chapter ten
Children begin by loving their parents. As they grow older they judge them, sometimes they forgive them.
Oscar Wilde
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Rain clouds speckled the sky like dust settling on a blank canvas. There was a cool breeze in the air, the organic smell of impending rain – so clear, so distinct.
Sybil's hands were cradling the swell of her belly, and she took slow, deliberate steps on the slightly slick path that led around the gardens. Her legs were aching, and with every step she took, Sybil began to feel her impatience growing. Not only had the instinct to protect her child grown larger with each day, but so too had the need to finally welcome the baby into the world in order to end the ache and strain on her own body.
Despite the heavy scent of rain in the air the fragrance of new blossoms filled Sybil's nostrils with the essence of spring. The life that was growing all around her seemed much more peaceful than the one she felt moving inside of her in this very moment. The child she carried made itself known, kicked and danced all day long, utterly wearing Sybil out. By contrast, the petals scattering the gardens with colour seemed to grow so much gentler, so much more subtlety. So very delicately that it seemed they were blooming out of thin air.
Sybil kept moving along the brick wall that encircled the gardens, the path laid out neatly in front of her feet. Never in her life had she felt this tired and exhausted. Countless nights without sleep had left their mark on her, despite her youth. The prospect of laying down in her soft bed seemed utterly tempting, even though she knew so well that it would only turn out to be an afternoon spent shuffling herself from one side to the other, wasting energy she did not have, only exhausting herself further.
The fresh air was what she needed; being outside gave Sybil a little room to breathe and to get away from the tension that seemed to span itself within the walls of the big house. Mary and Matthew's return from their short travel had not brought back the enthusiasm and delight of the pre-wedding phase: rather, everyone now walked around the house with broad shoulders and tense tempers.
Last week's fight with Tom was still vivid in Sybil's mind, and their handful of failed attempts at reconciling only made her feel all the more helpless.
She felt no blame or anger at Tom for wanting to support and protect his family as best as he could, neither did she blame herself for standing in his way or holding him back. No. If she were honest with herself, Sybil only felt anger towards the fact that she and Tom together could not seem to resolve the tension and the conflict lingering between them. As a couple, as husband and wife, as parents. For a reason she could not comprehend, they were apparently unable to determine the root cause of their problems, for neither the questions about their safety nor Tom's discomfort at Downton were really solely to blame for the dark turn they had taken.
Sometime over the last few months, somewhere down the road they had come, they must have hit some rock, must have missed some obstacle that steered them into the wrong direction.
Sybil wondered where this road would take them in the future, and the part of her that longed for peace and security rather than thrills and excitement understood that their journey would remain rocky for a little while longer.
.:.
Sybil sighed, pushing her palm flat against the small of her back. The plate of sandwiches in front of her was now gone, only a few pale crumbs left, and she watched as Tom brushed off the last bits sticking to his lips with the thick handkerchief.
The stormy weather and raging rain had made them terribly late for lunch, and they had returned from their trip to Ripon empty-handed.
Still tasting the faint freshness of strawberries on her tongue, Sybil let her eyes gaze out of the large windows, a constant grey cloud and web of rain blocking the view over the green, blossoming fields.
Tom's sigh interrupted her thoughts, and Sybil turned to see the blank expression in his eyes turn into a comforting smile when their eyes met.
"That will be all, Carson," Sybil said. Carson, standing behind them with his usual mask of duty, nodded shortly. From the corner of her eye, Sybil could see the old butler shuffling around the table as Tom helped her out of her chair.
As strange and foreign as this luncheon was to the eyes of the ancient room, something about seeing Carson keeping everything running felt so utterly familiar and almost comforting to Sybil, that she felt herself grasping for Tom's hand.
Their eyes met for a moment as they made their way out of the dining room, the softness of the touch strong enough to shine over all dark clouds that the last weeks had brought over them, if only for a moment.
"Sybil, Tom, there you are," Cora called from across the hall, full of enthusiasm and, had Sybil not known her better, so very oblivious to the tension spanning within the house, "Do you have a moment? There is something I would like to show you."
"Of course, Mama," Sybil replied, all the more aware of her fingers intertwined with Tom's.
Cora waved her hand nonchalantly, and made her way towards the grand staircase. Sybil, both curious and worried in response to her mother's untimely joy, began to take slow steps, relying heavily on Tom's support.
"Do you know what's going on?" he whispered as they followed Cora upstairs.
"I have no clue," Sybil answered truthfully, wondering what on Earth would conjure such an adolescent joy on her mother's face.
