So here is a story that came to me for October's "Rock the AU" theme, which has a "paranormal" twist. What if Sybil were a witch? Only she's not very good, in fact she's regarded as quite possible THE WORST witch the Crawley family has ever seen. But she tries, and she wants to give each of her sisters a special spell, including a love spell for Edith. The problem? The love spell that was meant for Sir Anthony Strallan ended up being placed on his new driver: Tom Branson. UH OH! This story is pure fantasy fun; it's an odd mix of "The Worst Witch"/"Harry Potter"/"Practical Magic"/and "Downton Abbey"-it doesn't really follow a specific plotline of any of those stories, but it borrows plenty of elements from them! But as I said, this is meant to be a funny fantasy romance, so everything in here about witches comes out of that way of thinking; not to be taken seriously (so if you are wiccan and reading this, I hope you are not offended).
This story will be a five-parter, one I hope to update every Thursday during the month of October, all leading up to Halloween! Anyway, I do hope you enjoy it, so far it has been fun to write, and I always look forward to hearing from readers! So here it is, my little S/T contribution to the Halloween season! ENJOY! And thank you for reading!
The Worst (Crawley) Witch
by The Yankee Countess
Chapter One
Into every generation of the Crawley family, there is born a witch, and only one witch. So if a Crawley has multiple daughters, only one girl will be a witch, and through her, the magical linage as old as time will be passed. Ultimately what this meant was that the Crawley family was guaranteed to have daughters. And the girl would inherit her powers by the time she turned ten years old. So if a mother did have multiple daughters, she would not know which girl was the next Crawley witch until her tenth birthday. However, that didn't stop mothers and grandmothers from speculating.
Violet Crawley was a Crawley by marriage, yet she might as well have been one by blood based on how proud she was of the Crawley family's magical linage, which was part of the reason why she, also a witch from a noble family, was very pleased when her now late husband, the 4th Earl of Grantham, had selected her to be his bride. After all, there were only a handful of magical noble families in Britain, and any witch who was anyone knew about the Crawleys.
Yet there was a slight problem when it came to her children. She had two, a son and a daughter, and naturally, her daughter Rosamond inherited her powers as was expected. Yet Rosamond had no children, which meant that Violet would have depend on her son, Robert, to pass their heritage to the next generation (and things weren't looking well when he insisted on marrying an American). Yet Cora proved her worth as far as Violet was concerned when her first child was a girl, and a striking girl at that! Mary Crawley encompassed everything a good Crawley witch should be, even at the tender age of infancy. Violet was positive Mary would be the next witch, and so even before Mary's tenth birthday, began to prepare the girl for her magical training, even going so far as to purchase her a cauldron and broomstick.
On the day of Mary's tenth birthday, Violet had prepared a grand party, inviting all of the noblest witches in the land, and decided to be generous and even invite some not-so noble ones (including a distant cousin of hers named Isobel, who, like her, was a witch and had married into the Crawley family)—but alas, when the hour struck, marking the anniversary of Mary's birth…nothing happened. The western wind did not blow from the east, the sun did not eclipse, and the toads did not leave their lily pads to croak a welcoming chorus to their new magical sister. In other words, it was a complete embarrassment for Violet, and may have also been for Mary too, had it not been for Isobel's son, Matthew, who was there to comfort the girl when she ran away to hide, feeling utterly humiliated. Yes, despite Violet's disappointment, it turned out to be a very good day for Mary, for it marked the beginning of her future with the boy who would grow to become the man she would give her heart and hand in marriage to.
But despite this "set back", Violet was not to be deterred. After all, Cora had another daughter, a girl named Edith, who had inherited Rosamond's looks and despite her initial shyness, was a sweet girl and eager to please. Yes, in many ways, Edith was an "improvement" to Mary, simply in the sense that she took everything Violet told her to heart; always listening, never questioning, unless Violet asked her. Surely Edith was the next Crawley witch!
On Edith's tenth birthday, Violet decided not to make the same mistake twice, and so did not throw an elaborate party the way she had for Mary, but she did invite some close friends and neighbors, and oversaw the special cake that was created for the occasion. She even went to London to have a special hat made of the finest spider-silk for her granddaughter. And when the hour struck, Violet held her breath and waited…
…And once again, nothing happened. No wind, no eclipse, no toads; nothing.
