A/N: So this is the beginnings of my contribution to the S/T 2018 secret santa for Scarletcourt ! She asked for a story that was a continuation of the characters in her stories "The Bransons in London" and "Listening to the Wireless". So here it is. It's turned into a bit of a behemoth, so there will be at least one or maybe two more chapters (hopefully before Jan 6th !) Its the first time I have taken the family into WW2, so something new for me !

Christmas Eve, 1940

Mary, Countess of Grantham, couldn't help but shiver as she looked out of the window of the library. The sky was a slate grey, heavy in the half light of late afternoon, the low clouds holding promise of even more snow. The ground in front of her was pure white, flattening the contours and making it look as if a passing giant had dropped a freshly laundered handkerchief on the park and smoothed it out. It was eerily silent.

She never used to notice the silence, being so accustomed to it, but a year into this new war, silence came with a sense of dread. She found herself listening to it, waiting for it to be broken by the ring of the telephone or the thrum of aircraft overhead. Downton lay within a few miles of two Bomber Command airfields , and the sight and sound of the planes had become part of life. But you never got used to them, she thought. She could never see them without thinking of the young men - very young men - inside them and, by extension, George, who was stationed on an airfield miles away to the south and who would not be home for Christmas. It was an ever present ache - something she knew Matthew felt keenly too, although they never spoke of it by an unsaid mutual consent.

"When will they be here, Aunt Mary ?"

She looked down to see her nephew Quin, Sybil's quiet, introspective child standing beside her, his nose almost touching the window. Sybil's three youngest children had been staying with them at Downton since the bombing raids had begun in earnest in September. The twins were no doubt somewhere with Jack or Matilda, but whilst he got on with his cousins, Quin preferred to be on his own. Mary suspected that of the three of them, he was the one who missed his parents the most. It had been several months since he had seen them.

"Soon, darling. Jackson will go and collect them in about half an hour. You must be looking forward to seeing your Mama and Papa," she said.

Quin nodded. "And Patrick." Sybil's oldest son had stayed at home, not wanting to change schools.

"Is is very dangerous in London, Aunt Mary ? With all the bombs ?"

Mary sighed. As much as she and Matthew tried to protect the younger children from what was going on in the world, it was inevitable that the war would make its way into her nursery. She knew that Henry listened to the news on the wireless in the schoolroom, despite it only being there for Children's Hour. Which meant that the younger children heard it too. "People are safe in the shelters, darling. Your Mama says they're alright, doesn't she ? Now - why don't you run down and see if Mrs Parker has any biscuits ?"

Quin smiled broadly at this and scurried away in the direction of the door to the kitchen, no longer a division between two worlds as far as the children were concerned, but more of a gateway to a treasure trove of sweet delights. All five of Mary's children and their cousins had been in and out of the kitchens at Downton since they could walk and had seen no reason to stop as they grew older, despite Mary's half-hearted disapproval.

Mary watched him go. Quin had voiced a concern that troubled her more than she was letting on. Ever since September, the news from London of nightly bombardments had put her on edge. When she talked to Sybil on the telephone her sister had seemed increasingly weary, despite her protestations that everything was all right and they were all coping. She was considering returning to nursing. Privately, Mary wished she wouldn't. Surely campaigning with the Six Point Group and looking after her husband and son in a city that was under the nightly assault by the Luftwaffe was stressful enough ? Sybil assured her that the most of the bombs were falling on the east of London, far away from their flat in South Kensington. But it still made Mary nervous and she was extremely glad that her sister and her family had agreed to spend the holiday with them at Downton.

