that they listen to this, if nothing else ever again.
She thought of her youngest over the past few years, how she had grown and matured and strengthened in her beliefs and morals, and she soon realised, they were mostly his. Those pamphlets she'd shown her years ago was the start, the seedling, the rest bloomed from there. Hidden in plain sight. Her head had worsened over the afternoon but she couldn't blame it on her child, though it certainly wasn't helping.
"Has she Robert? Or have we overlooked who she really is?"
He couldn't answer that, fearing that if he did, he might find it true. Dismissive, he turned towards the door.
"If you're turning American on me, I'll go downstairs,"
She rolled her eyes, letting him leave, letting him huff and puff. He would calm down eventually, though with this, it may take some time.
Robert stalked down the stairs, still fuming at his daughter, and now there was a bit of resentment for his wife. Of course she wouldn't be as resistant as him! She was American and he had always worried that Sybil had too much of her American blood in her. He should have chucked that chauffeur out when he had the chance, before anything had happened. He'd said it before, 'There was none of it before he stepped under this roof!'. But even back then, he feared that he had uncovered an uneasy feeling that when she'd shouted at him, her head bloodied from the day at the count, that it was already too late. It wasn't the clothes or the nursing or anything else that they had spoilt her with. By letting him stay, Sybil had everything she wanted. Though she may have not realised it at the time, she had made sure that she got her own way with letting the chauffeur stay and Robert knew that no amount of persuading or shouting at her would make her change her mind. There had to be another way to get her back under reigns. The conversations stopped when he walked into the drawing room, the topic was clearly on the night before.
Behind him, Sybil poked her out from behind the pillar, making sure that she steered clear from her father's wrath. She waited a beat, making sure the hallway was clear so she could go to her mother. Though she was angry, she would still want to see her. The handle turned and clicked, signalling for her to move out from behind the pillar to meet her mother as she left the room, both stopping and staring at one another. The silence went on, and Sybil couldn't help but lower her eyes.
"Mama, I wanted to-"
"Where have you been all day?" her mother asked, her tone clipped.
"No-nowhere, I just-"
"Good,"
Cora turned and walked away, not wanting to hear any excuses or reasoning. Her daughters eyes followed her as she walked down the corridor, the creeping sensation up her spine never stopping. Cora's maternal need to turn back and comfort her struggling daughter was strong, but how could she give comfort and advice when she believed Sybil wouldn't listen to it? She steered straight ahead, hearing a door close behind her.
"Milady?"
The voice of the housekeeper jolted her, but she smiled kindly.
"I didn't mean to startle you, milady, but I needed to catch you before dinner,"
"Oh no, don't worry, I'm fine." she waited for a response.
"Very well then, milady but I just wanted to let you know that I've had a letter from the Bryant's,"
Eyebrows raised, "Really? That is a surprise,"
"Yes, they said that they want to meet the little lad here, but I said that I'd receive them, what with the wedding and all, and well... with what's happening with Lady Sybil,"
"You don't have to worry about Lady Sybil, Mrs Hughes,"
"I know, milady, but we all do,"
"Has Branson gone?"
"Yes, he left this morning, but... he doesn't seem like he's going to give in,"
"Neither of them do, but what can be said? His Lordship believes he can persuade her but I know she won't be moved."
"Quite milady, she always was a force to be reckoned with, who knows what the future will bring?"
"Yes. So I don't have to receive terrible that man again?" Cora smiled, relieved.
"It won't be necessary, they'll meet Ethel here-" She'd thought for a moment that she'd tripped but the way that Cora swayed, and the pallor of her face changed in an instant, "Should you be downstairs milady?"
"No, I'm perfectly alright."
Sceptical, she watched Cora as she used the banister to steady herself as she walked down the stairs. She followed on behind her, separating to go back downstairs.
"Mrs Hughes!" a voice hissed.
She turned to see Lady Sybil sneaking down the stairs, trying not to be noticed by her mother. The woman tried to show no contempt for the young girl but found it very hard to refuse her all the same.
"Can I help you, milady?"
"Yes you can, only I don't quite know who to trust anymore..."