This was indeed becoming quite vexing.
But all hope was not lost, so Cora assured her. After all, there was still another girl.
BUT SYBIL?!
Violet loved all of her granddaughters dearly, but…Sybil, the next Crawley witch? Surely not. Sybil was not like her two older sisters. She had no sense of refinement! She was always losing her shoes and tearing her stockings (purposefully!) so that she could run through the garden barefoot. She would climb trees and rip her dress, strip down to her undergarments and go swimming in the pond, roll down hills and play in the mud and come home absolutely filthy! The girl was an odd mixture of Earth, Air, Water, and Fire—to put it plainly, she was utter chaos!
And yet she was the one fate had in mind.
Because on her tenth birthday (this time the party was just the Crawley family and only the Crawley family), when the hour struck, Violet groaned as the western wind suddenly shifted and began to blow east, and a shadow passed over the sun, and Mary and Edith screamed as the cake was set upon by an army of toads that seemed to come out of nowhere, croaking a chorus to the laughing birthday girl who danced around them.
Yes, it would appear that Sybil Crawley was to be the next Crawley family witch, whether Violet liked it or not.
"Cheer up, old girl," Isobel chuckled while Carson and the footmen did their best in rounding up the toads. "I have a good feeling about that one."
Violet rolled her eyes. "That makes one of us, at least."
Still, Violet was a Crawley woman, and a witch at that, and Crawley witches were not so easily defeated. So the next day, the cauldron, broomstick, and hat that she had originally purchased for her other two granddaughters, were passed onto Sybil, who also received the ancient Crawley spell book, something that had only been held and opened by Crawley witches.
"Today begins your new life!" Violet firmly spoke, sitting her granddaughter down in the special room that the servants had set up to be Sybil's classroom. "Today you will begin learning everything you need to know about being a witch."
Sybil chewed on her lip and looked out the window longingly at the Downton gardens. "Can we have our lesson outside?" she asked. "It's a beautiful day—"
"No," Violet interrupted. "Here is where your lessons will take place; here is where you will study and learn, far away from the distractions of the outdoors which I know will prove far too tempting to you if we do venture outside!"
Sybil groaned and slumped down in her chair, a large pout forming on her lips. "Being a witch is no fun."
Violet bristled. "Of course it isn't! Being a witch is not about 'frivolity'; you, my dear, come from a long, noble line of the finest witches in Britain—the world, even! Do you not understand how fortunate you are? There are many out there who would willingly remove every lock and strand of hair and go bald for all eternity if it meant they could have your place!"
Sybil scrunched her face up at this and began to wonder if baldness was such a bad fate when compared to being forced to sit in a stuffy classroom with her over-bearing grandmother.
"Now, open the spell book. We'll start with the basics, I think…"
Only it turned out that Sybil needed basics for the basics. She struggled with understanding the ancient languages written in the spell book, as well as differentiating certain plants and herbs for potions (she kept getting witch hazel and wolfs bane mixed up), and when she first attempted to start a fire for her cauldron with just a snap of her fingers…she nearly set the classroom on fire! Yes, this was going to prove to be far more difficult than Violet had ever imagined. And a large bulk of the problem was that she wouldn't be able to observe all of Sybil's education! After all, being the Crawley witch matriarch did mean attending various meetings with the Yorkshire Coven; no, Sybil would require special teachers, hired just to oversee her magical training. And not just teachers, but people who could serve in the house as well; lower-born witches, who Violet had no doubt would give up their broomsticks for a chance to work at Downton and serve under the Crawleys. And she was right (to a point). A new cook by the name of Beryl Patmore would help Sybil with her potions, assisted by Mrs. Patmore's niece, and the new kitchen maid, Daisy, as well as very witchy lady's maid, Miss Sarah O'Brien, who served Cora first and foremost, but who put the fear of God into Sybil if she dared neglect her duties.
As for the special governesses her grandmother had hired, Sybil couldn't stand any of them. They were all stuffy and snobby and seemed more determined to teach Sybil how to be a good, little, proper noble witch, rather than provide her with practical understanding in how to use magic. No, the only "teacher" whom Sybil liked was her cousin Isobel, who certainly had a great deal more patience for her than any of her governesses. But Isobel couldn't be there all the time (she worked as a nurse in Manchester—oh what a wonderful way to use one's magical knowledge and gifts in the art of the healing sciences!) and so Sybil had to make due and endure her grandmother and the people Violet had hired.