As they passed their bedroom, Sybil felt astonishingly overwhelmed by the urge to sink into the soft bed and rest her aching body, to sleep until she woke up and her child was playing with one of her old dolls at the foot of her bed like she had done. The foggy memories of a golden haired doll in a light blue dress, her very own princess, accompanying her as she sat crossed-legged on Mary's bed, seemed so far away, yet so near.
Cora came to a stop in front of a room at the end of the hall, only a few doors away from Tom and Sybil's bedroom. The room had been unused and empty for as long as Sybil remembered, although she had faint memories of Edith hiding in there, looking out of the window and across the woods for hours in complete silence.
"I know you did not want me to get too enthusiastic, and I could not help but notice that there has been some struggle for the both of you," Cora began, slightly more serious now, perhaps even nervous, and Sybil could feel her own hand become sweaty at her mother's words, "But, I believe, as long as we are still waiting for the baby to be born, we should be looking forward to it."
There was a short, yet terribly awkward silence as Cora eyed the young couple in front of her, and Sybil, unsure whether or not she should be saying something, held on to Tom's hand even tighter, longing for some sort of silent support.
Finally ending the moment of tension, Cora slowly opened the door, ushering Sybil and Tom into the small room.
"What is this?" Sybil asked, completely taken aback by what she was seeing. Tom next to her stood in the room with his mouth gaping open, a look of utter disbelief that was mirrored in Sybil's.
The formerly cold and lifeless room with its bare floor, milky windows and dusty curtains was now like a beacon of light. The soft carpet that covered the floor was clean and bright, fluffier than anything Sybil had ever felt. Brightly patterned curtains framed the crystal-clear windows and the forest that lay behind them. The fireplace looked clean and inviting, a blue rocking chair - which Sybil vaguely remembered from her old nursery - standing by its side. By the window, she spotted an ancient rocking horse, which spurred memories of a young Mary sitting on its back just as she would on Diamond one day.
The one thing that caused the lump in Sybil's throat to really set in, that caused silent tears to gather in her eyes, was the crib that stood against the opposite wall, a plush chair next to it.
"It's a present. For the both of you.," Cora replied with a bright smile, standing by the door with her hands folded against her stomach, "Well, all three of you, really."
"Oh, Mama!" Sybil exclaimed, a flood of emotions overwhelming her. Frustration and joy, anger and happiness, as well as the stunning reality that her child would be born soon, and might sleep in this very crib in those glorious, early days of summer.
"I know, I know, you think it's too much," Cora continued, a slightly weathered look in her eyes. "And I know that you'll be leaving. I can tell. Nevertheless, I so hope to see my first grandchild more than just once in my lifetime, and he or she will need a proper room to make Downton its home, as well, don't you think?"
Her mother's voice betrayed her; although light and optimistic, it was soaked with a sadness and defiance that Sybil was not used to seeing.
"Mama...," she began, gently untangling her fingers from Tom's hold and taking a few steps towards her mother.
"No tears, my darling, no tears," Cora comforted Sybil, meeting her halfway in a light embrace, "What do you think?"
"It's wonderful! Absolutely wonderful, isn't it, Tom?" Sybil exclaimed happily, beaming with a genuinely bright smile that was seen so rarely these days. She turned in her mother's arms to find Tom still inspecting the room unbelievingly.
"It is," he replied, seeking out his mother-in-law's content smile, "Thank you."
"There's no need to thank me," Cora reassured him, stepping away from Sybil and making her way slowly back to the door, "I'll leave you two to inspect everything."
With a proud and accomplished smile on her lips, she stepped into the much darker corridor, and, with a last glance at Sybil and Tom, turned the corner and walked away.
The wind howled outside, dark waves of forest green moving like the sea in a storm. Sybil let her eyes wander across each and every detail once more, her tired feet carrying her back towards Tom. He was leaning against the window frame, watching the storm upset the world outside.
"Do you mind?" Sybil asked quietly, resting her hand hesitantly against Tom's arm. She could not explain to herself why she did it, or what the gesture was meant to be. Comfort? Affection? Reassurance? Doubt?
"Sorry?" Tom asked confusedly, turning to see Sybil standing by his side.
"This," she replied, pointing her free hand at the room that surrounded them, "The nursery. It's a lot, I know. Do you mind? We don't have to accept if it's-"
Tom's hand covering her own silenced her, and the warmth of his smile, the reassurance and genuine hint of peace seemed to momentarily erase all worries and sorrows.
"No, I don't mind," Tom replied softly, taking in the room around them once more, with all its soft colours and gentle shapes, "It is a lot, that's true. But it's a gift and your mother is so excited."