Mrs Hughes shook her head, looking increasingly worried, "Milady, I hope not to sound impertinent but no matter what you may think, I do not approve of what you and Mr Branson are doing. I warned him, years ago, but he obviously didn't listen, and I believe that note that you'll want me to deliver is for - well I can guess whom and I am not comfortable in doing it, milady, so please forgive me for not wanting to help,"
Sybil looked crestfallen. Truly hurt by the older woman's words. She quietly muttered to Mrs Hughes as she handed her the note regardless,
"Actually it's for Anna, she asked me to let her know if I had any clothes to be mended. You can read it and check if you like. But it's good to know where you stand with me and Tom, Mrs Hughes. Consider the message clear,"
Before Mrs Hughes could utter any apology, the young girl snatched away, walking straight toward the dining room. Betrayed, Sybil wanted to cry. She had always been told by Tom that Mrs Hughes would be an 'ally', that she had kept a watchful eye upon him in the kindest ways and he had no doubt that she would be on their side. How wrong could he be... As she turned the corner, she leaned against the wall, placing a hand over her mouth. The sobs wanted to escape, the cries of loneliness within her bought all the weight of the situation down upon her shoulders. They really had shaken things up, and not just upstairs. The red tape was dangled in front of them and, hand in hand, they broke through it and now, with it tied back up behind them, they're looking back over... and no one has followed them. They seemed to be completely alone. There was still the reply from Tom's father away in Scotland to wait on... there may be hope there. Sybil shook away the horrid feeling, slowing her breathing and lowered her head back against the wall. After taking a few deep breaths, she heard doors and hushed conversation in the next room. The others were sitting down and no doubt believed her to be upstairs.
Before she turned the knob, her grandmothers voice was clear. On the mention of her name, she hesitated, waiting for the next round of disappointment.
"No Sybil tonight?" her laugh afterwards didn't sound as disappointed as she perceived to be before.
"She didn't say that she wasn't coming down," her mother chirped, sounding quite annoyed. A small smile appeared on Sybil's face, the words bolstering her a bit more. The blow from Mrs Hughes becoming less and less of a disappointment as the conversation continued.
"You've seen her?" her father asked. Sybil held her breath, leaning closer to the door. She wanted to hear every word coming next, never wanting to miss a beat.
"I have. She looked rather sheepish-"
"So she should,"
Cora carried on, ignoring her husband's comments.
"But she seemed to be as determined as ever. So... the norm really,"
She chose her moment well and when the room went silent in mutual discomfort over the conversation, she walked straight in, even the footmen serving stopped to look up at the mysterious intruder. She beamed, closing the door and walking towards her empty seat.
"So sorry I'm late!" she chimed. "I had to give a note to Mrs Hughes for Anna,"
Mary frowned, "Why didn't you just tell Anna, whatever it is you want to tell her, while she was in your room?"
Sybil tilted her head slightly, "You know she wants a list of my dresses I need mending, well that's what the note is! And you know I can't remember them all off hand,"
"Well, it's an excellent job that you won't have to worry about it soon," her father mumbled pointedly. He smiled, but it was full of malice. Sybil mirrored his smile, leaning on her elbows, her fingers interlocking.
"Yes, isn't it? I can't wait,"
Robert almost dropped his fork at the loaded statement. the implications of those three words held such matters that he didn't wish to think about.
The dinner continued on in silence, her father's seething could be felt through all the family members. As the footmen moved to the side, the soup served to all, a large smile appeared on Violets face.
"I'm glad you're here Sybil dear, I was afraid that you'd have a tray in your room," she said, completely amused. She just glared at her grandmothers expression, thankful for the food in her mouth that prevented her from saying something rude.
"Maybe you should have done,"
She swallowed. Sybil was waiting for him to challenge her, for him to show that he meant his words, but he didn't look up from his plate. She managed to keep the hurt from her face, Was this now becoming a game? Her love and plans to marry all just a game? Pity... she thought; she decided to strike whilst she was still ahead. If he wanted to be hurtful, then she could be too.
"Why? I'm not eloping like a thief in the night. I might have once but Mary and Edith talked me out of it," she smiled behind her wine glass, the shock on her father's face was enough to bolster her for the night.
"Oh! The plot thickens!"