…And it wasn't so uncommon that these teachers would become frustrated to the point that they just couldn't stand being there any longer, and walk out without so much as a "by your leave". And naturally, this brought on a great deal of frustration for Violet, who muttered out loud to poor Sybil one day after she had blown a hole in the roof of the house and the walls were splattered with pink slime (that was supposed to be green), "Sybil…how can…I just don't…truly, you are THE WORST witch this family has ever seen!"
She ran from the classroom then, tears streaming down her face, ignoring her grandmother's voice as she called out to her retreating figure. She ran and ran until she was in the Downton gardens, and she didn't stop until she reached the pond where all the toads lived, and dove into its cool waters, not bothering to remove any part of her dress, and she swam to the other side where a willow tree's branches hung low, and once she was convinced she was hidden from view, had a long, proper cry.
…That was where her mother found her.
"Oh Sybil, you mustn't let your grandmother bully you."
She wiped at her nose, not caring if she was getting mud all over her face (she was soaked through anyway). "I hate being a witch! Why was I chosen? I'm horrible at it!"
"Oh my dear, you're not 'horrible'—these things take time!" her mother murmured from the bank near the willow tree's base.
Sybil folded her arms and sulked. "How would you know?"
Cora sighed. "Because, my dear…I was the same way when I was your age."
Sybil's eyes widened. Her mother was a witch!? But…but nothing had ever been said…?
"Why do you think your grandmother tolerates me at all?" Cora chuckled.
"But Mama…" Sybil swam over to the bank where her mother sat. "But…but you've never said anything…I mean, I don't even think I've ever seen you perform a basic spell—"
"No," Cora sighed, shaking her head. "Because my powers, compared to the powers that run in this family, are very weak. I hardly use magic anymore; they seem to have grown weaker and weaker as I get older, so I more or less just not bother, to be honest."
Was she sad? Sybil couldn't tell. She started to wonder if she would be sad, if she were like her mother; her powers growing weaker and weaker with every passing year, rather than stronger and stronger, as her grandmother kept assuring her they would. "They will grow stronger and you will learn to harness and control them to do your bidding!" It seemed impossible to imagine that a day would come when she could do that with her powers. And sometimes…she did miss the days before she knew she had the capability of performing magic, when she could just be a carefree child…although even that was rather unlikely, being the daughter of an earl.
"What I'm saying, Sybil…" Cora murmured, reaching out to stroke her daughter's cheek. "You're twice the little witch I was when I was your age…and you're very young, just discovering the great things you can do! But with time, and study, you will get better! And don't look at your mistakes as moments of failure, but moments of learning!"
Moments of learning. True, she now understood the importance of adding just the right amount of pumpkin seed to a snore-relief charm.
"But Mama..." Sybil murmured, managing to scramble up out of the pond and join her mother on the bank, the toads hopping closer and closer, croaking and looking up at her with sympathy. "What…what if despite all of this, I'm still bad?"
Cora smiled and leaned down to kiss her daughter's brow. "That's impossible, my darling. You can never be 'bad'…different, perhaps, but not bad."
Sybil snorted. As far as her grandmother was concerned, it was clear that "different" was "bad". Still, as she gazed up into her mother's kind, blue eyes, the very eyes she had inherited, Sybil felt a soft, calming warmth wash over her, reminding her of one of Mrs. Patmore's delicious cups of comforting hot chocolate. Suddenly, the very taste of that delicious beverage was on her tongue, and Sybil stared up at her mother with wide eyes, while Cora simply nodded her head with a knowing smile. "My powers may be weak, but I still remember a thing or two," her mother winked.
Giggling, the two rose and walked back to the house, hand in hand. Sybil made her apologies to her grandmother for running away, and Violet, while still clearly frustrated by the situation, actually looked apologetic as well, and told Sybil she could take the rest of the afternoon off from her lesson. However, inspired by her mother's words, Sybil surprised her grandmother by telling her that no, she would return to the classroom, go over the spell book, and try to see what it was that she had done wrong and learn from her mistakes. To say that Violet was surprised by her granddaughter's sudden determination was an understatement. However, who was she to argue?
