Morning Walk
Summary: Every morning, Mary and Tom take a walk. Largely canon-compliant through to the 2013 Christmas Special and beyond.
A/N: I seem to have developed an affinity for these two. Inspired by the soundtrack to Joe Wright's Pride and Prejudice. A number of people asked me if I would do a companion piece from Tom's perspective, including the proposal, so here it is, hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Downton Abbey belongs to ITV and Julian Fellowes. I just wrote this for fun, with no copyright infringement intended.
###
Tom likes to walk Downton's grounds. Aside from his home in Ireland, he has seen fewer beautiful places. And it gave him his Sybils, so it can't be all bad.
He used to walk when he first came to Downton as an angry firebrand chauffeur so sure he knew everything about class just because he had read Marx. Now, some years, a marriage, a baby and a dead wife later he thinks he's forgotten more than he used to know about class struggle. Or maybe the struggles of a class are nothing to the struggle of waking up and having his bed empty. He's started walking to try to remember, not just who he was but who Sybil was. A year of marriage is tragically little and he cannot bear his cold sheets, so he walks.
One day he's up before the servants and almost gives young Daisy a heart attack when she comes into the dining room and spies him reading Tennyson by the early morning light.
"Sorry, I'll come back." She backs out the door with a look of mortification on her face.
Tom stares at the black armband on her arm, the slim band she wears on her finger. He knows that Daisy's feelings for William were different to what he felt for Sybil, but she's the only one who has lost a spouse and he feels so alone he thinks his heart would break some more. "Don't go on my account, Tennyson will still be dead when we're done. Please, stay and do your work."
Daisy nods and begins her tasks and its strange, watching her. He just wishes they would call him Tom. "Do you miss William, Daisy?"
"Every day, Mr Branson."
Tom opens his mouth to correct her but realises there isn't much point. They have their ways, the English and their servants. So he leaves Daisy to her work and takes his Tennyson and his grief upstairs to see his daughter, but she's sleeping and her nanny is insistent that little Sybil's sleep routine won't be disturbed for anyone, not even her father.
Tom's mother wants to come and visit. What would she think of this world of titles and sleep routines and her son who has forgotten his convictions and himself?
He starts prowling the grounds like a madman. Maybe he is going mad with grief, will turn into a creature that Sybil wouldn't recognise. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and doesn't know who he is or where he belongs. He belonged with Sybil but she is gone and he is here and what is he meant to do?
To his immense surprise, it is Mary Crawley, the iceberg melted by Matthew's easy smile and gentle manners, who makes the first move. He's in the nursery, bouncing his daughter on his lap when Mary does that delicate little throat clear that she has and steps into the room.
"Lady Mary. I didn't hear you come in."
"Its alright, no harm done." Mary's dressed for mourning; black becomes her. Sybil used to say that her eldest sister had the style of a fashion model with a wit like a rapier, but there's nothing but sad friendliness in Mary's manners as she comes into the room
"I saw you walking, this morning."
"Couldn't sleep." Tom hasn't slept since Sybil died; each time he closes his eyes he sees her face, swollen and agonized, her last minutes on this earth torture. That image will haunt him for the rest of his life.
"That's understandable." Mary touches Sybil's hair, looks everywhere around the room until her eyes find Tom's. "I was thinking … Matthew has gone to London for the week. He won't be back until Friday. I've never seen Downton at sunrise."
Tom smiles. Openness and empathy do not come easily to Mary but they do to Matthew, and Mary love him very much. "That's very kind of you, Lady Mary, but I don't need you to walk with me."
"Its Mary, Tom. You're family now, remember?"
Tom looks away, returns his attention to his daughter. "Good day, Mary."
Mary's footsteps linger at the door but she's too polite to push and for once Tom is glad of their ritualistic manners. Eventually, she hand lingers on the door, wanting to say more but too polite to push and for once Tom's glad of their manners. She pulls the door closed and leaves Tom to his grief.
Matthew catches Tom as he's about to leave for London. "Be a friend to Mary while I'm gone, will you?" Matthew has such blue eyes and an easy smile and had been such a good friend to Tom that Tom will never refuse him anything, and Tom might have lost a wife but Mary has lost her sister.
"Of course."
"Splendid." Matthew dons his hat. "She told me the other day she'd like to see the grounds. You like to walk, don't you?"
They're in this together, Tom thinks when Mary corners him at breakfast.
"I saw my first sunrise this morning. "The teacup barely meets Mary's mouth as she takes a delicate little sip. "I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful."
Tom slurps his tea in a single gulp. "It was very nice."
Mary sets down her cup. "I'm sure it would be particularly spectacular from the ridge about a mile from here. I thought that tomorrow morning we might walk up there together, you and I. What do you say?"
"I don't think I would be particularly good company, Mary."
Mary looks at him as though he's talking utter rubbish, her voice so sure when she speaks that he half-believes it himself. "Well we wouldn't have to talk. Sometimes talking spoils a good walk, don't you think?"
Tom reaches for his tea, adds sugar and milk. He knows when to admit defeat. "As you please."
###
Tom dresses for the cool weather, a vest under his jacket, knitted by his mother's careful hand. His most comfortable shoes, worn and soft leather. Mary appears like a red vision down the stairs. None of the Crawley sisters are alike, Mary's glacial beauty nothing to Sybil's soft radiance, but Mary's smile lights up her face when she joins him in the hallway. He gives her a brief nod when she greets him, and then they set off.
