November 1939
Mary woke that morning with her husband's cold feet pressed against her calves. The wind whipped past the windows, a low rumble in the air. A storm was coming. She pressed a hand to her forehead, and leaned her head back to catch a glimpse of Matthew's sleeping form.
He preferred to sleep in on Saturdays. She didn't mind, but she had always been an early riser. Moving out of the bed expertly without making it groan from the release of her weight, she padded over to her armoire and grabbed a cream coloured blouse and a pair of dark brown trousers from its depths. She hadn't worn them until now.
It was odd that it was now that it had occurred to her to do this. Nearly twenty years had passed, and she thought of it countless of times, but she never felt more compelled to do it until now.
Shrugging on the woolen cardigan that Anna had knitted for her a few Christmases back (I know how cold you get in the mornings, milady, she said to her that day, a bit sheepishly, but Mary treasured it above any other of her material belongings), she slipped out the door, barely unnoticed by her husband. She could hear him mumble in her absence. It was so quiet in the house, and then the sudden clap of thunder nearly made her change her mind.
She gripped the bannister tightly, pausing there in the middle of the staircase, and debated whether to march right back on into bed. It is about to rain…, she thought, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in indecision.
The scullery maid burst through the dining room, carrying all her brushes and buckets and stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed her ladyship.
"Oh! Lady Mary," she exclaimed, her wide brown eyes moving down to her feet in nothing but shyness, "So sorry to bother you, I was just-"
"Doing your job," Mary finished, a gentle smile gracing her lips. She saw the tension in the girl's shoulders fade instantly. "Don't worry, Nell, I'm just out to take a walk. Please don't bother Anna about me, I won't be taking breakfast for a while."
The girl nodded. She was brand new, hardly seventeen years old, and this was the first word either of them had spoken to each other. "Yes, milady," she said, and scurried on into the next room to light another fire.
The cemetery was everything she could remember. She visited it four times a year. In December for her father and Lavinia, in February for Granny, and in July for Sybil. It was a simple matter, really. She would go into town, buy a bouquet of flowers herself, walk to the cemetery and place them on their graves and leave. Today, it was a sea of dead grass and grey headstones, and she sighed at the monotony of it all.
The sky rumbled again. Walking towards the big tree, dormant now with its naked limbs, she found what she was looking for.
Lady Sybil Amelia Branson.
Mary licked her lips, trying to say something. Anything to make this trip worthwhile. She smoothed her hands down the front of her trousers, hands shivering from either the cold or her nerves.
Why in the world are you nervous about talking to someone who isn't there? She thought, and her eyes clamped shut in a slight moment of grief.
"Good morning, Sybil," she began, her gaze locked on her sister's name on the headstone. "I'm sorry… so, so sorry that it's taken me so long to do this. You hated when I gave excuses, so I won't bother you with any."
She paused. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. She turned and looked around the cemetery, making sure no one was watching.
"I remember every detail of that day. I was so scared for you, darling, and everything went numb after you left. I didn't cry for you until two months later. Isn't that ridiculous? I woke up in the middle of the night and I couldn't breathe because I was so hysterical."
The corners of her mouth crooked up into a smile. "I guess that's what I get for hiding all my emotions all the time, isn't it? You always disapproved of that, I remember.
"I didn't even hold Sybie until she could crawl, and that was only because she was heading for a light socket. She looks so much like you, darling, that sometimes it's hard to look at her. She's so perfect, and we love her just as fiercely as we do our own children. She spends all of her holidays up here, even now that she's at university, and Tom still visits as much as he can. I'm sure you know that, though. He spends hours talking to you here."
She felt a droplet of rain hit the back of her neck, and a clap of thunder echoed all around her. Her throat tightened.
"There's a war on now. All I can think of is how much you should be here, you deserve to be here, to help these people and do what you loved. I told Matthew we could use the house for the soldiers again, if needed. William is fourteen now, and I pray every night that the war will be over before he's of age."
The rain grew harder, and she could feel it pelting her back.
"I wish I could stay here all day, darling. I wish you were here so we could talk about these ridiculous trousers that I bought in London because I thought you would like them. I wish you could still barge into my room unannounced and just talk."
Mary could see the vicar on the steps of the church out of the corner of her eye, and the rain grew stronger every second. A sob threatened to escape from her throat.
"Sybil… I can't remember what your voice was like anymore. I can see your face, I can remember your smile and yet your voice is gone. I'm so angry with myself for forgetting, but that's what happens over time, I suppose.
"Twenty years nearly, we've been without you. Mama still loves you, Edith still loves you, and I still love you. We never go a day without thinking of you, I promise."
Hesitantly, she reached out to place a hand on the top of Sybil's headstone. Her ring grazed against the worn stone and she bit down on her tongue to keep herself from crying. Not that it would matter anyway, she was completely soaked and shivering. Matthew would be so cross with her for going out and risking her health.
"My darling, I will be back soon, don't worry," she whispered, and trudged her way up into the church to escape the downpour.
Upon entering its quiet halls, Mary quelled her tears and sat down on the very back pew. She would wait out the worst of the rain, return home, and carry on.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, it was just this quick little thing that popped into my head after last night's (torturous) episode. Please review if you can :)
Bailey xx