In the end, Violet realized it was pointless giving Sybil these governesses, and with reluctant acceptance, asked Isobel to come and help her with Sybil's magical education, which the woman was willing to do, if, however, a place could be found for her at the cottage hospital in Downton, as Isobel was quite committed to call of nursing.
Violet wondered if Mary or Edith would have been this much trouble? But she kept her opinion to herself, and after a good, long discussion with Dr. Clarkson and her son, made all the proper arrangements for Isobel to come and stay in the village, finding her a position with the hospital, as well as a home at Crawley House.
Mary liked this new arrangement, of course, as it would mean a chance to see Matthew on a much more regular basis, even though at the moment, he was away at school in Manchester. But it was quite clear to everyone, especially to Sybil, how dear their cousin had become to her sister. Sybil sighed and wondered what it was like to fall in love. Would that ever happen to her? Would she ever meet a man like Cousin Matthew? Would a man ever look at her the way Cousin Matthew gazed at Mary? Sybil sighed and tried to focus her attention back on her studies and away from her daydreams about the future and what it may contain for her and her family.
The years passed and Sybil continued to work hard in her studies, although if truth be told, she still wasn't improving as well as her grandmother had hoped. For example, she spent more time falling off her broomstick, rather than flying on it properly. At least she could light her cauldron now without blowing a hole through the wall, but even with the most basic of spells, Sybil continued to struggle.
One day, her grandmother approached her, looking very apprehensive. "Sybil, dear, you aware that you turn eighteen this June, yes?"
Sybil looked up from the spell book and nodded her head, finding the question rather confusing. Of course she knew when her birthday was!
"There's something we haven't discussed that you should know," Violet began. "Witches are different from non-witches."
Sybil didn't quite see how this was anything new, but chose to keep her lips sealed and let her grandmother explain.
"Girls like Mary and Edith have seasons, and as is tradition for such girls, those seasons take place when they turn eighteen. But you my dear, because you are a witch, will not have a season like Mary and Edith."
Sybil's eyes went wide at this revelation. She was not to have a season? She couldn't deny that this actually delighted her! Not that she disliked balls, but…well, she did find them rather tedious and the conversation dull. Even the few balls and parties she had attended that were strictly for "witches only", that the Yorkshire Coven would throw at various autumn and spring harvest moons, were all rather boring. And because of her age, she wasn't permitted to dance (which was probably for the best, because it was a known fact that Sybil had two left feet).
"Every year, on All Hallows Eve, all the covens of Britain gather for a masked ball. Normally it is celebrated in London, but sometimes it moves from place to place," Violet waved her hand, clearly not seeing the tiny detail as being all that important. "And when a witch turns twenty-one, that is when she will come out to society."
Sybil's brow furrowed at this information. "So…a non-witch has her debut at eighteen, where a witch must wait until she is twenty-one?"
Violet nodded.
"Why?"
Violet rolled her eyes. "Oh Sybil, must you ask questions? Does it matter? That's simply the way it has always been!"
She hated that answer; it was the same answer Violet had given her when Sybil had adopted Alfred, the gangly ginger cat with a crooked tail to be her companion, rather than the traditional black. When she questioned her grandmother as to why a witch's cat must be black, she received the same answer she had just received now; as far as her grandmother was concerned, "because that's the way it has always been" was good enough.
"The reason I'm telling you, my dear, is because you have an important task to accomplish before you turn twenty-one…and judging from how long it took you to master that water-boiling charm," Violet groaned, remembering how Sybil had flooded the kitchens. "I think it's best that you start studying now."
It was then that Sybil learned that all Crawley witches were responsible for "granting a spell" to her non-magical sisters, if she had any. And since Sybil had two, she would need to create, perform, and give those very spells to both Mary and Edith in the matter of four years…and yes, as much as she hated to admit it, judging from what her grandmother had said, she would probably need all four of those years to do it.
Also, they had to be spells given with a "selfless heart". Well, that shouldn't be too challenging, Isobel had told her. "Sybil has one of the biggest hearts I know," her cousin declared. But they also needed to be personal spells, things that neither sister was necessarily "expecting" to be given; things that they wanted, but would never dream of asking for, which meant that Sybil needed to be observant.