Tom walks a little slower than he would usually, it's a little fast for Mary but she keeps her mouth shut. The urge to talk hangs around her body like the early morning mist, but she promised him she wouldn't talk and Tom is grateful for it.
It's at that time when dawn is near and everything is orange and blue in the sky. Isis follows a squirrels or rabbit into the undergrowth, leaving him alone with his sister-in-law. Gravel sounds beneath their feet and birds fill the air and Tom is struck by a memory, shamefully tarnished by time even though it's barely more than a year old.
It had been one of those mornings on their honeymoon, a gift from Cora. Two nights in a hotel just outside Dublin, the smell of the Liffey through the open windows. They had not slept, too excited by each other to rest. Sybil's skin had glowed in the dawn light as she'd touched him with soft, ponderous hands, lingering on every hairy plane and angle that he had. The memory is blurred but it's laziness is no less bitter than if it was sharp and clear, and by the time they reach the top of the ridge Tom's cheeks are wet and he doesn't know if he's ever going to stop crying.
They reach the ridge just as the sun peeks through the land, yellows and oranges and everything warm. Mary's hair has slipped its pretty hat and a curl hangs free, so like Sybil's hair that Tom's hands fight to stay at their sides. This grief is going to kill me.
"Beautiful." She breathes. "Just beautiful."
Tom can't say anything but he's sure that Mary knows. Here, away from Downton and surrounded by nature, she's softer and warmer than he's seen before, and she doesn't turn around to see, let's him cry for his wife. They just stand together and watch the sun rise.
"So I'll see you tomorrow?" She says to Tom before they all retire to bed. He tips his head and retreats to bed.
That night, he doesn't sleep, but he makes it to the bed and manages to lie down.
###
Matthew comes back on an early train and doesn't even bother to remove his coat.
"The weather is fine and I've been itching to get out of that stuffy carriage for the past two hours!"
They walk until it turns dark, both Crawleys flanking him. Matthew has been dredging the depths of the Crawley archives and is full of scandal that he gleefully flings at Mary, stories of adultery and sin, forbidden live and embezzlement that sound like pulp fiction. Mary rolls her eyes and smiles, returns in like kind. Tom lets their words wash over him like they're a warm blanket, glad to be washed away by their chatter, a little life raft in the middle of the Irish Sea.
It becomes a habit of theirs, then, to walk together. Sometimes Matthew tells them a story about the wildlife, or another juicy morsel from Downton's history. When he's away and its just him and Mary they don't talk, but he finds now that his eyes open in the dark and he sits up in bed. He's sleeping again.
###
His mother writes often, telling him stories of his family. It's been years since Tom saw some of them and their faces are all beginning to blur into one. Some of his relatives have moved to Liverpool, they live in a terrace house with no nanny and sleep schedule and they ask when Tom is coming to visit.
"I don't belong here." He says to Mary as they walk one morning. "It's different for you, even for Matthew."
"Good Lord, don't say that to Matthew." Mary has a smile for when she's teasing. It's playful and Tom likes how her mouth wears it. "You know he considers you both a bulwark against the ghastly upper classes. If you leave his shoulders will scarce bear the weight."
"Sybil has this whole family, my family, that she doesn't know."
"She doesn't know anyone, Tom. She's a baby. She only knows you because you feed her."
"She knows her mother." The morning dew steals Tom's tears. "I tell her something about her, every night, but it's getting harder. We weren't together for very long."
Mary smiles and there's nothing teasing about it. "Well how about this: if you stay, or decide to just go and visit your relatives, I will tell Sybil a different story about her mother every night. And I have twenty years' worth of stories."
Tom stops short, at a complete loss for words. "You would do that?"
Mary looks caffeinated. "Don't sound so surprised. She is my niece. Right now she's the only heir Downton has."
Tom stores at Mary, resplendent in her coat of Caesarish purple. "There will be children, Mary. Crawley children. And the law is wrong, Mary."
"The world is full of wrong laws, Tom." Mary stares at the sunrise. "Haven't you noticed?"
"Well, of all the laws governing women, that one is one of the wrongest."
"Hush." Mary gently taps his arm. "This is your favourite part, isn't it? The sunrise? A shame to spoil it with talk of things we cannot change."
###
Tom never makes it to Liverpool. He writes as soon as he is able: Matthew is dead, Downton is a ship without an anchor, and he cannot abandon them when they need him. They're making him talk about funerals and flowers like he cares. His friend is gone. His ally is gone. And Mary is gone with him.
She slips away one morning in the car, a day or two after it happens. Tom follows at a distance, parks the car and watches her alight by the tree, gnarled and destroyed and then Tom sees the blood on the ground. It hasn't rained since the accident.
Mary cries as though the world is ending and God has come down to judge her. She cries and weeps because she thinks that she is alone and will not allow anyone but her husband to see her this way.
Tom only approaches when the rain finally comes, an umbrella over them both. "Come now, Mary. Let's get you home."
"I have no home." Mary says. "My home is dead. All I have are cold sheets, and a baby that won't stop crying."
Tom drives them back to Downton, Mary grabs his arm when the spires come into view. "Say nothing of this. Mamma and Pappa have enough to worry about."
"Your secret is safe with me."