The mention of her mother changed the gentle sound of Tom's voice, a bitter-sweet and almost longingly painful echo to his comforting and reassuring words. Memories of the flat they had made their home in Dublin, of the broken street light and of the cold sheets of their bed, of the ray of light through the tiny curtain, of her former colleagues and, most importantly, of Tom's family flooded Sybil's mind. She wondered if she had suppressed these memories during their stay at Downton until now, for they seemed so utterly powerful and vivid, that she could feel salty tears stinging in her eyes.
The surge of sadness and longing, which she had heard as an echo in Tom's voice, was one she could only describe as homesickness. It felt so much like those months at the training hospital in York, back when she had been away from home for the first time. Or those first days in Dublin, when she had been undoubtedly happy and content with her decision, but overwhelmed by the reality of it all, compounded by her family being so very far away, all the way across the Irish Sea.
"I'm sorry, Tom," she whispered, choking back the tears she did not wish to shed in front of her husband now,."I'm sorry for how things are right now. I simply can't figure out how to make them better."
"Don't speak as if they were your fault, Sybil," Tom said tenderly, cupping her face gently in his hands, "I'm so torn, and I know you are, too. But this nursery reminds me of how excited and happy I truly am, and that we have so much to look forward to. I will find a way to help back home, to support my family. But you and the baby are my first priority, and I will be with you, by your side, from now on. I'm the one who should apologize for being so distant and for not speaking up sooner. I let things go too far."
As Tom's lips pressed comfortingly against her own, Sybil felt a single tear spill over, leaving a salty trail down her cheek. She leaned into the kiss, craving any sort of intimacy, any of the contact that she and Tom had denied themselves lately. Her lips were urgent, her hands clinging to Tom's shoulders as tightly as possible. The warmth that seemed to radiate from his body seeped into her icy skin, and as they parted with a mutual sigh, Sybil immediately rested her cheek against Tom's chest. On one hand, she wanted to hide her tears, wanted to keep that moment for herself, and on the other, she did not wish to leave Tom's embrace for even a single moment.
"This still does not settle anything," she murmured against Tom's chest, feeling his breathing and his heartbeat even and peaceful beneath her. The sound and movement comforted her, and she slid one of her hands away from Tom's shoulders to rest against the side of her stomach, feeling their child move under her skin.
For a moment, the content of her nightmares flickered before her, the nameless, faceless children she had never had crying and reaching for her in her mind. It still sent shivers down her spine, although now, in this moment, Sybil had to admit to herself that the life that now presented itself in a cloak of horror to her, might have had one small advantage. Perhaps, had she followed the path laid out for her by her family, she would have been able to focus on nothing more than growing a human being inside of her, on nothing else than being peaceful and rested, whereas now, sometimes, she wondered where the time had gone, and how it was possible that within a few days and weeks, she would be a mother.
In the darkness of the night, when she felt safe that no one could creep into her thoughts, she sometimes felt herself admit that the arrival of her child would only add to the long list of problems there were no solutions for. It pained her, this admission, and she felt helpless and unkind. However, no matter how scared she was, and no matter how clear it was to her that there were harder times ahead than lay behind, she longed for the moment to hold her child in her arms, to look into the small pair of eyes and hold the little hand she now felt kicking her side.
"I know," Tom whispered sadly, kissing the top of Sybil's head affectionately. His hand slowly stroked down her arm, before coming to rest on top of hers, hovering over their restless child.
"We don't have to stay here forever, you know that," Sybil reassured him, leaning back to look up into Tom's tired eyes, wondering if she looked the same, "That was never the plan. I will not take any chances with our child's life, but I do want us to return to Dublin once everything calms down a little. And I am certain it will."
Sybil did not see the smile or hint of happiness in Tom's eyes she had hoped for. Instead, his features seemed to harden, not in a stern way, but in a bitter way, as if reality had just dawned on him the way it dawned on Sybil every night when she tossed and turned in her sheets.
"Once we go back...," Tom began quietly, his thumb drawing lazy circles against Sybil's cheekbone, "Things will not be like this."
There was no need for any further definition of this. Sybil knew. There would be no nursery like this. There might be a hand-me-down crib squeezed somewhere in between a bed and a wall, there might be a worn out batch of clothes and a stained blanket. There would be no white silk or stuffed toys, no soft fabric and joyous colours.
"I know," Sybil answered, mirroring Tom's resigned sigh from earlier. She was just about to reassure Tom that none of that mattered, as much as she wished to give their child all the joy and beauty in the world, hen a new voice stopped her to even utter a word.
"So, you really do plan to raise your child in poverty, with assassinations and riots just in front of your door?"
Sybil almost jumped out of Tom's embrace as they both turned quickly towards the door. Tom's hand pressed against the small of Sybil's back, a symbol of affection and support as they were faced with her father standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes stern.