Well, that shouldn't be too difficult, Sybil thought. She loved her sisters very much, and based on her observations felt she had a fairly good idea as to what they wanted, but would never dream of asking.
For Mary, Sybil knew that her sister was conflicted by following her dream, and following her heart. Mary was the eldest Crawley, and even though she was born a girl and it was of course known knowledge that girls could not inherit, she did feel as if she were the rightful heir to Downton. But alas, the law was the law, which meant that when their father died, Downton and everything that went with the earldom would go to his heir…their cousin, Patrick Crawley.
Sybil couldn't stand their cousin Patrick, and neither could Mary. He was very arrogant, and very snobbish. Because he was the heir, he felt that gave him the right to walk about Downton whenever he visited and order the servants right, left, and center to "do his bidding", because he was the future earl. And if Mary wanted to have any sort of possession on the estate (and to be named Countess of Grantham) well, there was only one way to achieve that, and Mary had muttered to Sybil one evening, "over my dead body".
Yes, thank heaven Mary wasn't so attached to the idea of having to be Countess of Grantham that she was willing to set aside her heart's desire and settle into a marriage with a man she would despise, rather than a man she truly loved. But still, Sybil wished there was a way to give her sister both. And she truly believed that Matthew and Mary would run Downton far better than Patrick ever could.
As for Edith, well, that was a little more complicated.
Edith was the true romantic in the family. She loved fairy tales and as a child, whenever she played with her dolls, she was always pretending to be vicar so she could marry them. And Edith had fallen head over heels for their cousin Patrick, much to Sybil and Mary's horror. Indeed, Edith was like Patrick's shadow, following him around the estate, willing to do anything to make him happy, and Patrick knew it. He took delight in Edith's attention, but clearly had no respect for her, and Sybil had heard him refer to her sister on more than one occasion as an "adorable little lost puppy". Oh how tempting it was to perform a spell and turn him into…into…
Well, a cockroach or a leech. Never a toad; she liked the toads too much.
After Edith's debut season, she kept waiting and waiting for Patrick to make a proposal, foolishly thinking he would, as he had told her "everything would be so much simpler if a Crawley girl were to serve as his countess". Antagonism erupted between the two elder sisters, and Sybil blamed Patrick entirely. Oh yes, if she knew how to master such a spell, she would turn him into the leech that he was! What Edith needed was a love spell; something that would take her mind off Patrick. Edith was a sweet girl, and deserved to be loved properly by a proper gentleman, not a cad who wore a gentleman's clothes. And while the issue was complicated, it would be easier to study love spells for Edith, rather than try to figure out how to make Mary's wish come true. All she needed was a man who would be perfect for her sister!
…And that man finally presented himself, the year Sybil would turn twenty-one.
Sir Anthony Strallan had been serving in his majesty's army on the Continent during the Great War, but was finally returning to England to settle back, once more, into his nearby home of Locksley. It was Cora's idea to invite Sir Anthony to dinner ("we've never had a war hero at the table!" she exclaimed), and so the baronet came, very polite, smiling wide, and to Sybil's delight, she noticed how there seemed to be an instant connection between him and Edith right away! Oh it was splendid! And it didn't hurt that the bloom was starting to come off the rose for Edith where Patrick was concerned (he had gone to Canada to look into some information about a railroad, hoping to convince Robert to invest "his future inheritance" with the company). Yes, Edith and Sir Anthony had a great deal to talk about, and it was all a pleasant surprise to the rest of the family with how well the two of them seemed to get along.
"He is a bit old, though," Violet muttered into her teacup as she observed her middle granddaughter and the baronet in conversation from across the drawing room after dinner.
"Age, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder," Cora replied, smiling at Sybil who was nodding her head in agreement.
Yes indeed. She had the answer to the spell she would perform for her sister! Now she just needed to gather the right ingredients and make it work!
Sir Anthony was going away to London for a few weeks (something about interviewing drivers as he was in need of a new chauffeur), but he would be back within a fortnight. Cora quickly invited him to return and have dinner with them again when he was back, which he agreed he would. Two weeks then, Sybil realized. Two weeks to create the potion she would need and figure out a way to administer it to Sir Anthony!