Tom hikes back to the lane in the rain for the other car. He's soaked by the time he's through and for a moment he just stands and stares at the spot of earth where his friend breathed his last. What is Downton going to do without you? What is Mary going to do without you?
What am I going to do without you?
He receives a note from his uncle a few days after the funeral, a nightmarish day spent in a stiff-necked collar and very restrained grief. The note is smudged and smells like whiskey: have you forsaken your own family?
Tom stares at Sybil and Mary and Lord and Lady Grantham, at Isobel and Edith and Bates and Carson and even Isis, and throws the note into the fire.
"Would Lady Mary like to come for a walk today?" Tom asks Anna one day at breakfast. "Bit of fresh air might do her good. We just got some new cows-"
"We should leave Mary to her grief, Tom." Lord Grantham drinks his tea as daintily as Mary does. "She doesn't need to be bothered with walks, and certainly not with cows."
"I don't agree." Tom slurps his tea and holds the cup in his hand rather than by the handle. "Lord Grantham, I think that Lady Mary needs something to take her mind off things-"
"She needs quiet. Tom. Look, I know you mean well, but these things really must be endured-"
"Mary is Downton's heir." Tom can feel Carson's eyes on the side of his head, almost out of their sockets. He doesn't care; his blood is on fire for the first time in months.
"George is Downton's heir." Lord Grantham's neck gets red when he's being contradicted.
"George is six months old!" Tom can't believe he's hearing this. "My Lord, you know that Matthew wanted Mary to be his heir; we all read that letter. Mary would be the heir if English law wasn't so barbaric-"
"Watch yourself, Tom."
Tom shakes his head. That is where he draws the line? "She needs to be involved in the running of the estate."
"Duly noted." Lord Grantham picks up his paper.
They eat the rest of their breakfast in silence.
###
He doesn't give up. He's just lucky that Anna is a willing accomplice.
"It's kind, what you're doing."
"Either that or foolhardy. And I know it's what Sybil would want. She loved Mary."
Anna smiles a sad smile. "You must miss her."
"Every day." She's been gone a year and Tom can finally think if her without feeling like he's drowning. "But without her and Matthew I wouldn't have survived losing Sybil. She deserves my help."
"The grounds are looking nice, this time of year." Tom spoons warm porridge into his mouth one chilly autumn day. "I thought you might want to get some fresh air. You've been shut in this house for months. People are starting to forget what you look like."
Mary pushes her food around her plate; she's lost weight. "I see enough from my window, thank you, Tom."
Tom takes a drink of tea, decides that he needs to be more direct. "Mary, you've been in the land of the dead too long. Matthew wouldn't want this, nor would Sybil."
"How would you know what Matthew wanted?"
It stings, but it's meant to. Mary has always used words so well but Tom is learning, the more time he stays here. And he has never been one for games.
"I know it wouldn't have been this." Tom sets down his spoon, ignores the bug-eyed expressions Thomas and Carson are throwing his way. "Anna's laid your coat and hat out on the bed. You'll need to wear those shoes that Matthew brought you, and your gloves. Can't have you getting a chill. I'll meet you down here in ten minutes."
Mary pushes her plate away. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Tom, but-"
"Ten minutes, Mary. Come on, we'll bring the babies. They need fresh air as much as you do."
She comes downstairs ten minutes later in a bright green coat. George is in his pram, two beady eyes swaddled in fluffy blankets. He gurgles and smiles when he sees Mary and she looks like she wants to turn around and run away. She isn't adapting to motherhood very well, but she still finds the time to tell Sybil all about her mother so Tom isn't too worried.
"I'll take George." Tom takes the pram. He's nervous; today has to go well or Mary, Anna and Lord Grantham will never forgive him. "Why don't you take Sybil? Mary?" Tom stops in the hallway when he sees that she isn't following. "Are you coming?"
Its cold outside and Tom's glad he got everyone to wrap up warm. He carries Sybil after a little while, a crown of dark curls against his cheek. Mary pushes George; he's like Matthew, across the eyes. This is the first walk since he died.
"We got some new cows the other day, if you'd like to see them? Maybe another time. We're getting pigs soon; the sheep are in that farm over there. Your father fought against diversity for so long and now he's its biggest fan, if you can believe that." Tom steals a glance at Mary, wonders if he should start reciting the poem he was reading into the night. Would she notice Tennyson in between cows and pigs?
It's full morning when they reach the ridge, the sun clear in the sky.
"Looks like we might have a storm later, see those There's a dark clouds over there?" Tom leans against a tree with the children while Mary stands and stares across the sky. "Its colder here than I expected. We shouldn't stay here too long."
Mary turns around and meets his gaze. "Please don't ever bring me here again."
###
Mary retires to bed early; she's got a slight limp and her eyes fall shut during dinner.
"I think I wore her out," Tom tells Sybil that evening before bed. "But it was good for her, to get out. She taught me that life has to go on, even in death. I just hope I can do the same for her."
Tom's up early the next day, he has matter to attend to with one of the future pig farmers. Traipsing throughout the brambles, whistling a tune, he hears her.
"I hear that some changes have been made to the estates, since … well, recently."
The farmer sounds terrified when he says, "Yes, m'lady."
Tom doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but he can't help it. Hidden by the bushes, he can see her, listening with clear interest as the farmer explains his techniques for feeding and milking. In the early morning dusk she's like the women Tom heard stories about while growing up, wilful and strong.
And beautiful.
