The entire family was silent on the ride to the cemetery, the only sounds the gentle rumble of the car's engine and the steady fall of the rain, which had finally begun in earnest. Edith kept her eyes trained on her lap, seated beside her father while Sybil and Mary exchanged nervous glances. Robert, every so often, would reach into his pocket for his watch even though it had only been minutes since he had last checked the time. The entire atmosphere was tensed, each and every one of them waiting for someone to speak but not wanting to be the one that said the first word. Sybil felt her palms begin to sweat inside her gloves, already itching to be out of that suffocating car. The cemetery might be dreadful, especially on a day like this, but at least it was in the open, and not filled with the awkwardness that was filling the car now. She was beginning to wonder if her father coming along with them had really been for the best after all.

It was Mary who finally broke the silence, her soft voice seeming to echo throughout the car. "It was good of you to come, Papa," she said, clearly trying to be diplomatic. Sybil almost smiled. Playing the peacemaker like this was usually her role, and seeing Mary trying to adopt it was almost comical. She reached over and took her older sister's hand, squeezing it gently for support, and Mary smiled in thanks.

Robert forced a pained smile of his own, slipping his watch back into his waistcoat pocket for what had to be the tenth time. "I thought it was high time I did," was all he said. "I…I feel like I've made her wait long enough." After that, the car fell silent once more, and Sybil focused solely on watching the raindrops gently slide down the windows as they drove on. It seemed fitting that it would rain today, she decided—as if the weather had decided to shed their tears for them so they would not have to.

By the time they pulled up to the cemetery the rain had slowed to a dull drizzle, but they pulled out umbrellas anyway as they one by one got out of the automobile. They arrived only moments before the Dowager Countess pulled up in her own car, stepping out briskly once her chauffeur had opened the door for her. He held her umbrella for her as she crossed to greet the girls. "Oh, my dears," she whispered, pulling each of them into her arms for a brief hug and a somewhat papery kiss on the cheek. The same was given to Robert, who held onto his mother for just a moment longer than the rest of them had, as if trying to draw strength from her. It was such a tender moment that Mary had to look away, knowing that if she allowed herself to dwell on it she would feel the bitter tinge of jealousy begin to fill her. However childishly, there was a part of her who couldn't help but think of how unfair it was that her father still had his mother, could still hug her and go to her for advice, while she would never be able to do the same again.

Robert pulled away and took the umbrella form the chauffeur, taking Violet's arm and beginning to escort her through the cemetery. Mary did the same with Sybil, while Edith was left to fend for herself. Mary was not quite ready to forgive her younger sister just yet, even though she knew it was what her family would have wanted her to do. Instead, she held her head high and ignored Edith entirely as they crossed the lumpy, muddied ground of the cemetery, pulling Sybil along with her. Her youngest sister stumbled in the thick mud and almost fell, accidentally kicking mud onto the back of her skirts. Mary quickly helped her right herself, and they walked on past ancient, crumbling gravestones interspersed with newer ones, marking the final resting places of those who, like her mother, were taken from the world far too early.

Finally, they came to Cora's grave. It stood apart from the others, not too far from an apple tree that in spring would fill with the most beautiful blossoms the girls had ever seen. They were just budding now, looking forlorn and waterlogged from the downpour that had begun on the trip over. The grave itself was immaculate, kept so by the groundskeeper that Robert paid specifically to maintain its upkeep. The stone was large but not overly ornate, adorned with only the inscription and a few carvings of flowers—roses, lilacs, and daisies, Cora's favorites, as per Robert's request. Sybil glanced up as they approached, her eyes flickering across the inscription that she had known by heart ever since she was six years old—the one that she knew in her heart, even with her limited memories of Cora, could never be enough to truly describe the woman her mother had been.

Cora Anne Crawley

July 18th, 1868—February 13th, 1902

5th Countess of Grantham

Beloved Daughter, Wife, and Mother

Rest in Peace

"Hello, Mama," Sybil whispered.