And so her work began. Every day during those two weeks, Sybil was hard at work, staying up very late and studying the Crawley spell book, chanting the words until she was certain she had them memorized, working in the kitchens with Mrs. Patmore and Daisy, wanting to make sure she was using just the right amount of ingredients (without letting them know what she was up to, as one of the most important things about these spells was keeping them secret!), and it was while she was working in the kitchens at the idea came to her.
A pudding! Sir Anthony had mentioned at their last meal how much he had loved Mrs. Patmore's treacle pudding, and so Cora had asked the Downton cook to create that especially for him. And that would be how she would administer the love potion! "Let me help you with making the pudding, please?" she begged the witchy cook the day before Sir Anthony was to return.
Mrs. Patmore eyed Sybil suspiciously. "No offense, milady, but the last time you attempted to make something, Daisy nearly lost her eyebrows!"
Sybil bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen maid who took a wary step back when she saw Sybil standing awfully close to the stove.
"I'm better now, I swear!" Sybil insisted. "And I'll just add and mix the ingredients; you can bake the pudding. Please?"
Mrs. Patmore sighed and nodded her head in defeat. Alfred, who followed Sybil everywhere, wove his gangly ginger body around the cook's legs to show his appreciation. "Ugh, get that mangy thing out of here!" the cook muttered, lifting her foot in a threatening manner, which sent the cat scurrying.
That night, Sybil took all the ingredients she would need for potion, and grounded them up into what looked like a white, grainy paste. She placed the ground-up potion in a special jar, that would sit on her windowsill to absorb the white light of the full moon (an odd ingredient, but according to the spell book was most essential) and said a special chant over it, ensuring that whoever partook of the potion would give his heart to the woman of his desire upon first seeing her. Yes, this was going to be wonderful! For the first time since she had learned about her powers, Sybil felt rather confident in them.
The next day came, and Sybil practically skipped down to the kitchens, holding her little jar close to her heart, Alfred close at her heels. "No, Alfred, you need to stay out or Mrs. Patmore will turn you into stew, I'm certain!" The cat hated being away from her, and began to yowl as Sybil pushed the door closed in his face. She put on her apron and went right to work in helping the Downton cook make the pudding (with Daisy watching from a safe distance). She placed her tiny jar up on a shelf just overhead, planning to use it as "sugar" to be sprinkled over the top of the pudding, when it was finished.
Only…there was a slight problem.
Sybil hadn't realized that when she put the jar on the shelf, she had also put it next to another jar…containing a white, grainy substance. And while the dinner was going up, Alfred saw his chance and dashed into the kitchen to be close to his witch. "Oi!" Mrs. Patmore shouted at the sight of the ginger cat. "Get this mangy bag of fleas out of my kitchen!"
"Alfred!" Sybil groaned, trying to grab the cat who was running away from the cook's threatening rolling pin. "I told you to stay out!"
Daisy joined Sybil in trying to capture the cat, while Mrs. Patmore rolled her eyes and took the pudding out of the oven to cool. Satisfied that it was perfect (and after a little taste test, surprised with how well Sybil had done) reached up to the shelf and grabbed for the small jar of sugar to be sprinkled over the top.
But she paused. And glanced over her shoulder at the young witch who had just managed to capture the cat and deposit him into Daisy's arms, who took him outside. "Milady?" Mrs. Patmore called. "Would you do the honors? Seeing as how you did most of the work?"
Sybil's eyes went wide and she rushed over to the pudding, thanking the cook before carefully dipping a spoon into the jar, and quietly murmuring the words she had chanted the night before, while sprinkling the potion on top.
"Beautiful," Mrs. Patmore said with a grin. Sybil watched as one of the footmen took the pudding, and nibbled on her bottom lip, nervously feeling the need to follow and see everything unfold. She hadn't dressed for dinner; in fact she had made up a lie to her family that she had a headache, and so would take a tray in her room. But she followed the footman and held her breath as she stood outside the dining room, craning her neck to see the pudding go in, and listening to Sir Anthony's happy exclamation at the sight of it.
Just one bite, that's all it will take! One bite and then he will look at Edith and the rest is detail! Yes, this would work; she would have completed one spell successfully for her sisters!