"Papa?" Sybil asked hesitantly, knowing the look on her father's face, having feared it for as long as she could remember. Instinctively, she took a step closer to Tom, cradling her belly protectively, afraid of what was to come. She was sick of it, sick of feeing like a young child who had to be told off, but that was exactly how she felt in this moment.
"I truly wanted to believe that you were man enough to be a father, wanted to forget how unprofessional you acted," Robert began, voice calm, but a fiery rage burning behind every word, which were directed at Tom with such brutality that Sybil felt herself grasp for his hand, "But I now see all my expectations coming true. Do you even realize how irresponsible you are? Is that really the place to raise your child? Can you not see past your selfishness?"
"Can you?"
Tom's words came so suddenly, so strongly, that Sybil found herself looking up at her husband, surprised and stunned by the confidence that reflected off his features, a confidence she knew had grown from the weeks of resentment.
"Excuse me?" Robert asked, as taken aback as Sybil was, but not seeing what she saw.
"I don't wish to fight again," Tom continued, quietly, so much different from that night at the dinner table when all strings had ripped and all composure had crumbled, "But you have no clue, no idea of our life, and you judge us as if you had actually lived it."
The sincerity in Tom's voice was almost painful to witness, and Sybil knew he only remained this calm and steady because he knew how much he had hurt her the last time, when he had made use of his right to crack. He had all the reason even now, and Sybil squeezed his hand tighter, grateful yet sad at the same time.
"Tom," she murmured, meeting his gaze as he looked down at her, nodding reassuringly.
"Sybil, you-" her father's voice began to interrupt her, and in that moment, Sybil felt her own mask shatter, her own composure crumble, and the string of hope for reconciliation with her father tear.
"No, Papa," she said sternly, a harsh sound so foreign to her voice, as she let go of Tom and rushed towards the door, "No."
With a last glance at her father, filled with all the blame and rage, she pushed past him, rushing down the corridor towards her bedroom as quickly as her tired legs would manage, ignoring her father's shout of her name echoing from the walls surrounding her.
.:.
Her abandoned breakfast tray stood on the bed, the tiny bouquet of flowers looking oddly lost on the span of the ruffled sheets. Tom's empty tray next to it made the picture look rushed, and a story began to unfold in Sybil's mind that was so much more elaborate than the truth. It looked as if she had quickly put away her tray and rushed out of the door, never to return.
She knew the trays would have to go soon, yet she knew Anna would take care of that soon. Cradling her stomach with one hand, pressing the palm of the other against the aching small of her back, Sybil turned her eyes away from the chaotic bed towards the window, the June sun bright in the spotless blue sky. A walk through the gardens seemed utterly tempting in this moment, however, the dull ache that began to rapidly spread itself throughout her entire body made Sybil reconsider her short-lived desire.
Sighing, she reached out to open a window, the need for fresh air too overwhelming to be ignored entirely. The fresh breeze greeted her the instant the window opened with the familiar squeak, crisp and welcoming. Closing her eyes, Sybil took a deep breath, letting the smell of green and flowers, of sunlight and blossom wash over her.
The knock on the door interrupted her moment of peace, and she called out a quick Yes, expecting Anna to return with Tom, who had taken a walk down into the village to send a telegram.
However, it was neither Anna nor Tom who stood in the doorway with a look of nervousness and doubt.
"Did Mama send you?" Sybil asked plainly as she turned away from her father, allowing her eyes to squeeze together in pain for a short moment when she was sure her father could not see. Ever since his outbreak last week, Sybil had avoided him entirely, barely leaving her room unless Tom or her sisters accompanied her for a walk around the grounds. Tom, who kept his promise of not leaving her side whenever he could, had a tray in their bedroom for each meal just like her.
In fact, Sybil had not seen her father since that afternoon in the nursery, even though her mother had pleaded with her to reconcile, at least to hear her father out or to give him one more chance, always one more.
There was not much fight left inside of Sybil now, and she longed to lean against the frame of the window for support.
"She did, but that is not why I am here," Robert replied, just as plainly, no emotion evident in his voice, and Sybil wondered if he was here for a forced apology, or to add to his list of complaints and worries. She wished so dearly for him to apologize and for herself to find the strength to forgive him, for a little bit of peace. However, she knew that even if he did apologize, she would never be able to truly forgive him for all the pain he had caused her.
"Whatever it is you need to say, say it, please. I'm rather tired," she said, not turning to look at her father, impatient to be alone again, or for Anna to finally return with Tom, for something steady, for some genuine support.
"I do love you, Sybil," Robert admitted, his voice still steadfast, and Sybil felt something inside her chest curl painfully, his words bringing tears of despair into her eyes, "You are my daughter, and nothing will ever change that. I feel I must say it so bluntly for I have failed to let you know in the past. I do apologize for everything I said that hurt you, the last thing I wish is for you to be unhappy."