Each of them had their own separate rituals for visiting the grave, constant and somewhat comforting. Violet would sigh and place her hand atop of the cold stone, never speaking a word although her pale blue eyes spoke volumes. Edith, if it was not too muddy, would kneel and clear a space in the grass for her bouquet to rest, never content with its placement until everything was just so. Mary would run her hand along the letters so painstakingly etched into the decade-old stone, every now and then opening her mouth to relay some beloved memory that would make all of them smile. All of them except Sybil, that is, who inevitably would only have the vaguest inkling of what they were talking about, to her endless frustration. She had been six years old when her mother died, and nothing her family told her would do anything to dissuade her from the notion that she should remember far more of Cora than she did. While Mary and Edith were lucky enough to have full, tangible memories, recalling everything from words that were spoken to the color that Cora was wearing during the fateful dinner party where Mary, deep in the throes of a temper tantrum, had threatened to run away unless her mother came to the nursery to read them a bedtime story, Sybil had only snippets. She could remember vague details, the warmth of her mother's embrace and the feeling of her lips on Sybil's forehead, the faintest whiff of the perfume she would always wear…and her smile. As long as she lived, Sybil hoped that her mother's smile, so warm and full of love whenever she looked at one of her girls. Sybil smiled herself as she crouched to lay her flowers down next to Edith's, feeling tears well in her eyes. I miss you, Mama. I miss you every day…I wish I'd known you better. The others, they don't know how lucky they are to remember you as they do…

Sybil glanced over her shoulder at her father, who stood apart from the others. He had taken off his top hat out of respect and now held it before him, his eyes fixed upon the ground. This was Robert's ritual each and every time he went to see Cora, hanging back until his daughters had finished paying their respects before he stepped forward to pay his. Sybil turned back, finding that the writing on the stone was now too blurry to make out. She blinked rapidly and a single tear slipped from her eyes. She watched it fall, landing at the bottom of the stone and staining it slightly darker than before. "I miss you," she whispered.

Sometimes, Sybil wasn't sure if it was her actual mother or the memory of her that she was truly mourning.

"She was taken far too soon," Violet said thickly, voicing what each and every one of them was thinking.

They stayed like that for some time, until the rain stopped and the sun began to poke its way through the gray clouds once again. Violet began to usher the girls away, knowing that it was Robert's turn to pay his respects to his late wife and that if she did not give him a little push, he would remain waiting behind them all day. "Come along, my dears," she said, taking Sybil's hand in hers and pulling her off. "Give your father a bit of privacy now. We'll just be waiting in the car…"

And just like that, Robert was left alone.

He gave a heavy sigh, looking down at the cold grey stone. Cora would have hated it, he knew—he had been saying that for years. He had tried to select what he thought she would have liked, but how was he to know something like that? It was too impersonal, too unfeeling for the woman who had never been very good at hiding her emotions from the people she cared about. She was passionate and caring, loyal and loving and fiercely protective of those dear to her. How could this slab of rock even attempt to do her justice?

Robert sighed again, placing his hand on the stone. "Hello, my dear," he whispered. He had always felt so ridiculous, speaking to a stone as if it were his wife, but somehow it was oddly comforting all the same. "I'm…I'm sorry I haven't…" He shook his head, almost rolling his eyes on himself. "Rubbish…I shouldn't have to apologize for that. If you were here you'd be telling me not to, wouldn't you? Of course you would…you would say it doesn't matter that I haven't been visiting, all that matters is that I'm here now…You were always so forgiving of me, weren't you, in the end..sometimes it took a while but you would always forgive me eventually…even when I didn't deserve it. And Cora, there were so many times I didn't deserve it…"

