"What do I do?" asked Sybil in a low, nervous voice as they approached the place of mourning.

She held Tom's arm in one hand, a covered basket of small cakes in the other. Both were dressed in their Sunday best and her husband wore his new hat. He also carried a small wooden box of the departed's favorite tobacco.

With a glance for passing motors, Tom said while they crossed a street, "Pay your respects, first to the family and then to the food."

"There'll be a lot of food, so show lots of respect," said Maura behind them. Tom's mother walked a step back, bearing some fruit and and an impish expression. When she'd heard the news of Barry's death from Tom, she'd made the proper sympathetic response and then remarked it was certain to be a proper wake for that one.

Barry Lyles had lived a very long, good life, Tom had assured Sybil, and he'd passed away peacefully in his sleep. He was survived by his wife, a still-hearty woman of eighty-four, and numerous children and grandchildren and their children.

It was not the first funeral Sybil had attended, but she'd gotten the impression that Irish wakes required a level of participation she wasn't used to. She'd never met the man, but he'd been a beloved character in the neighborhood for years and Tom filled her in on some of the more colorful anecdotes as they drew close. His voice grew wistful and Sybil realized that he carried a rememberance of the homesickness he'd felt at Downton.

They came to the home of Barry Lyles. Upon entering the building they were set upon by a number of women who kissed Sybil and Maura on the cheek and embraced Tom like a lost brother, then made a place on a table already overburdened with food from neighbors and well-wishers for Sybil's cakes. Maura surrendered her basket of fruit to them.

"Who are they?" she whispered to him as they moved further indoors, wondering at the women who had spoken to Tom with such fond familiarity.

"No idea," Tom murmured back, not at all bothered.

They entered a parlor filled with grievers, who milled around sharing drinks and stories. The room was filled with the thrum of conversation. Despite the sound of a musical wail that drifted through the walls, which Maura said was 'keening,' there was something of levity in the mood. Sybil had barely a moment to consider the atmosphere before a man who looked of an age with Sybil's father came forward to greet them.

"Glad to see you, Tom," he said, shaking hands, and with a cheeky grin for her mother-in-law, added, "and Maura, you're ever the spring chicken."

"Old flirt," Maura said amiably.

"And this must be Tom Branson's lady wife," the man turned to Sybil with a smile. Everyone called her that, although he said it with affection. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Jack Findlay, I knew your husband when he was a lad."

Sybil smiled and shook the offered hand. "I'm pleased to meet you. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Our loss is the Lord's gain," said Jack, with friendly sincerity. "Mrs Lyles is nearby. Barry's laid out next room, Tom, they figured there'd not be space in the parlor. The men are in the kitchen now."

Maura said, "If only it didn't take a wake to drive men into the kitchen."

She took Sybil's arm as they moved to the next room. Tom spoke a moment longer with Mr Findlay and then followed.

"You can kneel with me, child," said Maura. Sybil was grateful for the direction. They entered a side door. Inside the body of Mr Barry Lyles was laid out, dressed in the traditional Irish way. Two women sat inside, keeping a vigil for the departed, and Maura said a soft hello to them before drawing Sybil to the side of Mr Lyles.

There they knelt and a few silent prayers were said. Perhaps there was something particular that was usually recited internally. Sybil said a small prayer of her own in the manner she had kept from childhood. They rose a minute or two later, and Sybil followed Maura's example in saying a few comforting things to the women in the room, who turned out to be longtime neighbors.

Then it was Tom's turn. Maura and Sybil drew away from the tiny room, and after a few moments of silence she heard the timbre of Tom's voice resume, speaking to the women. He stepped back out to join them.

Maura patted Sybil's arm. "Let's find the food. Go gossip with the menfolk, Tommy."

Tom gave them both a kiss on the cheek and walked away after a quick glance at Sybil to check that she wasn't feeling flustered. She smiled at him.

Time passed more quickly than Sybil could have thought possible. When she thought to check the hour, she was astonished to see how late in the day it now was. She was introduced to a number of people, from those who knew the Bransons well to the barest of acquaintances. All of them seemed to have heard of Sybil.

From some invisible corner a guitar was drawn, and soon half the room and hallway beyond were singing along to a tune foreign to Sybil. A card game was starting up in another room.

Eventually they found Barry's widow, Catherine Lyles, in the midst of her daughters and granddaughters and passed along their condolences.

Mrs Lyles was a tiny, soft woman who smelled of flowers. Her gray eyes were sharp and clear as she took Sybil's hand and thanked her for coming. While her sorrow was evident, the presence of family and so many well-wishers was a great comfort that acted as a buffer against the heartache. Sybil hoped that, despite being a complete stranger, her own presence helped to fortify Mrs Lyles' support even a little.

"So I expect you go about things differently in England," said Maura a little while later, in a spare moment between greetings. "Sometimes these get rather rowdy but many a boy here was dandled on Caty Lyles's knee as a lad, so I expect they'll save the more spirited reminiscing for later."

Sybil looked around the parlor, thinking that people could make a large place seem small but the little parlor and accompanying rooms seemed bigger for all the ones who gathered there. "The funerals I've attended have only ever been so…solemn."

There was nothing irreverent about the assembly this day but neither was it weighed down by the gravity of death, nor was it awkward. The mourners spoke of Barry fondly and toasted to their favorite memories of him, and presently Sybil was far better acquainted with Mr Lyles after his death than she'd had the chance to be in this lifetime.

"When we mourn a death, we must remember to celebrate the life," said Maura quietly.

For the first time that day she looked rather sad. Sybil lowered her eyes and thought that the wake for Tom's father must have been a different, darker occasion, made grim for the family bereft of him far too early. He had died of an illness thirteen years before. Maura had never remarried.

"I would have liked to have known Mr Branson," said Sybil.

Tom mentioned his father every once in a while; he seemed to prize the memories of learning by his instruction to fix a chair or build a door frame. John Branson had begun as a carpenter whose interest in automobile mechanics was budding when the illness struck him. Tom was the only child still left at home when John died and Sybil didn't like to think of him standing silently beside his mother, on a day and in a parlor such as this.

"He would have liked you."

Sybil linked her arm with Maura's and thought she would like to be remembered the way Barry was, and the way Tom remembered his father, with tenderness and joy.

.

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note: I wrote this ages ago and didn't keep up with the show in its later seasons, so some of the people I've made up-namely, Maura and Tom's father John-may be contradicted by canon. I did my best to be accurate in regard to the funeral traditions, sorry for any mistakes!