Absolute Beginners
"When you're an absolute beginner, it's a panoramic view..." -M. Ward
Tom laughed, his hand on his chest, his shoulders still shaking. He and Matthew sat in their dressing gowns, pajamas underneath, slippers on their feet. Downton loomed around them, silent and grand and cold after the night's troubles. Tom sipped nervously at the last of his whiskey and water while Matthew finished his celebratory cigar. Lord Grantham had only stayed with the two young men for a moment and disappeared to join Cora in bed. It was now the two of them, and Tom was anxious.
"It was a good show, old Chap." Matthew said to him, a smile plastered across his face. He'd been unable to keep from smiling the entire time—the joy of fatherhood seemed the most amazing set of feelings, and a part of him was almost jealous. Almost.
"I was frightened for a moment—I must admit." Tom responded, finishing the last of his drink.
"She was really quite fantastic. Your daughter is very charming already." Matthew responded.
"Your niece, my daughter." Tom laughed again. "I can't wait until the morning, when Sybil and I can name her."
"And talk to cousin Robert about christening her." Matthew added, reluctantly.
"Aye, that too." Tom said, pausing—uncertain again.
"Mary and I will fight for you, Tom."
"Oi. I suppose you'll have to."
Matthew nodded, extending his hand to Tom's as he rose to leave the room.
"It really is a great show—the both of you."
Tom smiled and shook Matthew's hand, his lips bent into a tremendous smile.
Tom walked up the stairs, still uneasy about being free in the house. He assumed he would always feel that uneasy, never quite settled. When he lived in the garage he knew the pace of things, could conform to the fitness of his station. Now, though, he felt bungled up. He'd hoped to have his daughter in his own country where he belonged, where everything made some sense—even the nightmare horror of repression and political strife. Being here made him feel like a cog in an indecipherable clock. He'd only stayed on for Sybil's sake, and for his daughter. His daughter—the words rang through his head. His angel, his little saint—his little prized one. He'd known her for only a matter of moments and yet he felt like his soul was bonded upon hers, that he would gladly lay down his life for her. The love he felt for her—and for Sybil—was almost painful, difficult to endure, and yet was as sweet as a Spring wind perfumed with soft grass and dew.
He walked to the end of the hall, to the room that was prepared for him. Lord Grantham—he still couldn't think of him as a father in law—had insisted that a man shouldn't stay with his wife while she was in her apparently vulgar post-birth state. He let himself into the room and shook his head. He couldn't stay in there—not while Sybil was recovering. The fitness of things my arse, he thought to himself, and marched back up the hall to his sleeping wife's room.
The nurse maid stood abruptly when Tom entered the room, her eyes wide. Tom raised a finger to his lips, indicating that he didn't wish to make a scene.
"Where is the child?" He whispered, glancing at his sleeping wife on the bed.
The nurse maid ushered him quietly to the bassinet set up in the corner on the room, pointing to the little sleeping girl. She was wrapped in swaddling, her chubby little hands balled up into fists. She was a sweet one—a heartbreaker, the apple of her daddy's eye.
Without asking for permission Tom lifted the child and pressed her to his chest, her eyes opening suddenly. For a moment she locked her eyes on him, gurgling. She quickly closed them, snuggling into his chest. A hot tear stung in eyes—a haze surrounded him, he was in awe. He walked with the child to his wife's side, in a strange state of bliss. He took a seat on the bed beside her and put his free hand on her forehead. The three of them were together—his family, all of it in one place—his devotion swelled within him. That was all that existed—two girls.
"I will go and sit outside the door in case you need me, sir." The nurse maid said to him before shuffling out into the hall, quite aware that this new father had no intention of leaving his wife's side.
Sybil's eyelids fluttered open and she smiled brightly at the two of them. She took her hand and raised it to his cheek.
"Oh darling, I love you two so very, very much." Tom said to her, recycling the only words he could think to say to her.
"And I you." She smiled, her heavy eyelids closing again. Tom sat wide awake, his sleeping daughter in his arms and his sleeping wife beside him. He sat up all night, not caring a bit about propriety. He couldn't think of being apart from either of them, ever.
He was bound to them by an eternal thread, and despite his recent exile there was nothing but hope for the future.
"My darling, are you still awake?" Sybil asked him, her voice still heavy with exhaustion.
"Aye, I am." He said, yawning faintly. The sleeping child in his arms began to cry. Sybil sat up and took her daughter into her arms, cradling her. She kissed Tom on the cheek again. Everything was perfect in the gentle morning light, and everything was as it should be.
"I love you so very, very much."