Sybil sighed quietly, so quietly she was sure not even the bird resting by her open window could hear. There was no doubt in her heart that her father's words were the truth. She loved him dearly, and knew, knew so well, that his intention was never to hurt her. That truth, however, changed nothing about the fact that he had hurt her so badly, and that he would never fully understand, even with time, how happy she could be if only he let her go in peace.
"And yet you make sure that I am, time and time again," she returned, trying hard to make her voice sound as strong and collected as Mary's, not to let her pain and heartache echo from each syllable. Perhaps she succeeded, perhaps the slight wince of pain towards the end was overheard by her father. She knew however, that she could never be quite as composed, quite so accurate as her eldest sister.
"I see no wrong in worrying about you, but I will admit I said things and judged things I can only observe from the outside, and if that caused you pain, then I am sorry," Robert continued, and Sybil laughed wickedly, no humour left between her and the man who had once carried her on his shoulders.
"Tom was so sure you were going to come round, you know?" she told her father, turning her wedding band around her finger over and over again, "When he proposed to me, he said so. Now, I have to see he was wrong, and I don't know how that is supposed to make me feel."
It was a conflict as ever present in her mind as all the other struggles that caused her so much sadness. He had been wrong. There was no doubt about it. Although her mother and sisters, and even her grandmother, were warming up to the man she loved so dearly, it was clear that Tom had been so wrong about her father.
She remembered the day he had promised her, and how she had not believed him. Perhaps she never had, not even the night she rushed to the garage with her heart beating faster than the wings of a bird, finally ready to give him the answer he had longed for. She had always known he was wrong about her father, and still, she had agreed to make that sacrifice. Now that the prize for her decision was so obvious, the ruins of her relationship with her father at her feet, she wondered if she had truly known the full repercussions of her decision.
"Can you not see why I can't?" Robert asked, and the sudden despair in his voice irritated Sybil. She turned, swallowing as another sting of pain shot through her lower back, meeting her father's eyes. He had stepped further into her room, arms hanging loosely by his side.
It was only in this moment, looking into her father's almost pleading eyes, that it fully dawned on her that she had hurt him too. Still, that realization - which did not come fully as a surprise - did not make her feel sorry, conjured no remorse.
"I appreciate you worrying for my safety and happiness, Papa. I truly do," Sybil began, caught between her own pain and wanting to understand that which she had caused her father, "But have you such little faith in me that you don't trust my own decisions? I tried and tried as much as I could. I was half way to Scotland to elope and came back because I love you and Mama so much and did not wish to let you down. And yet you make me feel like a disappointment every single time you look at me."
The words were flowing off her tongue freely, a wild stream of rage and frustration, and the tears were now swelling in her eyes like glassy curtains, the room and her father turning blurry and distant. In this moment, she longed so much for a genuine embrace, and for the world to be a better place, even if just for one minute. For just one minute, she wanted to forgive her father and be forgiven, wanted her love and life and decisions to be accepted and to be granted a place in her father's heart once more.
"Sybil-" Robert began, but Sybil knew now was not the time. She could not forgive him now, could see in his eyes that he might regret hurting her, but was not willing to take back what he had said, was not ready to accept. So, even though she could see so clearly that he wanted this to end as badly as she did, she turned away, ending this conversation, this daring attempt at returning to a place she knew was lost and destroyed. Perhaps, one day, they would be able to rebuild it and start over, as father and daughter, in acceptance and love.
Not today, not soon. But perhaps it was there, lingering on the horizon.
"Now if you'd be so kind to tell Mama to come up here. I already sent Anna for Tom," Sybil said, back to the plain sound of her voice she had concentrated on so much before, only a slight veil of tears still choking her voice.
"What is the matter?" her father asked, slightly confused as she could hear, perhaps at the nature of her words or at the sudden change of atmosphere. So quickly everything had turned from despair and longing into a dry and cool exchange of words, and Sybil took another deep breath of fresh air, swallowing hard as she pressed her hand more urgently against the small of her back.
"I am having a baby, Papa. That is what is the matter."
.:.
"I'll be back in a moment, my darling," Cora said, quickly rushing out of the door, finally leaving behind a sense of quiet. Sybil sighed, shuffling as she sat upright in bed, leaning against the pile of cushions. Her hand pressed into the side of her stomach, needing to feel her child beneath her touch for as long as she still could.
"Where is Tom?" she asked, and Mary, who had been fidgeting with the pile of crisp, white towels by the table that had been set up, turned to look at her little sister. Sybil felt as if Mary was avoiding her a little, perhaps as intimidated by the situation she as was herself. For all these long months, this day had been certain, dreaded, feared, anticipated. Still, now that it was here, it seemed oddly unexpected, and Sybil wondered if she had missed the months passing by so quickly.