Sybil had only been partially honest with her sister. It was true that the heaviest bombardments were on the docks, but not all bombs were on target. A stray bomb could land anywhere, and only last week one had fallen on the Natural History museum, less than a quarter of a mile away. She, Tom and Patrick had been safe in the underground station, but it had been disturbing to come up and see the damage on the way home. Camping out in the underground had become routine, but there was little privacy and even less chance of a good night sleep. Patrick slept like a log anywhere, but on the nights when Tom was not on duty as a fire watcher the two of them would cuddle together and doze. When Tom was on duty she would sit up all night with a thermos of tea and try not to imagine what he might be dealing with up above them, or to think of Quin and the twins. If she did, alone in the press of humanity huddled in the depths of the station, she would find herself fighting back tears and fiercely telling herself that they were safe. She would only relax when the all clear had gone and they arrived home to find him tired and grimy, heating up the water for a bath before going to work. Sitting in the northbound train she could feel herself start to relax, and with every passing station it was as if a small part of that constant, nagging worry left her and slipped out of the carriage door. Tom had fallen asleep beside her, lulled by the rocking of the carriage and Patrick was content to stare out of the window. By the time they got to York and had to change trains, Sybil felt almost lighthearted. London might be under siege, but Downton was still standing and as safe as houses.

York was noticeably colder than London, and the air smelt clean and crisp. The station was busy. Before the war, it would be lit up with strings of Christmas lights twinkling away in the dusk, but now it was dark, illuminated only by the thin light of the weak winter sun. Figures hurried across the bridge over the platforms, eager to get home for the holiday. Many of them were in uniform, those lucky servicemen with leave at Christmas. This made Sybil think of Nora, who was due to meet them at Downton. It would be the first time in months that she would all five of their children under the same roof.

Tom had taken charge of their luggage and was leading them towards the platform for the Downton train. Patrick was walking beside him, carrying his suitcase and a bag of books slung over his shoulder. From behind they were almost the same height. Patrick's shoulders were starting to broaden, but he still looked gangly compared to his father's solid frame. At the start of the war, he was still a boy, but the last year had seen him grow up rather quickly, especially once Nora had joined up. He was too interested in the war for Sybil's liking. He could recognise any aircraft by its silhouette and had followed Dunkirk almost obsessively. He idolised Mr Churchill, which irked Tom no end. As it was, Tom had agreed with Churchill's stance over appeasement, but he had lived long enough to remember that Churchill had been plenty wrong in the past. Thank goodness it would be another three years before Patrick would be called up. Perhaps, she thought, it would all be over by then. Thinks might look particularly bleak at the moment, but there was always hope.

As they left York behind and headed up into the moors, they could see that it had been snowing. The bare hills were dusted with white, making them shine bright in the late afternoon light. Tom didn't like what he saw.

"I hope Nora didn't leave it too late to set out," he said.

Sybil reached out and squeezed his hand.

"We mustn't worry. She's a very good driver. She knows what she is doing."

"I know, but - " he looked down at her hand and turned his own over to squeeze it back.

"- you're her father," Sybil finished for him, smiling. "But she's not a little girl any more. She's a clever, resourceful young woman. And she's in the Army."

Tom sighed and looked out of the window, still holding Sybil's hand. Patrick looked up from his book.

"Nor'll be fine," he said, completely unconcerned. "She knows more about cars than you do, Dad."

This got Tom's attention.

"I don't think she does"

"She's done all those courses. Big trucks and everything. And she fixed the Austin when you…."

"That was just because I didn't have time…"

"Why don't you finish your book, darling," said Sybil, keen to put a stop to any squabble between father and son before it started. "We'll be there soon."

They scowled at each other for a moment, before Tom turned away again and settled back to stare out of the window. Patrick picked up his book and the family swayed onward to Downton.

By the time they stepped onto the platform at Downton Station it was even colder. A frosted layer of snow made the platform crisp underfoot and a few stray flakes were just beginning to fall, pinpricks of white against the now-dark sky. There was a solitary lamp in the stationmaster's office, its warm, welcoming glow spilling out and pooling around the door and making Sybil long to be inside. How many times had she alighted from a train on this platform ? It didn't seem to matter. Whenever she did, wherever her life was and whatever was going on in the world around them, stepping onto this platform always felt completely and utterly familiar, like slipping on a favourite pair of slippers. And now her children were only a few miles away.