Tom's stops the thought but not before it's out in the early morning: Mary Crawley is beautiful in the mornings. Especially this day, when her hair is far from perfect and her shoes are sinking into mud and manure and a cow is eating the fabric flower from her hair and she doesn't seem to mind.
Mary is beautiful.
Thinking that a woman is beautiful isn't a crime; freedom of thought hasn't been abolished just yet. But she's Sybil's and Matthew's and he's Sybil's and Matthew's and he shouldn't think that Matthew's wife, his sister-in-law is beautiful in the early morning when she smiles.
"Tom!" Mary calls to him. "Are there any other changes you and my father have made to the running of this estate?"
Tom smiles because that's all he can do. "A great many, Lady Mary."
"I look forward to hearing about them."
###
Despite everything that's happened, Tom forgets, sometimes, that they are widows. He is Sybil's and Mary is Matthew's, and that's how it's always been: Mary was Matthew's long before they married and he has been Sybil's since he set foot in Downton. But things are not fixed. They don't stay the same, they move like fish in the river at the back of the house Tom grew up in.
"My father thinks I can't help you, with the running of the estate." Mary says to Tom one morning. "He tells me that he's worried about my health but I'm not a simpleton, not have I lost the use of my body. If I weren't so pleased to have you here I'd be offended that he prefers to leave his legacy in the hands of his chauffeur rather than his daughter."
"I haven't been your father's chauffeur for a long time."
"I'm sure there are days when you wish you were." Mary bends to retrieve some wild flowers and offers one to Tom for his lapel.
"Never."
Mary smiles a rueful smile. "No, me either. It's strange how one person can come into your life and leave such a mark. A bit unfair, I suppose. What kind of a mark do you think we'll leave?"
She stumbles on the way back and Tom catches her before she falls. Her hand finds his for balance and his skin tingles into the evening. Quite a mark indeed.
I am Sybil's, but I am not Sybil's. Mary is Matthew's, but she is not Matthew's. I am just Tom and she is just Mary.
Tom dresses for dinner and pushes the thought out of his mind.
###
The English upper classes never cease to amaze him. Mary's still in black and they come to call. When Mary was younger she was one of the most admired young women in the country; time and age, it would seem, have not dimmed her star.
Evelyn Napier comes to visit first, one of Mary's friends who survived the war. Sometimes he comes alone and Tom sits with him at dinner, he's about as interesting as the scones Ivy is learning to make: plain without texture. But he's nice enough and knows enough about Ireland to talk to Tom without awkward silences.
"Mary said that she never would have survived this past six months without you." Napier says in between talk of Russia and Irish politics. "I hear we owe Downton's success to you too."
"Careful, Evelyn." Mary smiles at Tom and rolls her eyes. "You sing Tom's praises too much and his head will never fit through the dining room doorway."
"I can't ever imagine the Lady Mary saying such a thing about me."
Napier smiles and his cheeks flush. "I admit that she did not say so precisely, but then, she didn't need to. Perhaps you'd care to take me on one of these walks one morning, since I hear they are where Downton's, England's, and the world's problems are laid to rest?"
Tony Gillingham shakes Tom's hand too hard and insists on sitting next to him at dinner. "Evelyn's told me all about what you and Mary have done with the grounds. I was hoping that you could direct me to some trails; I'd like to take Lady Mary out for a walk tomorrow morning."
Charles Blake speaks to him when winter is in the air and he has a pen in hand. "I'd like to see what you've done with the place. These old estates are so backwards, it's no wonder they aren't making any money. How's Downton staying ahead of the curve?"
Tom wonders if anyone would notice if he climbed out of the window until his eyes meet Mary's and she rolls her eyes just a little. "Downton's in very capable hands, Mr Blake."
###
"I half-expected to see one of your men with you one of these mornings." Tom says.
Mary shakes her head. "My parents want me to marry again."
"They want you happy."
"In their eyes, that is the same thing. You're spared that, I see."
"They love you." Tom tries to imagine one of Mary's men taking this walk with her and something cold squeezes his insides. "I hear Tony Gillingham proposed."
"It has been a year. It was bound to happen, I suppose. Although it has been longer for you and you have no proposals."
"I'll not get married again."
"Don't say that. And besides, I'm not getting married again so one of us has to." Mary stands and stares at her land. "One of us needs to be happy, Tom."
"You'll be happy one day, Mary."
###
It's Thomas who tells Tom about Mary and Charles Blake and when he hears, he knows he's got a serious problem because he wants to punch Blake right in the face.
"It was Ivy who found them, Mr Branson." Thomas stands by the table at breakfast and watches Tom spoon porridge into his mouth. "She said that they were both covered in mud, like they'd been rolling around in it."
"Is that right?"
"Yes, it is. Apparently the Lady Mary cooked breakfast for Mr Blake."
Tom squeezes his spoon so tight he's sure it's going to leave a mark. "That was thoughtful of her, to not wake up the servants."
He doesn't turn around but he can feel Thomas's smile. "And Mr Blake. It's probably the first time Lady Mary's made breakfast for anyone. Even Mr Crawley."
Tom puts down his spoon. He's not hungry anymore.
###
Tom's mother comes to visit; he meets her at the train station and tries not to snap when she insists upon staying in the inn in the village, even though Isobel has offered her guest room and Anna spent hours cleaning one of Downton's nicer bedrooms.