Sybil felt her breath puff from her lungs. Her grandmothers ridicule was irritating. She saw the whole thing as hilarious, and yet, completely intriguing. Sybil had no doubts that she would have to indulge her grandmother in the story of a few months ago.
"After all, Sybil's had enough time to think about it-" Isobel interrupted, sensing the hostile surroundings rumbling beneath the conversation.
"Mother." Matthew muttered. "It's not for us to have an opinion,"
He felt someone bump into his shoulder, and on looking, he saw Molesley, eyes shut and his skin pallor turning to a sheer white.
"Mr Molesly are you quite well?"
"I'm alright, thank you sir,"
The shuddering breath and unsteady walk told Matthew all he needed to know.
"I don't believe you are,"
Cora frowned, her stomach felt wretched and she could barely breathe. She needed to lie down and it wasn't from stress.
"The awful truth is, I'm not quite alright, and I'm afraid I'm going to ask you to excuse me," she stood straight away, not expecting any kind of refusal.
"I'm so sorry. Would you like us to call Dr Clarkson?" he asked.
"Not now, it's too late,"
"He's coming anyway, your Lordship, for Mr Carson." Anna chimed. Robert nodded, thankful that the doctor was already on his way.
"I can bring him up when he arrives," Edith offered, trying not to look unhelpful. She would have offered to go and fetch him if he wasn't already on his way.
"I can sleep in my dressing room,"
Cora smiled and walked out, keeping the true extent of her discomfort until she reached the staircase.
Edith sighed, picking up her glass.
"Poor Mama, I hope she's alright. I wonder what could be the matter?"
Robert slowly sat down, bewildered by the illness of his wife. He looked towards Sybil, whose concerned expression seemed to make him seethe, but also boosted his malice.
She should feel guilty, he thought, his eyes narrowing as Mary spoke,
"Mama was talking about the horrid Spanish Flu stories that were in the paper."
"Well, let's hope it's not that," he brushed over, still scowling at his youngest daughter. He couldn't help but blame her a little bit for her mother's distress. She looked over to him,
"But it might be," Sybil murmured. "A lot of people have been ill with it,"
He ignored his daughter, dismissing the notion that his wife could be fatally ill. The guilt would be too much to deal with, as if God had abandoned him completely.
"It's a terrible thing. Spanish Flu has found its way to Yorkshire-"
"And to Downton! Dr Clarkson says he's got 10 cases already," Isobel interjected, making no attempt to sooth the atmosphere. Though she did look rather sheepish when Mary shot her a stunned look, she couldn't help but say the facts. They couldn't continue to live in a bubble, one that made them seem invincible. Isobel thought that after four years of recent war, her Crawley relations would understand this. Well, Sybil did and that was a victory none the less. She said no more as Anna walked in, taking over from Molesley.
"Ah, I thought Molesley had joined the Temperance League!" Robert joked.
Anna smiled, though it had been a well practised one, "I'm afraid he's been taken ill milord, I am sorry."
"Molesley too? good heavens everyone falling like ninepins," his sarcasm waned.
Quietness lulled, and the family continued with their dinner. Apart from one. Lavinia felt her stomach churn, the idea of food completely repulsive. Blood began to thump in her ears, making her body sway slightly.
"Lavinia?" Mary saw her body slump, it looked as if she would faint into her food.
Her weak voice responded, "You know I'm not at all well either, might I have a lie down?"
Though sick, Lavinia dare not demand a place to rest, instead, as courteous as ever, she had to ask. Though this could one day be her home, she had no right to it yet. She had known the Crawley's long enough to know of their kindness, but with Lady Grantham now ill, she wondered if their kindness would stretch beyond their immediate family.
"Of course, come to my room, they'll have lit the fire by now," Mary offered. "You can borrow some things,"
Lavinia nodded and let Mary lead the way. She smiled weakly at Matthew as she left, but the smile he returned, Lavinia wasn't sure whom it was meant for.
"Shall we take her home?" Isobel asked, breaking the silence.
"No, let her rest for a moment,"
"Well, I think I'd ought to go and help!" she couldn't take no for an answer, put down her napkin as almost chased after the others.