Beyond the platform they could see Jackson the chauffeur hovering and blowing on his hands. He sprang forward as soon as he realised they had seen him.

Tom greeted him first.

"Has my daughter arrived yet ?"

"Miss Nora rang earlier to say she would be a little late."

Tom looked back at Sybil, alarmed.

"Did she say why ? Had she broken down ?"

"She said that she was fine and you weren't to worry. She'd be there as soon as she could."

Tom found this answer most unsatisfactory.

"What are the roads like ?"

"They're fine, Mr Branson. It snowed last night but its not icy."

"It will be later," said Tom, apprehension obvious in his voice. Jackson busied himself with loading the luggage.

"Darling, I'm sure she's fine. She's not coming on the main roads, not over the moors. Have a little more faith in your daughter," smiled Sybil as she stepped into the back of the car.

"I do have faith in her," Tom muttered behind her, "But the weather can change so quickly when it's like this. Don't you remember ?"

Of course I do, Sybil thought, but I also remember how frighteningly capable Nora had seemed when she'd been home on leave last time. She knew that Tom knew this too in his heart of hearts, and normally he would be the first to encourage Nora in taking risks and in living life to the full, as he'd encouraged her at the same age. But the war had made him far more circumspect, especially now, after Dunkirk, when Britain seemed to stand with her back to the wall, cornered and virtually defenceless. Tonight it seemed that his apprehension extended to the natural environment as well. It was as if he truly believed the whole world was against them.

Downton village was strangely dark and quiet for a Christmas Eve. Sybil barely noticed.

"I can't wait to see them," she whispered to Tom. "It's been so long …."

"Me too," he said with a smile.

By the time they pulled onto the long drive at Downton, Sybil could hardly sit still. The great house loomed out of the night, dark and rather sinister. Before the war, the house would be twinkling like a fairy palace at Christmas, dozens of lights sparkling at a hundred windows, throwing out a warm winter welcome with the promise of a grand festive season. Tonight it looked sober and subdued, but Sybil found its familiar bulk reassuringly permanent. It looked safe.

She was out of the car before Jackson and before Barrow had a chance to properly open the front door. Mary and Matthew were just coming out of the library.

"Darling ! You're here at last ! How was the train journey ?" Mary hurried forward to embrace her sister and kiss her cheek.

"Long," said Sybil, "but we're here now. Safe and sound," Patrick and Tom had followed her in. Matthew greeted them warmly.

"Any news of Nora ?" asked Tom, his brow creased in concern. "We thought she'd be here by now"

"She telephoned at lunchtime to say she would be here in time for dinner, a little later than expected. Something about a surprise. She was being very mysterious," said Mary. "I couldn't get any more out of her."

"I hope -"

"MAMA !"

Two pairs of boyish feet thundered down the stairs into the saloon. Quin reached the bottom first and almost launched himself at Sybil and into a fierce hug. She gathered him to her and her heart leapt at the familiar shape of his body and the wonderful clean smell of his hair.

Aiden was right behind his brother, gangly in his short trousers. She gathered him in too.

"Oh my darlings ! I've missed you so much ! And look at you ! You look so well !"

"I missed you too, Mama ! And Da !" Quin was on the verge of tears.

There, there," Sybil soothed, wiping his cheek. "No tears ! It's Christmas Eve !"

Tom laid a hand on his son's smooth head.

"I missed you too, Quin. And you, little man !" he said, sweeping Aiden off his feet and into his arms. Aiden planted a wet kiss on his cheek and grinned. He pointed to the Christmas tree.

"Father Christmas is coming !"

"Indeed he is !" laughed Tom. "But only if you've been a good boy," he added seriously. Aiden nodded frantically.

"I bin very good !"

"Is that so ?" Tom asked

Cathleen had taken the stairs at a more careful pace hand in hand with the Nanny, with her cousins behind her.

"Daddy !" she cried, holding out her arms to be picked up. Tom was only too happy to oblige.