His voice broke then, and he spent several minutes trying to compose himself before he spoke again. Clearing his throat, he began, "The girls have been getting along better, recently…at least, they had been before this morning. I suppose I'm to blame for that. Sybil's been talking about going to school again. Mama and I have been trying to talk her out of it, but…what can I say, my dear? She's as determined as ever…that's part of the reason why I know she's your daughter. You can both be so stubborn when you want to be…Mary as well. She surprised me, though, hardly put up a fuss when I spoke to her about her engagement to Patrick…I suspect she knows its what's best for Downton." He cleared his throat again. "Nothing formal has been announced, not yet…the family knows, but that's it. I think that's how Mary wants it to be, at least for now. James and Patrick are off on holiday to New York next month, perhaps when they return we can get started on preparations…she's twenty years old now, it's nearly time for her to get settled. She's going to make a wonderful Countess of Grantham one day, truly…but it's hard to think of anyone taking your place. Nearly impossible, really…absolutely impossible. But she'll do well, I know that…she may not have had you for very long, but she learned from the best all the same. As for our Edith…" He gave a watery sort of chuckle. "We never do seem to talk about her, do we? Let's see…"

He went along telling her the latest news of the house, of the servants and the letters he had gotten recently from Rosamund in London and Martha in New York. It gave him a sense of peace, almost, speaking to his wife about the day-to-day activities of Downton as if she were still there to discuss it with him. Only when he had run out of things to say did he reach into the pocket of his waistcoat and bring out a single pink rose, slightly the worse for wear. He laid it carefully down on the bed of lilacs that his girls had left, the pale pink a welcome contrast to the sea of purple. He brushed a tear away and smiled faintly, lowering his voice to whisper one last thing before he took his leave. "Until next time, my dear," he breathed. "I will always love you…"

The rest of the day was uneventful. The family returned home feeling somewhat subdued but ultimately lighter as well, for visiting the grave was always a cathartic experience for them. Mary had Diamond saddled and went off on a ride by herself, feeling the need as she always did to be alone with her thoughts after paying her respects to her mother. Robert retreated into the library, and so it fell to Sybil and Edith to entertain their grandmother until dinner was served. The meal was a quiet affair, all of them still so aware of the hole in their lives that Cora seemed to have left behind even ten years later. Her absence still haunted the house more than any true ghost ever could.

Violet took her leave after the meal, and once again everyone was left to their own devices. It was around eleven o'clock when Robert strode into the library, surprised to find Sybil still dressed from dinner as she sat curled up in one of the armchairs. She held a framed picture in her hands and was studying it intently, and Robert cleared his throat gently to let his youngest know that he was there without startling her. "I thought you'd all gone to bed already," he said quietly.

"The others have," Sybil replied, letting the hand holding the photograph fall into her lap although she did not set it down. "I was just looking for a book to read before bed, I finished the one I was working on."

"Of course," Robert said, coming to stand in front of her. "Although, I'm afraid that doesn't look much like a book." His words were mild, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid his daughter would take offense at them.

Sybil's cheeks immediately began to turn a light pink, and she looked down at her lap sheepishly. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, making as if to get up and set the picture back where she had found it. "I didn't mean—"

"Calm down, my dear, it's all right," Robert was quick to say, soothing her before she got upset or began to think that she was in trouble. "I don't mind, Sybil. I don't mind at all. I'm…I'm happy that you wanted to look at pictures of your mother."

"I'm just glad I can," Sybil said quietly. Immediately after Cora's death Robert had ordered all photographs and portraits of her be put away, save a few of the larger ones that would have been a hassle to take down. Looking at her had still been too painful during those first few years. Later, though, when Sybil was around ten years old, he slowly allowed the photographs to filter back into the house. The one Sybil held was a favorite of his, taken when Sybil had been perhaps four years old. It was a family portrait of the Crawley women, Violet and Cora seated on one of the plush sofas with Mary in between them and Edith front of them on the floor. Sybil had nearly thrown a tantrum until Cora had allowed her to sit in her lap while the photograph was taken, and the picture depicted a triumphant grin on her face from getting exactly what she wanted. Violet's face was solemn, as it always was in pictures, but Cora's eyes were playful and her mouth had the faintest hint of a smile, almost as if she was proud of what Sybil had done. Robert came to stand next to Sybil and looked down at the photograph, nearly smiling as well. "Do you remember that day?" he asked quietly.

