Slowly, but surely, we are getting to the end here, folks. One more chapter, then an epilogue. Everything is outlined, it's just a matter of finding the time. Hope you are enjoying how this is wrapping up as much as I am enjoying finally bringing some closure to this version of our heroes.
First, some notes:
(1) This chapter jumps ahead about a month. I know that may seem weird given where Mary was at the end of the last chapter, but I think you'll understand the need for the jump by the end of the chapter. On the show, 1918 takes place over several episodes and the jumps are big but vague, so forgive me if I do the same with my writing.
(2) I bring up Tom's family, their potential reaction and his transition to newspaper work here all for the first time. All of these things are details the show just glossed over, and since the focus of the story is the secret marriage, how they hid it and how the family finds out, I'm not going to spend a whole lot of time on them either.
(3) There is a reference to the story Lost Time, in which the author makes mention of Sybil not putting her gloves on to get into the car to be able to hold Tom's hand. If you are looking for an S/T story that fills in the details that the show never gave us, you really can't go wrong with that one.
That's about it. As always, I welcome all comments and questions! Thanks for your patience with me!
May 1918
"But, love, you've said yourself that your mother was more likely to support us than your father!"
Sybil rubbed her eyes, tired and frustrated, as Tom paced in front of her.
She was sitting beneath a tree in an out-of-the-way spot between the village and the house. They had just finished sharing the lunch that Mrs. Patmore had prepared for Sybil and that Tom had delivered to the hospital for her. As they ate, they talked through the various scenarios by which they could tell Sybil's family about their marriage, and despite the urgency that they both felt regarding the need to make the revelation, they could not bring themselves to agree on just how to do it. Sybil felt all the more irritated when Tom stood and started pacing, a nervous habit of his that she didn't particularly like. Tom's pacing wasn't doing anything to calm his nerves either, but he kept at it, as if the answer might come to him if he just kept moving.
"I know what I've said," Sybil retorted. "And mama will be supportive once the shock has worn off. I'm certain of it, but that doesn't mean it would be wise to tell her before we tell papa."
Tom stopped his pacing and turned to Sybil. "But wouldn't she help us convince him?"
"Yes, and she will do that regardless of when we tell her," Sybil insisted. "They're both going to need time, but she'll see more easily than he that this is what I want and accept it—and then get him to do the same. But if we tell her, she's sure to tell granny or Mary and Edith or all of them. If we tell papa last, he won't like it. He'll feel ambushed."
"He's going to feel ambushed regardless," Tom said with a roll of his eyes.
"Know him so well, do you?" Sybil said with a smirk.
Tom couldn't help but chuckle. "I think I do. You'd be surprised how unguarded he can be among servants."
"I suppose I shouldn't be. I was unguarded with you as well."
Tom sat down again next to Sybil. "You were open with me. There's a difference."
Sybil smiled and leaned over to peck him on the lips. After letting out a deep breath, she said, "You're right that he'll feel attacked by the news we give him whether we tell everyone at once or leave him for last. My wanting to tell them all at once isn't really about him."
"Then, why?"
"It's about me."
"You?"
"I can't make the speech multiple times," Sybil said. "I can't look Mary in the eye and tell her what I've done and see the disappointment in her face, then do it all over again with Edith, and then mama and then granny. Because they will all be disappointed. Even if they come around. Even if they know deep down that a marriage like ours is what I always wanted, it's not what they would have hoped for me. I can take the recriminations and the insistence that I'm being a foolish girl in one go. But I can't take it over and over and over again. I am human after all."
Tom lifted his hand to her face and swiped his thumb over her cheek as a small single tear rolled down.
"Well, you won't be alone. Just remember that." Tom took a deep breath. "We'll do it your way. They are your family, after all."
"When?" Sybil asked.
"When?"
"When should we tell them?"
"When are they most likely to be all together already? If you have to go to each one to ask them to gather for an announcement each will know something's up and press you on it on the spot."
"You're probably right," Sybil said with a sigh. "After dinner some night, then. After the men have come through. I can't think of another time that wouldn't have to be orchestrated."