"I don't want to impose." His mother grips her purse and stares out of the window. "And where's my granddaughter?"
They sit in the drawing room and eat sandwiches and drink hot, strong tea and his mother stares at Sybil like she's a gift from Heaven itself.
"Lord, she's like Sybil, isn't she?"
The door opens and Mary walks in; even though Tom's facing away from the door he'd know that quick, sure footed stride anywhere.
"Mrs Branson!" Mary approaches with her hand out, shrugging out of her coat. "Tom told me that you were coming to visit, I'm sorry to have missed you when you first arrived."
"Mamma, May I introduce Lady Mary Crawley, Sybil's eldest sister." Tom watches his mother watch Mary and see the elegant dress and perfect hair, the cheeks flushed from the cold. What would you do, if I told you that she was the first woman since Sybil that I thought was beautiful?
What would Mary do?
He decides that introductions are probably safer. "Mary, this is my mother, Mrs Bridget Branson."
"Lady Mary." Bridget takes Mary's hand and shakes once, stares at Sybil's eldest sister like she's a mirage come from nowhere.
The other Crawleys appear then, Edith and Cora are warm and obliging, Lord Grantham and his mother cordial and well-meaning. Soon Isobel arrives and receives Mrs Branson like she's an orphan or veteran or young mother, or any one of her endless list of good causes. Accommodation at the village pub is cancelled and before anyone can say anything Isobel has called her house and told them to make sure that the guest warm and fresh.
"Mrs Branson, you're family." She says. "Staying in the village, after everything Tom has done for this family is out of the question!"
###
"How are my family?" Tom and his mother steal a moment alone to walk Downton's grounds; it's cold outside and the sun is setting earlier with each passing day.
"They miss you. They want to know when you're coming home. They want to know your daughter. They ask when you're getting married again." Bridget turns around to stare at Downton, so imposing in the pink-purple light. "Are you happy here, Tom? You were so angry when you got here. Do your books gather dust as you keep the upper classes living in the past?"
"That isn't fair." Tom shakes his head. "You don't know these people. Sybil wasn't like that, was she?"
His mother sniffs. "Do not forget your roots. You are not from these people. When are you coming home?"
"You know I can't do that."
"What about Liverpool? You said you were going to come and visit, you and Sybil could come back with me when I leave." Bridget pushes her son's hair out of his face and Tom feels like a little boy again. "My beautiful boy. My first son. I miss you so much."
"I miss you too, Mamma."
Tom watches his mother go with mixed feelings. He feels free and heavy all at the same time. He doesn't belong with her, but does he belong in Downton?
"Maybe you should visit your family in Liverpool." Mary says as they drive back from the station together. "If I can manage the train to Rippon I'm sure you can manage Liverpool. Maybe a foot in both worlds would suit you."
"I have stayed with your family too long. Maybe I should find somewhere in the village. Maybe I should go to Liverpool, or America." Tom stares at Downton and wonders what on earth he's doing here. "Maybe I should just join the circus."
"And what would you do, in the circus?"
Tom smiles. "I always wanted to be a juggler."
"We're well suited, then: when I was growing up my sisters and I would pretend to be in the circus. I was the elephant tamer. Edith was the elephant, of course. Sybil made sure our parents didn't get pelted with peanuts."
Tom laughs. "The circus it is, then. Of course, I wanted to be a pirate, too."
"I can't help you there. Crawleys don't do well on boats. But a juggling pirate would be a rare sight indeed."
Tim goes to bed that night and dreams about Mary. He wakes up in a cold sweat and forces himself to think about something else.
###
"Lady Mary and Mr Branson seem to be spending a lot of time together." Bates murmurs to Anna as she lays out Mary's coat for her afternoon walk with Tom. "They're walking three times a day now, aren't they?"
"Yesterday they were out before dawn and didn't get back until after dusk."
Bates catches his wife's eye and sees the gleam there. "Anna, you don't think-"
"All I know is that Lady Mary went away for a long time after Matthew died. And now she smiles and laughs and I know that the only thing that has changed is the time she spends with Mr Branson."
"What about her suitors?"
Anna smiles, shakes her head. "Can you see any of them making Mary happy?" She stares out of the window where Tom is mock sword fencing with Sybil while Mary looks on, a smile on her face. "No, Mr Bates, I do not think so."
###
There's an early autumn frost on the ground when Tom visits Sybil. He visits less than he feels like she should but more than he really wants to; Sybil doesn't belong in the family plot, she belongs with him.
"Good morning, Sybil." Tom takes a seat on the bench opposite her small, dainty headstone. "I haven't visited as much as I should, I know. But its hard, being here, when your picture's there on the nightstand. And Sybil's been learning all about the Knights of the Round Table … I hope you can forgive me. Anyway … Sybil, I came here today because I want to talk to you." He reaches into his jacket, takes out the picture from his nightstand. "Its easier, to talk to you like this. I love you, Sybil. I do. I love you. I'll always love you. But I can't grieve for you anymore. It isn't fair on me or Sybil, and it isn't what you would want. So I'm going to remember you, by living."
Isobel Crawley is walking to Downton and they take the last mile together. "And how are you, Tom?"
"Well, thank you."
"I saw you in the cemetery; were you visiting Sybil?"
"Yes." Tom looks at his shoes; inside his jacket Sybil's picture is burning a hole in the fabric. "I don't visit as often as I should."