"I took him to the library," Mary replied kindly, walking over to sit on the edge of the large bed, "I figured he'd find a way to distract himself."
Sybil laughed. It was genuine, yet filled with a certain ache. She longed to have Tom by her side, to hold his hand, to feel him with her, now more than ever. He had kissed her goodbye earlier, lingering by her bedside, his hand intertwined so tightly with hers that her knuckles had turned white. Cora had ushered him out of the room, and ever since then, Sybil felt herself split in two, a part of her mind constantly with Tom, who now had nothing to do but wait.
"Surely he will," she murmured, her eyes wandering off to look at the windows at the other end of the room, the sky now riddled with white, puffy clouds.
"Are you afraid?" Mary asked hesitantly, and when Sybil looked up at her older sister, she saw a hint of curiosity in her eyes that she was sure Mary was used to seeing from Sybil herself. It seemed that Sybil, although the youngest, was now the one with the most experience, the one to answer questions when asking their mother seemed too awkward and uncomfortable.
She wondered for a moment, looking for adjectives and embellishments to describe how she felt, despite from the pain that shot through her entire body every couple of minutes. She found none.
"Terrified."
It all came crashing down on her then like an avalanche, so violent that she broke out into heavy sob, tears streaming down her face so rapidly, tears she had held in for far too long. All the realization hit her with full force: that in a few hours time, she might hold her baby in her arms, that in a few hours time, she might be gone, that in a few hours time, there might be no baby to cry and smile and warm her heart.
"Oh darling," Mary sighed, taking Sybil's free hand in hers. The simple touch calmed Sybil, and, taking a few deep breaths, she felt her heartbeat return to a more normal pace.
The sudden jolt of pain distracted her from her fear entirely, and she grabbed Mary's hand tighter, eyes shut, breathing, for the first time ever, as if her life truly depended on it. Anna, who had been putting away Sybil's clothes, rushed to the bed, pressing a damp cloth to Sybil's forehead gently.
As the pain slowly faded away, Sybil released her vice grip her sister's hand, although never letting go entirely. She was grateful to have someone's hand to hold, grateful not to be entirely on her own. She smiled kindly at Anna, who returned the cloth back into the bowl of clear water on the bedside table.
With the pain merely an echo for now, Sybil remembered the cause for her tears, a chill running down her spine as she recalled the fear that had shaken her bones.
"If I... ," she began quietly, not able to truly find the words for what she wanted to stay, "You have to make sure-"
Mary seemed to understand exactly what Sybil was talking about, quickly grabbing her youngest sister's hand tighter, shaking her head as she interrupted her.
"Sybil, darling, don't be ridiculous. No talk like this," she said, almost sternly, with a stoic smile on her face. In this moment, Sybil knew her sister was just as afraid as she was herself, for she knew this smile, this reassuring glance that was not directed at her alone.
"No, Mary," Sybil returned, needing to say these words while she still could, while her mind was still capable of forming these thoughts, while she still had the chance, while Mary would still listen. "I'm not saying I will. But you and I both know that I might. And if I do... you have to take care of Tom and the baby. I don't mean money-"
Mary's calm words, not so perfectly masking her fear in this moment, interrupted Sybil's rambling once more.
"I know what you mean," she whispered, squeezing Sybil's hand, swallowing hard as the two sisters stared at each other for a long moment.
Sybil could see it, could see her sister carrying her child across the grounds, singing to her baby as the sun set, could see her comforting Tom, who would never forgive himself for something that he would have no responsibility for.
"Promise me," Sybil demanded, feeling more tears gather in her eyes as she saw Mary's own eyes glistening.
"I promise, darling."
"Good," Sybil continued, looking down at the delicate embroidery on her dark blue nightdress, "I couldn't rest knowing they won't be looked after. And that my child would be robbed of its father."
The thought alone was more painful than anything she had felt so far, ragged images of her child growing up within these walls, of Tom spending his dark days across the sea, of her child turning into one of the children from her nightmare.
"Darling, do not worry about anything like that now," Mary reassured her, patting Sybil's hand somewhat awkwardly, the sincerity and graveness of this moment too much to bear for the both of them.
"That is easier said than done, I'm afraid," Sybil admitted, forcing herself to smile fondly at Mary, who responded genuinely.
Sybil was about to thank her sister for being by her side, for the promise she had just made, and for everything she had done when another jolt of pain shook her, her fingers once more grabbing her sister's harder than ever before.
.:.