"OH GOOD GOD!"
Sybil's eyes went wide and her face paled at the altogether different exclamation that had come from Sir Anthony's lips when he took a bite of the pudding. Everyone gasped and stared in horror as Sir Anthony began spitting into his napkin, before muttering a thousand apologies to his hosts, explaining that the pudding was covered in salt.
Salt.
SALT?!
Sybil stumbled backwards as realization dawned on her.
Salt. Salt had been sprinkled onto the pudding—NOT her potion! Oh blast it all!
Sybil felt her eyes fill with frustrated tears and she flew back down to the kitchens, needing to retrieve her potion jar, although it was tempting to just fly upstairs to her room and lock the door for the rest of the night. But no, no, she couldn't leave a love potion just lying around the Downton kitchens. Good heavens, what if Mrs. Patmore used it by accident in some other recipe instead of salt? Yes, she could see it now; the house overrun with love-sick servants. No, she needed to go back and retrieve that jar and come up with some other solution.
"Ah, Lady Sybil!" Daisy called to her when Sybil returned to the kitchens. Clearly the horrible news hadn't reached them yet, and she didn't want to be around when Carson came to inform Mrs. Patmore about the pudding disaster. "Would you be so kind as to take this to Sir Anthony's chauffeur?" the kitchen maid sweetly asked. She was holding a piping cup of tea and had just finished stirring in a little bit of sugar. "It's awfully chilly outside tonight and I figured he would like something to warm him up; but I'm afraid if I go out there, Alfred will try to get back in, but if you go—"
Sybil nodded her head, taking the teacup and pausing just long enough to reach up to the shelf where she had put her potion jar and stuffed it into her apron pocket. She stepped outside, shivering at the sharp, cold wind that hit her in the face, and looked across the dark, gravel drive towards the Downton garage, where sure enough, she saw a light on and a figure hunched over the open bonnet of a car. She quickly made her way across the drive, surprised to see that Alfred was nowhere in sight! Perhaps the cat was smart and sought a warmer place to wait for her? "Excuse me!" Sybil called out to the driver, wishing she had brought a shawl or something to drape over her shoulders. Had he heard her? The wind did seem awfully loud.
The chauffeur lifted his head, and Sybil came to an abrupt stop, nearly dropping the cup. Good heavens! He didn't look like any chauffeur she had seen before! No, he…well, to put it simply, he was rather…handsome. Very handsome, actually. He looked at her as he wiped his hands with an old rag, a crooked smile spreading across his face, which only seemed to enhance his already handsome features.
"I…" she swallowed, feeling her cheeks grow hot. "I…I brought you this," she muttered, holding the teacup out to him.
He looked down at the cup and then back at her, his smile growing, but this time there seemed to be something very…heartfelt and genuine about it. "Thank you," he murmured, and Sybil felt her heart leap at the sound of his voice, as well as gentle lilt of his Irish accent.
She fidgeted for a moment, unsure what to say or do next. But really, what more was there to say? She had performed her task, brought him a cup of tea, and now it was time to go back inside and face Mrs. Patmore's wrath for the pudding. Oh Lord, the woman would NEVER let her anywhere near the kitchens again after this night, which would make things even more difficult in trying to get Sir Anthony to consume the potion—
"Is something wrong?"
She turned back to the chauffeur, her cheeks growing hot as she realized how silly she must look right now. "No, no, everything is fine," she muttered, forcing a smile.
He lifted an eyebrow at her words. "Beggin' your pardon, but you don't look like 'everything's fine'."
Sybil narrowed her eyes. "Well how do I look then?" she snapped, her frustration growing by the second. She shouldn't be taking it out on this poor man, what had he done? Nothing, he was just being observant, and clearly her true emotions were plain as day.
However, if her reaction had offended him, he didn't show it. In fact, that crooked smile he had given her when they first met returned. "Honestly? You look like you're ready to tear my head off and use it as a football."
Sybil groaned and threw her hands up into the air. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to…oh just…THIS NIGHT!" she exclaimed. No, it was more than this night. It was EVERYTHING! Everything she tried to do, every spell, every charm, every potion, everything! She couldn't even fly a broomstick properly! After eleven years, she still remained THE WORST witch the Crawley family had ever seen.