"Mary does not visit Matthew at all." Grief makes Isobel another person for a moment. "She talks to a picture, by their bed. Her bed, I should say. You heard that Charles Blake wants to marry her?"
Something cold takes Tom's insides and squeezes until its all he can do to breathe. "No, but I can't say I'm surprised."
"Me either. He wants to see her, when you are all in London."
"I'm not going to Rose's coming-out."
"You aren't?"
Tom snorts. "Can you really see me at something like that?"
"No, but maybe that is what they need." Isobel smiles. "I'm glad you didn't move away, Tom. Downton needs you. Mary needed you."
"I didn't do anything that she wouldn't have done on her own, in time."
"Perhaps. Mary loved my son very much. Now, I think, she is realising that she might love again. Will it be you, Tom, or will it be the nice but dull Charles Blake?"
Tom's stomach falls through a hole. "I don't know what you mean."
"Do you not?" Isobel gives him a kind, indulgent smile. "You're less obvious now than you were a few years ago, I'll grant you, but Mary isn't Sybil and she wouldn't thank you for the way you wooed her sister."
"I can't marry my wife's sister."
"It isn't illegal, Tom. And you already proved that you don't care about what people think when you pursued Sybil."
Tom can't believe he's talking to Isobel about this. Its like she's taking all his deepest, most hidden thoughts and speaking them into the air and making them real. "Mary can't marry me."
"Can't or won't? Have you asked her?"
Rarely has Tom felt more speechless. "Mary needs to marry well. She needs to marry Charles Blake, or Evelyn Napier, or whoever."
"Mary needs to marry someone who will love her. She needs to marry someone who loved Matthew."
Eventually its all Tom can do but stare at Isobel and say, "I don't love Mary."
"Don't, or can't? I've never known you be afraid of love before, Tom."
"Am I interrupting something?" Mary appears, a wintry vision in white and cream, dark eyes and hair and ruby red lips and its all Tom can do but stare at her because he realises in that moment that he's in love with his dead wife's sister and her mother-in-law knows it.
"Lady Mary." He manages.
"We were just walking back from the village." Tom can feel Isobel's eyes on them both; he wants her to walk into Downton and take all her talk with her so he can go back to living in blissful denial.
"I hope she hasn't tired you out; I was looking forward to taking a stroll before we all go to London."
"I'm not going to London." Tom blurts out. "And if you'll excuse me, I must get back to the house."
I will conqueror this, he thinks as he walks up the stairs and into the nursery. I will.
###
Sarah is nice; they take dinner together and she wants to see the house. She warm and light and laughs a lot and reminds Tom of how he used to be when he first came to Downton, fierce convictions and decided opinions, a world of black and whites.
He's ashamed to admit it, but his mother is right. He can't remember the last time he cracked a book, so once Sarah is gone he reads and reads until he's started all of the books on his shelf and they lie, strewn about his bedroom. Dawn is breaking when he takes a seat at his table, Sybil's picture next to his hand. He picks up a pen and writes.
My name is Tom Branson. I am an Irishman and a Catholic. I am Sybil's husband and Sybil's father. I believe in democracy and freedom. I fight for what I want.
I helped Matthew and Mary save Downton from destruction. I am proud of this.
I am a widower. I am twenty four years old. I want to get married again.
I want to marry Lady Mary.
He pauses, scratches out Lady.
Mary.
I love Mary. I love my wife's sister. I love my friend's wife.
I love Mary.
Tom leans back in his chair, stares at the paper. This is who I am. Not books or reading, firebrand debate. This is who I am: a man who loved, and wants to love again.
He puts his books back on his shelf, arranged alphabetically buy author. Then he folds up the paper and tucks it into his jacket, goes to see his daughter and falls asleep on the floor of her nursery. When he wakes up he has just enough time to catch the last train to London.
###
The train is late and Tom grabs the last carriage from the station, arrives at Sybil's aunt's house with enough time to change for dinner. His tie isn't fastened properly and the shirt collar itches and he's sure that he must look like a buffoon.
Or a juggling pirate.
He scans the crowd for Mary, anxiety clenching his gut to nothing. He finds her sandwiched between Charles Blake and Tony Gillingham, who give him frosty smiles when he comes closer.
"Tom, I didn't know you were coming."
"It was a last-minute decision." Tom takes Mary's hand without waiting for an invitation, begins to waltz them around, not caring that they're going the wrong way to everyone else.
"Well, improvisation is a necessary skill for a juggler. And a pirate, I imagine. I'm glad you've come; London is so loud and obnoxious, although if I didn't know better, I'd say that you've been avoiding me."
Tom spies Gillingham and Blake stalking them from each side of the room. Is he really so obvious? He feels like a man possessed. His grip on Mary's waist is heavier than it should be, and he can feel her heart beat, the heat from her body.
This is becoming a disaster.
He thinks about Sybil: don't laugh at me. Its cost me all I've got to say these things.
Where is that young man's courage now?
He clears his throat, gives Mary a smile and meets her eyes. "I haven't, I assure you."
"You're a poor liar, Tom. You've been on edge since you got here. Has something happened? Is Sybil alright-"
"Sybil is fine." Tom gives her a smile, twirls her even if everyone else is waltzing. "Let's take a stroll tomorrow. I miss the fresh air."
He's waiting in the hallway for her, hat in his hands, almost pacing the length of the hallway. What are you doing? What are you going to say to her?