Tom could not remember ever feeling this terrified in his life, this helpless, this lost. His feet moved at a restless pace across the library, the dull thump of each step against the thick carpet turning into a constant sound like the ticking of a clock, so repetitive that, by now, he took no more notice of it.
Every now and then, his eyes turned towards the inviting red sofa, plush and comfortable as he now knew, yet he could not bring himself to take a seat, to linger, to rest. Instead, he looked away, and continued his walk from one end of the long room to the other, not one of the countless books so much as calling out to him, nothing distracting him from the pull he felt inside of him, from his heat beating so violently.
He wanted to be by her side, wanted to help her as much as he could, and yet, here he was, pushed out of their room to be left to his own devices, to wait. Wait. Wait.
How, even for one moment, he could have considered leaving Sybil behind in safety to return to support his family, he could not comprehend now. It had been hours since he had last seen her, last seen anyone with the exception of Carson, who had stiffly offered him something to drink, and Tom could not bear another minute.
It was all too much, and he knew nothing, could do nothing but keep pacing. Memories of a different restless night spent pacing like this rushed through his mind. That night of the count, when he had walked up and down in his cottage, waiting for someone to have the mercy to inform him whether or not she was alright, if he had lost his job, if he would ever see her again.
This night felt oddly similar, although now, it seemed amplified, as if his own heart were not beating in his chest but in hers, inside the chest of their child.
The only comfort that he had was the knowledge that Sybil's mother and sisters were with her, people he knew she loved so dearly, and who could probably offer more help and assistance than he ever could.
He stopped for a moment as the sound of rain began to drum against the large windows, the grounds on the other side of the worn out glass one grand veil of darkness. Raindrops were leaving trails down the glass, glistening. The dim light in the library granted Tom a look at his reflection in the window, the rapidly increasing raindrops like tears falling down his face.
"Tom?"
He turned so quickly that he felt dizzy for a moment, the large room in front of him shaking and rocking, everything losing its shape for a second.
Mary stood in the doorway, looking so different. Her hair was slightly dishevelled, a far cry from her usual perfect waves, her cheeks were flushed, her skin tired, circles under her eyes, and the way she carried herself into the room spoke of exhaustion.
"How is she?" Tom asked, a million scenarios and fears materializing in his mind as he rushed over towards Mary, "It's been so long, something is wrong, isn't it?"
He could not lose her, could not go on without her. If anything went wrong, he knew he would never find a single moment of rest and peace until the end of his days.
"Steady," Mary said calmly, smiling at him reassuringly, "Nothing is wrong. There are some slight troubles with the baby's position, but nothing to panic about."
Her words echoed in Tom's mind, and he struggled to comprehend anything she said, his ears ringing with fear so brutally that he longed for the night to be over and for morning to bring some clarity.
"How is she?" he finally managed to ask, deciding to trust his sister-in-law when she said that there was no need to worry prematurely.
"You know Sybil," May said with a smile that he found no strength to return, "Perhaps better than I do. She's a fighter. She is worrying about you, actually."
At this, Tom found himself sigh with relief, the hint of a smile washing over his face, which was quickly replaced by a terribly guilty feeling. The last thing he wanted her to do was worry about him, when she should be focussing on herself and their child entirely. He, in this moment, was of no importance.
"Please, let her know... I wish I could help," he told Mary, his voice going quiet, unsure how she would take these delicate words.
Her smile, and the gentle nod of her head were enough to reassure him, and as she took another step closer to him, resting her hand briefly against his arm, he felt a surge of gratitude for this woman wash over him. It was new, and it felt foreign to him, but he was immensely grateful.
"You'll let me know if anything changes, won't you?" he asked, less tentatively now than before.
"Of course," Mary confirmed, nodding as she began to turn back towards the door.
"And you'll hold her hand for me?"
Tom wanted to slap himself the moment the words passed his lips. Why would he say something like that, something so intimate, to a woman he barely knew, who had just begun to accept him into the family?
"I will," Mary replied with a gentle smile before Tom could apologize for his words, and, as she left him alone in the library once more, he began to feel glad for having spoken them. It felt as if, at least from afar, he could help Sybil, could show some sign of support even though he was being kept away from her side.
Sighing, and rubbing his swollen, tired eyes, he walked back towards the window, staring at the disfigured reflection in the glass for a long time as the minutes passed by.
.
"It's terrible, isn't it? The wait, and not being able to help."
Tom stopped walking, and was surprised to see his father-in-law standing in the small library, arms crossed, eyeing him with caution.
"It is," Tom confirmed, eyes flickering back towards the night sky before resting on Robert, who took a few steps towards him.
"I remember when Mary was born," he began, not really looking at Tom but sounding friendly nonetheless, "I was walking up and down the library all night, too, not sleeping a wink."
