Her death was a morose affair, as if Violet would let it be anything else. She wondered if they could cope without her; once deep mourning for Patrick was over and she was stuck in the Dower House they thought they could run their world without her fine, and some decades had passed since then. Really, they should have known better - it was her who had repetitively put Isobel in her place, who had reminded the girls of their family's love, and it was her who had pushed the two heads of the household together in times of grief (as much as she believed in otherwise, Cora had more control over Robert than she had liked, not to mention that the entire county adored her more than they ever had Violet). Violet simply could not pass without informing the house how much they relied on her, and she would rather repeat her death a thousand times over than pass and let Isobel have the final word. So, when deep mourning turned into half mourning, she decided it was time to intervene in a more obvious manner.

tom

Tom, Violet decided, spent far too much time around vehicles. While he no longer drove them, he still had an affinity for them, and would visit the garage when he thought no one was watching, which was a habit Violet could not deem appropriate for an upper class gentleman. Well, she didn't know if he was an upper class gentleman or not, yet he was one of the family, and he ought to know better. She decided to start it off small, a slammed door here and there when she noticed that downcast look on his face, often accompanied by doubts over where he stood in his own life, and a swift path to his car. It was a shame, Violet thought, that she couldn't manifest in the garage herself and scare the man out of his wits, although Violet hadn't gone near a garage in her life and wanted to say the same for her death.

Violet hadn't known of Tom's improper habit in her life, although she did hear Robert complaining on occasion that he couldn't find Tom for some business manner. Yet it was impossible for him to be in the garage then as much as he was currently - she often found that Tom's impromptu visits often overlapped with the times he would meet her for tea and biscuits. Perhaps, Violet mused, I simply need to remind him that I am right here and he will cease the nonsense.

On the day Violet determined was appropriate to act, she snagged a biscuit from one of the footmen on their way up to the drawing room. If he had noticed a biscuit flicker seemingly out of existence from the plate in front of him (and he surely had, even Violet didn't think footmen were that dim), he hadn't reacted. Good, Violet hummed to herself, I am glad to see that not everything has fallen apart in the year without me. She strode down the corridor, cane in hand as always, and felt a wave of amusement wash over her when she walked through the second footman and made him shiver.

Tom was, as expected, slinking off to oil a ghastly machine. A sudden slam of the side door leading outside wrenched the air out of Tom's lungs. while he was too startled to investigate, Violet rested against a wooden table, and used more energy than she would have liked to admit on becoming a sliver more visible than she was previously. "Tom." she addressed, causing the electrical light behind her to quiver.

The poor man appeared more confused than anything else; his brow furrowed and his eyes widened while he tried to make sense of what he had heard. "Do not fret Tom, it is only me, although I can understand your shock; many men have been frozen by my presence." she chuckled, hoping that he wouldn't join her in the grave through fright. "Come, I've brought you a biscuit." A pat of the wooden table roused him to his senses as he turned towards her, despite his conviction that they must have failed him. "It's got the little fruit pieces in you like."

"V-Violet?"

"Of course, who else?"

"But you- you're-"

"I am aware of my misfortune, but how could I leave you alone when you clearly need me so much?" It appeared that even a year after her death her family were still making the type of comments that would have caused her to roll her eyes if she were a weaker person.

"Now? How do I need you now?"

Violet pursed her lips as she motioned for Tom to take the biscuit. He accepted gingerly, as if he were making a deal with the devil. His deft fingers jerked as they ran through Violet's hands rather than settling in their usual halo of warmth. After a quick look at her expectant face, he took a bite of the gift. Just a few seconds of the sharp juice confirmed for Tom that the biscuit had indeed originated in Mrs Patmore's kitchen and not the deep depths of hell.

Once Tom was halfway into his honeyed treat, Violet resumed her soft scolding. "you know Tom, that there are other ways to deal with your grief."

"I'm sorry?" Tom was sure that the biscuit inside his mouth had transformed into dry wheat; he was always careful to please Violet with his table manners even after many tea trips to her house.

"I know you like your cars, but it is an unseemly habit." A faint pink tinge appeared on Tom's cheeks, though neither of the pair could tell if it was from anger or confusion. Copious amounts of visits to Violet had ended with the other family member in a vexed and perplexed state; it was mostly the former that reigned. "It could lead you down the road to destruction, so to speak."

Violet spied a thick swallow before Tom spoke again, "I do not believe that admiring the new inventions will cause my life to fall apart."

"Well, you can't be sure, nowadays there are all sorts of inventions that cause the world grief. I hear that those new hairdryers have scalped many a woman." While Violet was sincere in her beliefs about hairdryers, Tom's lips finally stretched into a smile.

"I'll be sure to inform Cora of the danger." Tom looked at the floor to hide his full grin.

"Cora still has that monstrosity?" Violet's voice betrayed her horror as she momentarily forgot her mission in lieu of planning how to admonish her daughter in law for trying to scalp herself.

"Yes. She enjoys it immensely." Tom returned his gaze to his old friend. She appeared to shine around her edges in time with the quiver of the light, and he was all too soon reminded of the fact that this really was the last time he was going to see her, let alone converse with her. He sniffed to hide the tears forming in his eyes and to return Violet's attention to him. "What are you really here for?"

Violet smiled; she had always appreciated how shrewd he was. "I've spoken to Sybil." Her voice featured a rare streak of tenderness. "She's proud of you. And of Sybbie."

Tom had almost immediately relaxed after his reflexive stiffening at the mention of his beloved. "Just Sybil?"

Well. He had caught Violet out. "You are one of the family, Tom, of course I am proud of you too."

Tom's cerulean eyes glistened like the sea as tears threatened to overspill once more. "Thank you. Both for the message and the biscuit."

The pair chuckled again, both slightly nervous about being so vulnerable with the other after a year apart. "Oh my dear boy," Violet replied, the warmth in her voice a reassuring pat on his shoulder, "Did you expect anything else?"

Violet returned to her position facing away from him, her image fading while she hobbled along the corridor. With her energy mostly spent, she reflected on their conversation. While she may have not saved him from his own demise, she had certainly lifted his spirits on a day when his gloom hovered over him in a black cloud. It had pained both her and Sybil to see him like this, thus she was glad to have alleviated it a little. From the end of the corridor, she heard a soft "No." in reply, and the final crunch as he chewed on the last of his favourite biscuit. While Violet had never had a biological grandson, she was glad she had Tom.

A/N: I wrote this before I finished the series, which is why Cora and not Mary has the hairdryer.