They take a carriage to Hyde Park and walk in artificial calmness. Other couples surround them; smiling women with their arms looped through their partners'. Times are changing, but not enough for Mary to take Tom's arm unless they were engaged.
"Are you going to tell me what's troubling you, Tom?"
Tom thinks about the note in his pocket, Thomas' smirk when he spied Sarah. The urge to unburden himself is almost unbearable. "I think that you would be ashamed of me if I did."
Mary smiles and shakes her head. "I doubt that. You are not happy and you must talk to someone. If not me, then someone else."
They sit down on a bench, opposite a fountain. Tom's words are halting and his cheeks crimson, but he tells her about Sarah and the Downton tour. "She only wanted to see the upstairs. She's never seen the house before, and just wanted to look down on the balcony. I'm sorry if you think I betrayed your trust or took advantage of your family's absence, but there's nothing but innocence to it."
Mary nods, the image of serenity. "I believe you."
They don't talk again until they are at the front door. "Do you love her, this Sarah?" Mary's standing on the step above him, looking down with those dark eyes and Tom wonders what she would do if he grabbed her and kissed her.
"No." He says. "No, I don't."
###
Tom shares the train ride home with Lord and Lady Grantham.
"How did you find London, Tom?" Cora stares at him with wide eyes, her accent a soft breeze on the chilly morning.
"Loud. Obnoxious." Tom feels embarrassed but he can't help but say, "I miss Downton."
Lord Grantham smiles what seems to be a genuine smile. "I am delighted to hear it, my boy."
"Does this mean that you'll be staying with us a little while longer?" Cora says.
Tom smiles, pats his jacket absently. "I hope so."
Their new chauffeur is late and Lord Grantham ventures into the station house to find out where their cars are; Cora pats Tom's arm and gives him a wide smile.
"This fell out of your jacket as we were packing." She's got his note in her hand and Tom's insides pool into his shoes. "Quite a nice hand you have, there."
Tom stares at the note and is sure that there's no blood left in his head. "Lady Mary said that all the men she knew had nicer penmanship than she does."
"I don't know about that." Cora presses his note into his hand. "You might want to put this someplace safe, for the time being."
"You read it?"
"I read it. It was open when it fell. My daughter laughs again, Tom, and with one daughter dead and another in Europe, I think that's all I can ask for, don't you?"
Relief tastes like honey in Tom's mouth. "So you approve?"
"I think that you should talk to Mary. We'll take this car with the other chauffeur; Mary's on the next train. I'll talk to Robert, he won't suspect a thing."
Tom waits on the platform like a man possessed, pacing and thinking until the train comes into view and then he has no idea what he's going to say to her. The paper burns a hole in his pocket.
This is who I am.
Mary's in First, of course, and surprise is evident on her face when she sees him on the platform.
"What are you doing here?"
"I stayed behind while the others went ahead." Tom can't believe he sounds so calm but offers his hand to help her out of the carriage. "I haven't driven for a while, thought we could drive back together, see the grounds from other angle. And Mrs Crawley." He says when Isobel follows Mary. "I didn't realise you and Lady Mary had come together."
"We had quite the journey, didn't we, Mary?"
Mary's quiet on the way home but Isobel fills the silence with questions that Tom is only too happy to answer.
"One of the farmers has adopted a baby and Edith's taken quite a shine to her; she's been spending every day at their house."
"Let's hope the farmer's wife doesn't mind too much." Mary says.
"I think its marvellous." Isobel says from the back seat. "Edith needs some love in her life, after her luck. We all need a second chance at love."
"Couldn't agree more, Mrs Crawley." Tom smiles.
Mary stares out of the window and hurries upstairs as soon as they're back at Downton, and Tom stands in the hallway and watches her go. What am I going to say to her?
###
Dinner is a sedate affair; everyone's tired from the journey and no-one is in the mood to talk except, it would seem, for Rose, who wants to talk about her coming-out in such detail that Tom wonders if she has forgotten that everyone was there. Mary sits at his side at dinner in a blue dress that he hasn't seen for a long time and has his eyes stray to the table where her hands rest, he notices that for the first time, her ring finger is bare.
He grips his spoon, tries to think about something other than the way Mary has been looking at him all night. Eventually, all he can say is, "Mrs Patmore's outdone herself this time, don't you think, Mary?"
"Oh …yes, very good."
Mary's eyes meet Tom's and in that moment the world falls away and they are the only two people in the room, on earth, because she is looking at him like he is Tom and not Sybil's Tom and she is just Mary and not Matthew's Mary and Tom dares to hope if, in that moment, if he was to lean forwards just slightly and press his lips to hers, if she might just kiss him back.
###
Tom retires to bed but does not sleep, stays up writing. At first his thoughts and feelings, how he's felt these past few years but has been afraid to put pen to paper. But then one page becomes five and then ten and the words come out of him like water from a dam, crashing and coursing and when he looks up the dawn is on its way and he has pages and pages of notes and thoughts, snatches of conversations that have somehow turned into scenes and chapters and has he just started writing a book?
He stares down at the last thing he's written: he is a brave man, and he loves a woman and he wants to tell her, because she deserves to know.
He stands up, knocks over his table, taking everything with it. He scrabbles on the floor for pages and pages of his untidy scrawl, finding Sybil's picture nestled beneath them. As always, her beauty, eternally captured on print, takes his breath away.