Of course, Matthew thought. Though his mother did like Lavinia - it was far too soon to say love - she could be a pest. He cast his eyes over the few remaining members and all had an expression of exhaustion. Apart from Violet however. Matthew noted, as he stood, that her expression was very thoughtful, a little too thoughtful.
"Wasn't there a masked ball in Paris, where cholera broke out?" Robert rolled his eyes, frowning as she continued. "Half the guests were dead before they left the ballroom!"
"Thank you Mama, that's cheered us up no end!" he snapped, slumping back down in his chair. He glared at his mother, who resumed her dinner, as if what she had said had no impact whatsoever. Though Robert knew his mother better. She was sneaky and everything she said had an impact. In a way, with her charming little anecdote, she had declared that most would die. What a cheery thought.
Sybil sat there, staring at her almost full plate of food. She wasn't hungry anymore, there were those around her that needed care and sitting here eating was just too ludicrous for words. She wasn't hungry to begin with after Anna had snuck her up food in case she was banished from the dining room. She shook her head, this will never do!
"I'm going to go and get changed, so I am able to help Dr Clarkson when he arrives," she announced standing to leave.
"Change?" Robert asked, a frown appearing on his face. "Into what?"
Sybil fumed, her whole being wanted to scream at him, but she knew it was no use. He never listened and when the voice of reason called at him, he refused to be swayed. She just groaned and walked away, not wanting to dignify that taunting question with an answer.
Sybil managed to find her nurses uniform again, all still folded and packed as though it had never been worn. The fabric felt so familiar, like a second skin that made her the person she should be. Many more had been taken ill overnight and Sybil wanted to be helpful. Many times she had stopped herself short, wondering if she could sneak a chance to go down to the village. Though Tom was away from the house, he could still be ill. She gasped. What if he was and no one knew about it? Not that they would care here but she couldn't help but worry about him. Maybe he worried for her too? She liked to think that he would though she really hoped that he wasn't. He knew her and he wouldn't doubt that she would want to help.
I must go and see him, either tonight or tomorrow.
Used to changing alone, and along with the fact that she knew this uniform like the back of her hand, she dismissed Anna to her sisters bedroom where she would be of more use. Changed and ready she moved straight to her mother's bedroom. She quietly opened the door to see O'Brien putting away some of her mother's clothes. The older woman turned, nodded - which was returned - and resumed her task.
"Mama?"
Cora opened her eyes, smiling as she saw her.
"Ah, back to full duty I see?"
"Of course." Sybil nodded. She picked up the bowl of ice and rags and brought it to her mother's bedside. The numbness in her fingers seem the spread throughout her hand, making her shiver all over. She smiled as she heard her mother laugh at her sudden chill. "It always gets me, the cold rags. I got used to it but now the immunity seems to have gone. And besides, as long as I'm not ill, I want to help."
Cora's smile left her, and Sybil wondered what her mother was thinking. She looked perplexed, confused - like she was working out an impossible equation or problem. Her eyes kept flickering to O'Brien, the conflict weighing heavy. If she did send O'Brien away, that meant no turning back.
"O'Brien, could you leave us a moment?"
"Certainly milady, I'll fetch more rags,"
Cora nodded, and both sat in silence as she left. Sybil just carried on, not looking at her mother, whose eyes she could feel staring right at her, almost through her, letting her see some of her most darkest of secrets.
"Sybil?"
She didn't look up. She couldn't pretend not to know what she wanted to talk about, whom she wanted to talk about. She muttered something about the ice melting and began to move away, though Cora could see the solid peaks of the cracked splinters in the bowl. Cora reached out for Sybil's arm, stopping her.
"Sybil, darling look at me,"
She sighed, putting the rag back into the bowl and leaving it till the last moment to lift her eyes. She felt an odd heat on her hands as her mother held them, the ice had made any warmth seem like a flame. Tears began to well in Sybil's eyes and she looked away, sniffling slightly, trying not to let on any kind of emotion.
"Oh my dear," Cora cooed. "Now that we're alone, I think we need to talk about Branson,"
Okay, what did you think?
Hopefully its good enough. I want to crack on with this and get it up and done... I feel ashamed that I haven't actually finished a multi-chapter story for this couple. That's bad.
GMJ xxxxxx