"How long do you need to prepare?"
"A speech or my suitcases?"
Tom laughed. "Both."
Sybil bit her lip. "What about your newspaper job?"
Tom looked away. For weeks, he'd been writing to several Republican papers for a position—any position. In their letters, his family had kept him informed of all that was happening back home. And having expressed a desire to participate in Ireland's struggle for independence with words rather than bullets, his eldest brother Kieran had made mention of several underground papers that were looking for writers and informants. It was a long shot, Tom knew, but it was a step in the direction he wanted to go. Still, nothing had come of it yet.
"You don't have to have a job when we go," Sybil said quietly. "It's not as if that's the thing that's going to make the difference with my parents."
"I know," Tom said. "But I do need one, and it would help—with them and with mine."
"Has your mother written back?"
Tom shook his head. "Like I said, having a job will help."
Not wanting to end lunch on a sad note, Sybil wiped her hands and stood, holding her hand out for Tom to take it. "Well, we've told ourselves we chose to marry the way we did because we didn't need anyone's permission. That's still true."
He smiled as he stood. "If we both hated our families, this would all be much easier."
Laughing, Sybil leaned into peck Tom on the lips, but he held her hips firmly against his, and the kiss deepened as Sybil wrapped her arms around his neck. They sighed into each other as they pulled away.
"This was always going to be the hardest part," she said. "We'd have told everyone long ago if we didn't love them so much and didn't want to risk losing them."
"I don't think they'll see it that way," Tom said, "But then what's family good for if not to surprise you when you most need it."
Sybil's eyes shined as he spoke. She leaned in for one more kiss and finally they separated to pick up after themselves and head back to the motor. It was high time that Sybil head back to the house, lest anyone discover she didn't come straight home from the hospital after her shift.
"Do you have a busy afternoon?" she asked as the motor got on its way back to the main road.
"Not particularly," Tom replied. "Just driving Lady Mary to the dressmaker."
xxx
The morning after Mary had resolved to speak to Branson about Sybil, Sybil joined the family for breakfast for the first time in what felt like weeks. Matthew, who had spent the night at the house at Robert's insistence, was there as well. Both were in fine moods—everyone was, and had been since once the cloud that had settled over the concert the night before lifted as Matthew and William had walked into the room.
Even though Matthew left shortly after breakfast, to London, Mary was made happy by the opportunity, however brief, to spend time with her two favorite people. Sybil, in particular, seemed warmer with everyone, surer of herself too. What Mary didn't—and obviously couldn't—know was that the change she was seeing in Sybil stemmed from the resolution Sybil had made not to go on delaying the inevitable. Knowing that the revelation of the truth would change things irrevocably between her and her family and knowing that she and Tom would leave for Dublin eventually, she wanted to make the most of the time she had.
But Mary didn't know. She couldn't know. So in her ignorance, for the rest of that day and the days that followed, Mary wondered whether whatever upheaval Branson was bringing to Sybil's life was already beginning to run its course and whether Sybil might see reason all on her own.
Richard remained in London, where Mary did not feel burdened by his presence, their engagement still only a private understanding. The unusual tension that had marked her interactions with Sybil dissipated, and Mary stopped noticing Sybil and Branson's unusual behavior mainly only because she stopped looking for it. Mary might have gone on thinking that everything was returning to normal had she not, about a month after the concert, watched a moment between Branson and Sybil together that woke her once again, like a bucket of ice water to the face.
It was a Sunday and because of a rain that had persisted all morning, the family drove to church instead of taking their usual walk through the village. On their return home, Sybil got out last, putting her left hand into Branson's as she stepped onto the driveway. The act of taking the chauffeur's hand for help stepping out was not unusual—it was that neither Sybil nor Branson was wearing gloves. It was an unusually cold day and Mary remembered seeing Sybil fidget with the tips of her gloves as she listened to the sermon at Downton Church. Indeed, it seemed as if both had removed them only moments before for the very purpose of touching skin-to-skin.