The chauffeur gazed at her for a moment, and then leaned back against the car, placing his untouched teacup down for a moment. "Want to talk about it?"
No, not really. Besides, witches weren't supposed to reveal themselves to non-magical folks without permission from The Grand Warlock. And yet she was so tired and so frustrated by everything going wrong, and even though this handsome Irishman was a complete stranger, she suddenly found herself opening up and sharing with him about how she couldn't seem to do anything right, even make a simple pudding! That no matter how hard she studied, she kept making mistakes! And all she wanted was to make the people she cared for happy, but rather, all she seemed to do was bring about disappointment. And then she found herself sagging against the car next to him, her head lowered in defeat, before muttering, "Maybe I should just stop altogether."
"Maybe you should?"
Sybil's eyes flew up to the chauffeur who was looking at her thoughtfully, and she felt her cheeks warm again at the way his gaze held hers. There was a kindness in his eyes…and she felt that sweet, familiar warmth wash over her again, just like Mrs. Patmore's hot chocolate (although she did not taste it this time).
"But I can't…" she answered.
"Why not?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. "It's your life; you should do something that makes you happy, something you love! And it sounds like this is only making you miserable," he reached for his teacup then.
But even if she didn't want to be a witch, she couldn't escape her powers. She was stuck with them! Oh if only she could be like Cousin Isobel, and use her powers in a way that was helpful to people! "It's not that simple," she muttered under her breath.
The cup was halfway to his lips, but he paused and gazed at her sad profile. "Maybe," he murmured. "But…that doesn't mean you should settle. The world is changing, especially for women, and—"
He paused then, his own face turning red and Sybil gazed up at him, blushing herself, but smiling at his words.
"Sorry," he murmured, looking a little sheepish. He then quickly added, "I mean, I'm not sorry for what I said, but…but…" he straightened himself and extended his hand to her. "Perhaps I should introduce myself before I start 'preaching' about socialism and women's rights?"
Sybil laughed then, the first laugh she had had all night, and good heavens, it felt wonderful. The chauffeur smiled at this, looking very pleased at the sound. "Tom Branson," he murmured, bowing his head slightly, and Sybil felt the heat rise once again as he spoke, and as his fingers curled around her own.
Sybil opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the kitchen door flew open and Mrs. Patmore's voice came bellowing out into the night, louder than autumn wind. "LADY SYBIL!"
"Oh no," Sybil groaned, lowering her head in defeat.
The chauffeur, Tom Branson, looked puzzled. "Is Lady Sybil one of Lord Grantham's daughters?" he asked.
Sybil looked up at him, and then it suddenly realized that not only did he not know her name, as she still had yet to introduce herself, but that no doubt by the clothes she wore…he thought her one of the servants!
"She is…" she answered, before giving a weary sigh and running her hands down her apron. "And um…she is also 'me'."
Tom's eyes widened suddenly, and then he quickly lowered his head, as any "good servant" would. "I…I…I beg your pardon, milady, I…I didn't know—"
"No, no, please, don't apologize, I should have said something, I…it was just so nice to talk to someone without—"
"LADY SYBIL!" Mrs. Patmore roared again.
Sybil groaned and shook her head. "I better go," she sighed, giving her new friend a look of defeat. "But thank you…Tom," she murmured, wanting him to know that she did appreciate what he had said, as well as for the simple act of listening to her.
"You're welcome, milady," he answered, still sounding and looking a bit nervous, but also genuine, and that genuine smile she had seen him wear earlier returned, and once again, Sybil felt her heart warm.
With a resolute sigh, she turned and began marching back to the kitchens, although it might as well have been the executioner's block for how she felt right now. As she moved, Tom sighed and lifted the teacup to his lips, finally taking a sip of the steaming liquid and letting its warmth wash over him.
And then he began coughing.
He doubled over, coughing loudly, his hands dropping the teacup and going to his chest, covering his heart which suddenly began to throb and pulse and beat very strangely. "Aaaargh!" he groaned, before taking several long, deep breaths, and straightening himself up, just in time to see Lady Sybil disappear into the kitchens…
And that was the moment.
Tom Branson was in love with Lady Sybil Crawley.
To be continued...