"You would never forgive me if I didn't try to be as happy as I could."
He rights the table, places the picture on the table before deciding no, that isn't right. He tries the drawers on the other side of the room, but that doesn't feel right either. He sits on the bed, touches the frame to his lips. Then he walks back to the drawers and tucks her away in the top drawer, next to Sybil's christening gown. I will see you again, Sybil. And you won't be forgotten. But I don't need your picture in my room to know that you're watching over me.
###
Mary isn't at Downton.
"She left early this morning, Mr Branson." Carson stares at him with knowing eyes almost hidden by those enormous eyebrows. "She said that she had some letters to post."
"Letters? To who?"
Carson looks indignant. "That is not a question I would be asking. A lady's letters are her own business. But she took one of the cars, in case you were wondering."
"A car?" Tom hasn't seen Lady Mary drive since that terrible day, after the accident.
"She said that it was a nice day, and so why not?"
Tom smiles, a wide smile that reaches both ears. "Why not, indeed."
Isobel finds him as he leaves Downton; the sun is coming up and he wants, needs to walk. "I'd be glad to walk with you." She says, and takes his arm when he offers.
They walk and walk, saying little until they crest the road and spy a familiar car, parked rather haphazardly. There are dainty footsteps in the frost, heading towards the ridge. Please don't bring me here again.
"Isobel, I have to go."
Isobel smiles. "I'm glad."
"You were right."
Tom follows the footsteps.
He finds her on the ridge she said she would never want to see again, tears on her cheeks. He's afraid to say anything, to move or speak, but as the sun sets, she turns around and sees him and its like she's looking at him with new eyes.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." His voice is quiet and husky. "Isobel asked me if I wanted to walk with her. We saw your car on our way back, but she told me to go and find you. I just didn't think I'd find you here."
"You walked with Isobel?"
Tom nods. "She said you'd gone to the village."
"I was posting some letters. To Charles Blake, and Tony Gillingham, actually." Mary smiles, looks at the ground. "Do you remember when I said that I didn't want to get married again?"
"Of course."
"Well, I changed my mind. You see, I would like to get married again, but just not to them."
"I see." Tom's mouth breaks into a smile and hope blooms in his chest like a rare flower. "Did you have anyone else in mind?"
Mary's smile grows some more, her eyes soft and warm. "I believe so."
Tom nods, and offers Mary his arm. "Shall we take a walk, while you tell me all about it?"
Mary takes Tom's arm. "I'd like that."
###
They walk down the ridge, staring at the brambles that have grown, the cows that are grazing in the fields. Mary's grip is tight on Tom's arm and they take a rest at a fence and watch the land that they have helped to nurture.
"I went to see Matthew today. And Sybil." Mary steals a rose from a nearby bush, presses it to her nose. "You see, the thing is, Tom, is that I love you. I thought I did for a while, but then I thought about what you said and I realised that I didn't think that I loved you, I knew I did."
Relief is sweet in Tom's veins. "You love me?"
"Yes." Mary meets his eyes and she smiles. "I understand, if you don't love me. I am Sybil's sister and I can be cold and hard and I'm sure my parents and Edith and the rest of my family, and most of the servants and the village will have something to say about it, but Matthew showed me that I can be warm, and you showed me that I can be strong. And those aren't things that I want to lose."
Tom takes the rose from Mary's hands, and tucks it into her hat. "You can be both of those things without me."
Mary's eyes flicker to his mouth and something twitches in Tom's stomach. "No, but I would like you there all the same."
Tom closes the gap between them and kisses her.
Her lips are warm and soft and she tastes like the mints they sell in the village. Her gloved fingers come up to touch his face and then her back's against the fence and he's breathing her in like she's the sweetest air.
"Marry me." He whispers against her mouth when they break apart. "Marry me, Mary. I love you. I've loved you … for weeks, months. I'll never have money like Blake or Gillingham or Napier, but I love you."
"Oh, Tom." Mary touches his face, gently kisses him again. "We don't need money. We're going to be pirates, remember?"
They begin to walk again, pausing to eat the blackberries that grow within striking distance of Downton. "Tom, before we go any further, I must tell you something."
Tom stares at Mary's face, the stricken look there. "What is it?"
She tells him about a gentleman called Pamook and a young girl's foolish choice, a moment of indiscretion that haunted her for years. In a few years, society won't care but now, standing in Downton's grounds, Mary cares.
Tom takes her hand. "Do you really think I care about things like that?"
"You deserve to know."
"Well, since we're on that subject." He tells her about Edith, a foolish choice with a selfish girl. When he's done Mary squeezes his hand.
"We really are pirates, aren't we?"
"So, now we know each other's guilty little secrets, do you still love me?"
Mary laughs. You know, you'll have to ask my father for permission. Times haven't changed that much, you know."
Tom can't help but laugh along with her. Mary's laugh is so rare its impossible not to join in. "Hopefully your mother will have buttered him up a little bit."
Mary pauses mid-chew. "My mother knew?"
"She might have … inferred something, from the time we spent together. As did Isobel."
Mary rolls her eyes. "Isobel cornered me on the train back from London. She told me that even if I loved someone other than Matthew, she would still love me. And it didn't mean that I loved Matthew any less." She casts her gaze towards the sky. "Do you think they would approve."
Tom takes her hand. "They would approve of us being happy." He stares at Downton, his home. This is who I am. "Shall we?"
FIN.
