Like Mother, Like Daughter
Summary: A series of one-shots involving Cora's relationship with her youngest daughter, Sybil. Set from pre-Series One until Series Three.
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, except the pre-series one storylines and the thoughts of the characters.
1896
She was the most perfect thing that Cora Crawley had ever seen. True, Mary was a beautiful baby, but even then, she had a temper to rival even her Granny. And Edith, although also pretty, was not as beautiful as Mary and had a tendancy to want the limelight for herself. But the little baby wriggling sleepily in her arms, she was perfect. She had soft brown curls already, even though she was only a couple of weeks old and had the most adorable little gurgle that even Violet found endearing. She didn't even cry, except when she was ill. Just after her birth, the little girl had become extremely ill, but in all the panic and worry, they'd forgotten to name the child! Now, after her recovery, the little family of Downton Abbey was arguing over what to call the child. It was only when the noise had woken her then sleeping baby that Cora finally found her voice.
"Enough!" yelled Cora, as her baby girl screamed.
Silence fell over the room. Mary and Edith looked guiltily at each other and went to sit, one on each of their father's knees, who had walked rather sheepishly to the chair at Cora's bedside.
"Now,..." Cora continued, "I think that my family should help decide on the name for my baby. So..." She turned to her eldest daughter. "Mary, dear, what's your favourite name?"
"I don't have a favourite name, Mama, but I do have a special name in my head." replied the nine-year-old girl sitting on her father's left knee.
"And what's that, sweetie?"
"It's the name of my puppy, at Aunt Rosamund's house, she had a puppy. Anyway, the puppy, she died. Edith killed her." said Mary, glaring at her sister.
"I told you that it was an accident and I didn't kill her." retorted the seven-year-old.
"You locked her in the playhouse, without food or water."
"I was three. I didn't know what I was doing, you shouldn't have asked me to dog-sit."
"Alright, girls, let your mother get a word in edgeways." stated Robert.
"Thank you, darling. Now, what was your special name?"
"Poppy."
"Well, darling, that's a lovely name, but I'm not sure it's quite formal enough for a Lady. What's your favourite name, Edith, darling?"
"My favourite name is Ella, Mummy."
"Mummy?! You're seven? Grow up, Edith!"
"Mary, don't be so cruel. I'll use both your names as a middle name. Alright?"
"But Mama, what will her forename be, then?"
"Let's ask Papa, shall we?" Cora looked over at Robert, hoping for him to have an answer. Robert, in answer, walked towards the bed and perched himself on the edge, carefully taking the little baby in his arms, before chuckling and rolling his eyes at the sight of Mary and Edith squabbling to claim the last chair in the room.
"I don't know about you, but I'm finding something very strange when I look at her. She looks exactly like one of Rosamund's old dolls, from when she was a child. Brown curls, blue eyes, looks quite polite and demour. She wouldn't be parted from it."
"What did she call it?"
"Sybilia."
"Well, we can't use that. Hold on, that's it! Sybil!"
"I love it!" yelled Mary and Edith in unison.
"As do I." exclaimed Robert, pulling his wife close as she took the baby in her arms. As Mary and Edith jumped into their arms, Cora realised this was what she wanted. Her husband, Robert, beside her, Mary and Edith wrapped around them and her perfect little baby, Sybil, nuzzling into her chest. Her Sybil.