"Hello, sweetheart," he kissed her on the cheek. Sybil looked up from her boy to lean over and give her daughter a kiss too.

"Aunt Sybil ! Uncle Tom ! You're here !" Matilda, as the eldest in the nursery had taken it upon herself to greet her aunt and uncle on behalf of the Crawley children.

"Goodness, you all look so grown up !" said Sybil.

"You must be desperate for some tea," said Mary, deciding that some sort of order needed to be restored. "Nanny, please take the children back upstairs - "

"Mary, we haven't see Quin and the twins for months. Surely you won't mind if they have tea with us !"

"It is Christmas," Matthrew pointed out.

"Please Mama !" said Matlida

Mary looked around. Every pair of eyes in the saloon was trained on her - even Barrow's, although he looked away when she caught his eye. Matthew was right. It was Christmas and there was a war on.

"Alright then. But only for half an hour, then Nanny will take you back to the nursery !"

Tea turned out to be quite a boisterous affair, with the Crawley children completely unable to sit still and do as they were told, instead spreading themselves out over the library and talking rather more loudly than Mary thought entirely necessary. Henry came in from the stables and he and Patrick disappeared upstairs. The twins sat on their parents laps for all of ten minutes before callously sliding off to play with Alice and Jack. Quin remained wedged between his mother and his father.

"Have you got a date for when you are moving in with Mama ?" Sybil asked.

"A week after New Year. The Red Cross want to get in as soon as possible. Mama says everything is ready for us at the Dower House."

"What about the staff ?"

"Nanny and Barrow will come with us. Anna will come up from the village, as will Mrs Parks. We'll have to let the housemaids go, though Jean and Ruby say they are going to join up."

"We're keeping the outside staff on," said Matthew.

"It'll be cramped after Downton." Even with Quin between them she could feel Tom tense slightly at this. The Dower House was huge compared to most people's homes, but with three adults, six (seven when Henry was home from school) children and staff, it would feel cramped after Downton. She and Tom had bought up five children in a four bedroom mansion flat - but then they were used to it. Mary wasn't.

"It will," Mary agreed, "but the truth is that someone would want Downton for the war effort sooner or later, and we'd far rather it was a hospital than the Army. They won't do as much damage."

"It seems strange to think it being a hospital again," Sybil said, smiling as she allowed memories of herself stripping beds in the drawing room to dance in front of her. Other memories surfaced too; of feeling productive and useful and good at something, memories of her confusing feelings for Tom, which she could now admit were much more powerful that she had ever been willing to let on, even to herself. Memories of always dancing just out of his reach until she truly realised what she would give up if she she didn't marry him. Thank goodness I came to my senses, she thought. And here we are, nearly twenty years later and those feelings are just as strong.

A commotion over at the far window of the small library brought her back to the present. Someone had heard a car on the gravel outside and had pulled the heavy blackout curtains back an inch to peer out.

"It's Cousin Nora !"

"At last," said Tom, putting his teacup down

"Don't scold her, Tom, she's probably tired," Sybil said as he strode out into the saloon. "I don't want any arguments at Christmas," she sighed, getting up to follow him.

Tom entered the saloon just in time to see a slim, shapely young woman hand her big leather gloves and heavy Army greatcoat to Barrow. She looked very smart and neat in her khaki uniform. When she caught sight of Tom she broke into a huge grin.

"Da !"

Nora rushed over and gave him a big hug before her could say anything. All he could do was squeeze her back.

"What took you so long ! We've been worried…"

"Oh, I'm fine. I had to take a bit of a detour to York to pick up the surprise," she said, smiling and looking back over her shoulder as she broke away from Tom to greet her Mama.

For in the doorway a young man stood chatting to Barrow, who had relieved him of his cap and greatcoat. A young man in the uniform of an RAF flight lieutenant, tall and with golden hair that fell into his eyes. He surveyed the family gathering in the saloon and grinned.

"Hullo everyone"

Mary gasped.

"George !"