Tom was surprised to see the soft flicker of nostalgia ghost across Robert's face. He stood and watched his father-in-law as he sat down on one of the rich, red chairs calmly. Confused as to what to make of the situation, of Robert's peaceful approach at a conversation, at the meeting in the middle of the night in a room he probably had no business being in. Tom remained standing, suddenly feeling lost under the high ceiling.
"It was different each time.," Robert continued, and Tom wondered if he was even being considered as present, for these words seemed so utterly private, something he would expect his brother or brothers-in-law to tell him with a clap of the shoulder as he paced the hallways back home, "When Mary was born, I was nervous. With Edith, I was excited. And when Sybil came around, I was, well, almost impatient, so to speak."
When Robert looked up and met his eyes, Tom knew, although he still had his doubts, that the words had really been directed at him. He was clueless how to respond, having gotten so accustomed to evasion and retaliation, that a normal, compassionate conversation seemed miles away.
"Did it all go well?" he asked, needing to say something to break the silence, his words led once more by the constant fear that boiled under his skin.
"Cora later told me that things looked quite bad for Mary at one point. But in the end, none of it matters. I can promise you that."
Tom nodded, every single second of this conversation like an odd mirage, something out of a restless dream, vivid oddities conjured up by his mind due to the lack of sleep.
Robert waved his hand politely at the empty sofa in front of him. For a moment, Tom hesitated, still feeling all too restless to sit, but now feeling unable to decline the offer. His legs ached as he sat down, feeling Robert's eyes on him the entire time.
"You look awfully pale. You need to eat something," Robert exclaimed, and Tom looked at him surprised and taken aback, "I starved myself all night and almost collapsed when I held Mary in my arms for the first time."
The thought of Robert holding Mary in his arms seemed as foreign to Tom as this entire situation. From what he had witnessed over the years, Robert loved his eldest daughter dearly, and yet he could not help but wonder how that night so many years ago must have been for Robert. How he could have loved this tiny human being when it was not the boy he had surely hoped for.
In a way, Tom felt some more respect for Robert grow inside of him, not enough to make up for all the insults and degrading comments, not enough to make him appreciate Sybil's father as a member of the family he was being let into. But enough to, in this moment, sit in front of each other in peace, no quarrels necessary.
"I am not very hungry, your Lordship," Tom replied, knowing he probably should find a bite to eat, but not feeling up to it, no appetite making itself known over the restlessness and fear.
Robert simply nodded, and the two men fell into silence. Tom wondered how far things had come, how, so many years ago, this had been the room when he had first seen his former employer, when all the stones that led to today had begun rolling. How did he now sit here opposite him in silence, waiting for the birth of his first child? How did it all play out? Robert being in the same room with him, awaiting the birth of his first grandchild, and all of it, all the fear and tension, strong enough to calm the quarrel that, a week ago, seemed to have finally torn apart what never had been given a chance to grow. A bond of family, even if it were to be a thin and weak one.
"Just make sure you'll let that child know how much you love it," Robert said quietly as he suddenly stood, brushing his hand over his coat almost nervously, "That is the only advice that matters. I might have failed at that."
He turned on his heel, already taking a few steps towards the door when Tom jumped up from his seat. He knew the words, he had no obligation to say them. He owed his father-in-law nothing. Still, he wanted things to be easier, and deep down, he even wanted to be accepted. Above all, however, he knew how much Sybil wanted all of it. So desperately.
"She knows how much you love her," Tom said, watching as Robert stopped and turned around, "That it what makes this all so painful for her."
His father-in-law looked at him for a long moment, seemingly caught between a thankful gesture and astonishment at the impertinence of the chauffeur speaking to him this way. Finally, after Tom had begun to prepare for more insults, he nodded, turning back towards the door before stopping once more.
"I'll tell them to fix something small in the dining room. I haven't had the chance to eat yet, either."
Tom was given no time to agree or disagree, and he simply stared at the empty doorway where Robert had been standing a second ago. Perhaps they needed to give each other a chance. Perhaps it was worth it for the baby he was growing so impatient for, for the future he was so unbelievably afraid of.
As Tom walked back up towards one of the windows, he - just for one moment and despite all the danger and fear and threat - allowed himself to smile, a flicker of hope growing inside of him that seemed to lighten this load for a fragment of a second.
A/N: I think it's getting old to apologize for the long wait, but I hope the chapter was worth it. Ever since I started, I was quite looking forward to writing quite a few of these bits. There is only one more chapter left, and I will make sure to post it over the weekend, before the next episode airs, to wrap this up in the light of some spoilers.
Thank you to Sim, who once again did such a fabulous job at beta reading this.