Mary might not have noticed at all but for turning to see if Sybil was still behind her as she walked through the front door. When Sybil caught up to her, she smiled at Mary as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Mary looked back to see Branson watching them. Their eyes met for a brief second, but his face was expressionless as he turned to get back into the motor to drive it to the garage.
Mary made no mention of it to Sybil or anyone else. Later that afternoon, she asked Anna to order the motor for her for the next day.
xxx
Branson was waiting with the motor door open when she stepped out of the house. Mary climbed in without a word and watched him closely as he settled into the driver's seat. He didn't ask where she was going, obviously having been given his orders from Carson, and throughout the twenty-minute drive to Ripon, both remained silent.
It wasn't until they had arrived at Madam Swan's that Mary realized that she hadn't bothered to make an appointment for the sake of her ruse. It was likely the dressmaker would make time for her if she really wanted it, but prolonging the outing seemed senseless to her now. So it was that when Tom opened the door for her, and looked into the motor, wondering why she wasn't getting out, Mary said plainly and without preamble, "What do you intend with my sister?"
The question was so unexpected that Tom blinked several times, and even looked away from Mary, doubting his own faculties. Could she really have just said that? Realizing that his mind was not actually playing tricks on him and that Mary continued to look at him expecting an answer, he said finally, "I beg your pardon, milady?"
"You heard what I said," Mary replied. "What are your intentions with Lady Sybil? I know you are interested in her, and I know that you know how dire the consequences could be for her if she were to act on her interest in you. I don't believe you a dishonorable person, so I have to ask what you are playing at."
A slew of emotions welled inside Tom, and though he managed to keep his face expressionless, he could also see from Mary's own eyes that he was well past the point of pretending he did not understand what she was talking about or denying any of it.
He thought for a split second about coming clean, but so much was riding on how Sybil's family was told. They had disagreed on how she would do it, but never that it had to be her. Even if he were going to be present at the moment—and that had always been his intention—the family had to know that this was Sybil's own decision, and they could only begin to do so by hearing it from her own mouth. Still, Tom did not want to be outright dishonest.
"I have no ill intentions toward Lady Sybil," he responded.
"You may think that to be true, but you are putting her at great risk."
Mary's voice was even, but the concern in it was obvious. She remained seated in the motor, with Tom standing just outside of it, there was hardly a circumstance by which the power imbalance of their relationship could be more plain. She was worried, sure, but she also seemed confident, as if all he needed to stop loving Sybil was to be told to do so by a social superior.
He felt his cheeks warm with annoyance. "I wonder that you would ask me about my intentions when you've already made up your mind about what may come."
Mary's eyes widened slightly, in shock that he would respond so firmly. Tom wanted to laugh, but didn't.
"So you are prepared to admit that you are friends with her?"
"I am," Tom said quietly. "I dare say she's friends with many of the staff."
"You know very well that the kind of friendship I am speaking about is not one Sybil has with the rest of the staff, and you do yourself no favors my being coy with me," she said quickly, the pace of her speech revealing her frustration for the first time.
Tom held her stare. "Well, then, say what you mean to say to me and be done with it."
"Lady Sybil has a wide open heart," Mary replied. "I will not see it be taken advantage of."
"I have not taken advantage of her!"
"Not physically, perhaps, but she is young," Mary insisted, "She's impressionable. She has ideas of the world that are simply not the way things are. Can't you see the danger she could be in if—"
"If what? She doesn't pretend I don't exist but to do your family's bidding?"
Mary looked away. Tom was surprised to see a measure of discomfort in her expression, as if she understood that the social boundary she was insisting on was not something she wanted to defend.
Tom took a deep breath, eager to calm the anger he knew would be of no help to him in this moment. "You may think my company undesirable, milady, but Lady Sybil is of her own mind. I could no more tell her what do to than tell the sun not to rise every morning."