Sybil shook her head. "I…I almost do, but that's only because I've heard you and Mary tell the story so many times. I don't know if it's really me remembering what happened, or just me remembering you telling us how it went." She gave a little sigh. "So many of my memories are like that—I don't know if they're real or just me imagining all the stories you've told me over the years."

"Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of," Robert assured her. "You were so young then, Sybil, you can't be expected to remember everything."

"Well, I should remember something," Sybil grumbled. She set the frame back on the table and sighed, although her eyes remained locked onto Cora's behind the glass. "I miss her," she said after a moment.

"Of course you do, Sybil. We all do."

"I think about her all the time, Papa. I wonder…I wonder if she would have been proud of me, of what I've become. Do you think—"

"Sybil, of course she's proud of you!" Robert cut her off. "How could you think she wouldn't be? Sybul, darling, your mother loved you so much. If she could see you now…"

Robert never got to finish his sentence before Sybil jumped up and put her arms around him. He stood there, slightly taken aback, before he returned her embrace."You remind me so much of your mother," he whispered in her ear. "All of you do…Sybil, don't you ever think that she wouldn't be proud of you. Don't ever think that…" They stood like that for some time, father and daughter bound together by grief, until finally Sybil released him. Her eyes were misty, but she quickly blinked her tears away before her father could get a good look at them. "Thank you, Papa," she said, leaning up to place a small kiss on his cheek. "I should get to bed…"

"Ah, you never did get your book," Robert reminded her. He turned and walked over to the nearest set of shelves, rummaging around a bit before he found what he was looking for, a thick red volume with a drawing of four young girls stamped across the cover. It was slightly worn, and had clearly been well-loved long before he ever picked it up. A frayed piece of ribbon stuck out from between the pages for use as a bookmark, as if it had been set back on the shelves still unfinished. "Try this."

Sybil took it, wrinkling her nose just slightly when she saw the title. "Little Women?" she asked skeptically. "I tried to read it once, Papa…I couldn't get past the first few pages."

"It was your mother's favorite," her father replied gently. "This was her copy growing up. Your grandmother gave it to her when she was a little girl."

Sybil blinked in surprise, looking down at the book in her hands with newfound curiosity. "It was?" she asked eagerly. "I mean, this was her favorite book?"

Robert couldn't help but smile. "What do you think is the real reason that your sister's middle name is Josephine? It wasn't because of my frightful great-aunt, I can assure you. No, your mother adored this book. She read it every year, for a while, before life got too busy. Perhaps you ought to give it another try?"

Sybil nodded, flipping through the pages and gazing down at the illustrations. "Did you ever read it, Papa?" she asked.

"Indeed I did, years ago at your mother's recommendation. It may have been even before you were born. I quite enjoyed myself, too—I wasn't expecting to, you know. At the time, I admit I thought it would be useful in teaching me just how to raise up daughters of my own."

Sybil gave a giggle. "And did it, Papa? Did it teach you how to raise daughters?"

Her father chuckled and placed a hand on her shoulder as he shook his head. "I'm still learning."

Author's Note: Thanks so much for your positive feedback, guys! I'm as excited as you to see just where this story goes. Sorry these first two chapters were sort of filler, but chapter 3 is when I start to put the events of the show into motion. A few quick notes…I sort of cheated on Cora's middle name because I couldn't find any reference to it, so just I used what I thought sounded pretty. Her date of birth, however, I took from the Downton wiki page. I used the behind the scenes picture of Sybil's grave in season 4 as a reference for what Cora's tombstone looks like, so look that up if you want more of a visual representation. I think that's about it…let me know what you think, and thank you so much for your enthusiasm and support!