Mary was still looking away, but Tom could see a vague hint of a smile on her face. "I can't argue with that," Mary said, turning back to him. "But whatever you wish to happen between you, or whatever you think may be possible—it isn't. Think me a snobbish ogre, if you must, but let's focus on where we agree. Surely, you can see all the obstacles that stand in your way, don't you?"
"I do."
"And surely, you want the best for her, as I do, don't you?"
"I do."
"Good. I won't presume to ask you to leave the house, but I must ask that you promise to . . . leave her alone."
Tom looked away for a moment. Don't lie. "No."
Once again, the firmness of his answer, his unwillingness to merely accept what Mary was telling him and to do as she asked took Mary aback. "No? But—"
"With all due respect, milady," Tom cut in, "you've asked me if Lady Sybil and I are friends, and I've said we are. You've hinted as to the nature of our friendship, and you seem to think that my status as your employee gives you some say in how I conduct my personal business."
"When it's to do with my sister, it is my business!"
"Well, then I reckon this is between you and her."
Tom waited to see if Mary, clearly angry, would say anything more. After a moment of tense silence, he said, quietly, "Will you be getting out?"
Mary shook her head but did not meet his eyes. Once Tom was back in the driver's seat, Mary watched his back for a few minutes. He had said virtually nothing, which told her everything. He was of strong character. That could not be denied.
If he'd done what I asked, he'd not be someone in whom Sybil would ever express interest, she thought, resigned.
Letting out a long sigh, Mary said, "Let's go home, Branson."
There was no anger in her voice. Concern, yes, and resignation. And maybe, for the most hopeful of ears, a hint of the coming acceptance. But not anger.
Much later, Tom would tell Sybil that was the moment he knew everything would be all right.
xxx
Mary was out of the motor so fast after they'd returned to the house that Tom felt certain that trying to talk to Sybil before Mary did, to warn her, would be impossible, for surely Mary would go directly to her.
That had been Mary's intention when she practically ran back into the house, but despite looking in what felt like very room upstairs, Mary didn't find her. Instead, she kept running into Edith, which frustrated her all the more. By the third time Mary and Edith saw each other in Mary's search, Edith asked her what was so urgent that she needed to see Sybil about. Mary pushed past Edith with an eye roll and not much else.
Feeling helpless and frustrated, Mary finally went back to her room to finally take off her hat and coat. She did so with Anna's help as always, and Anna filled her in on the difficulty Bates was having disengaging himself from his former wife. Bates had paid the woman off, and Anna was hopeful that soon they'd be able to move on. Anna's presence and her optimism in the face such challenges had a soothing effect on Mary. In retrospect, she was glad not to have found Sybil in the state her emotions were in when she had first gotten back. Given the urgency she felt, it was likely a confrontation would have ensured, and Mary feared pushing Sybil away and further into Branson's arms.
Sybil had been in an out-of-the-way room in the servants hall, folding newly laundered bedsheets with another nurse, when Mary and Branson had gotten back from Ripon. Mary might have found Sybil if she'd thought to look below stairs. Tom might have found her had he not resigned himself to not doing so before he'd even started looking. Eager to hear what Mary may have told Sybil about their conversation, he didn't leave the garage all afternoon and evening, not wanting to miss Sybil if and when she was able to get away to visit him there.
He was nervous, but time moved quickly, and before he knew it, it was the dinner hour. He wasn't sure whether it was good or bad that Sybil hadn't come to the garage. They had gone longer stretches before without a chance to see one another or speak privately. He had no appetite by the time the servants' dinner was served, but he went into the servants hall anyway. If something had happened upstairs involving Sybil and Mary, he'd be sure to hear about it there.
And yet, there was no news. No talk of anything amiss. No suggestion that the afternoon or dinner had gone any way except exactly as expected.
He lingered in the hall as long as seemed reasonable, finally resigning himself to a long night and little sleep unless—please, God!—she could manage to get away.
When he finally saw Sybil walking into the garage the following morning, her eyes were red from tears and sleeplessness. Tom assumed the worst.
Then, Sybil spoke.
"There was a telegram last night. Captain Crawley is gravely injured."
