Thanks, as always, for reading, reviewing and all that good stuff.

This chapter takes place just before the family returns from London and the actual day of return. I know that things are moving slowly, but as I've said, this is going to be a long story, and there are still several things that I want to set up—the last major one, having to do with the running of the estate, starts in this chapter. Trust me, I am as anxious to get to the heart of the S/T story as you are :)

Also, there are several storylines that happen to the downstairs crew on the show (such as Bates getting a limp corrector) that I am not going to bother with since trying to recreate every element would just bog down the story and slow things down ever more. I will throw in references to anything that has a tangential effect on the main action in this story.

Enjoy!

September 1912

Robert, Cora, Mary, Edith and Sybil had been gone only five days, but their absence was felt keenly by the inhabitants of Crawley House. Neither Isobel, nor Matthew could have guessed how accustomed they had become to seeing their cousins on a regular basis. Tom, gifted with a measure of self-awareness, knew that he would miss seeing Sybil, even in just a week's time, but just how acutely he did surprised him.

Whenever he thought of her, he would picture her hidden away in some corner of her family's London house eagerly turning the pages of the novel he'd given her, and the image would bring a smile to his face. He supposed there were any number of other things she could be doing, but in truth, his assumption was not far off the mark. If he allowed the thought of her to linger for more than a moment, he would go back in his mind to the night of her birthday. The way she so sweetly and innocently asked that he treat her like a real person and an equal, not the voiceless adornment that the likes of Larry Grey no doubt would have her believe was all she was—it completely disarmed and endeared him. She hadn't had to ask, of course. Who in the world could meet Sybil and not want to know her? In Tom's mind, to be captivated by her looks but not be interested in what lay beneath was wasted effort. Beautiful as she was, her brains and moxie made her all the more alluring, and damned if he was going to be the one who would put her on a pedestal to wilt for lack of true life experience.

Sybil's request in some ways felt like a kind of admission as to the treatment she expected from the men she'd known up to this point in her life and the ones who would begin circling her as her debut neared. Perhaps that was why Tom answered her with his own admission. She had asked him to see the whole of her, so how could he not reveal the same of himself? Whatever doubts Isobel and his own mother had put in his mind regarding letting the Robert Crawleys know his background, telling her had been easy. What she'd said next, he supposed, was the reason he was so anxious to see her again. Because if they had something beyond friendship to look forward to in the future, he wanted them to start forging the path toward whatever that future was as soon as possible, regardless of how long it would take to get there.

Tom hadn't told Isobel, Matthew or Claire that Sybil now knew his background, and he wondered whether telling them mattered any more than telling the rest of the Crawleys that he was a servant's son mattered. He was proud of who his parents were, but he also wanted to be his own man, one not tied down by old prejudices, and the more the issue of who knew and who didn't hung out there, the more he felt confined by it—and not in a way he liked.

So when he, Matthew and Isobel had sat down for breakfast on the Saturday morning after Robert and his family headed to London, Tom posed the question.

"Do you suppose I should have said something about myself to the family last week?"

"Said what?" Isobel asked as she buttered her toast.

"About the fact that my mam is the housekeeper here. When we were discussing the housemaid who wants to leave them. That might have been a good time to say something, don't you think?"

Matthew and Isobel looked at each other with surprise.

"I'd assumed you'd chosen not to say anything at all," Matthew said.

"I hadn't really chosen one way or the other," Tom said. "I knew I didn't want to lie, but now that we've gotten to know them and like them, I feel like the sin of omission is just as bad."

Isobel sighed. "Well, you know where I stand on this. It's not their business, and they've been so welcoming to you, why bother bringing it all up now?"

"Because I want to be honest about who I am."

"And who says you haven't been?" Isobel asked. "They haven't asked, which means on some level they don't care. Oh, I suppose Violet might, seeing how old fashioned she is, but honestly, Tom, don't trouble yourself with it. They obviously aren't."

"You don't owe them anything," Matthew said. "If they do ask, you can answer honestly, and if they wonder why you didn't say before say it's because you didn't think it mattered, because it doesn't. And if it does to them, then they'll just have to get over it. You're our family—that's never going to change, regardless of what Cousin Robert and his say."

Tom smiled, humbled by Matthew's unbridled support.

"What brought this on, anyway?" Isobel asked.

Tom looked back and forth between the two and figured there was no point in hiding it. "I've told Lady Sybil."

Isobel almost dropped her fork. "What?! Why?"

"She asked me if I ever wanted the chance to see my mother again, and it seemed wrong not to tell her." It wasn't exactly a lie.

"Do you think she'll mention it to the rest of her family?" Matthew asked.

"No," Tom answered. "She said she wouldn't and I believe her."

Isobel smiled. "Such a sweet girl. To think of her helping a young maid to become a secretary only to be chastised by her parents."

Matthew laughed. "They're hiring four new housemaids, a new footman, a new scullery maid and hall boys for the move back to the big house. With the search for a new estate agent as fruitless as it's been for me, I can't help but empathize with the desire not to have to fill yet another vacant position."

"They'll have six housemaids and two footmen?" Tom asked, incredulous. "Just how big is this place?"

"It could house a small country," Isobel said. "Rather excessive, I know, but the architecture is quite beautiful. It really is a marvel to behold."

"Why don't you come with me today?" Matthew asked Tom. "I've been meeting the candidates for the agent position there to make use of the map of the estate stored in the library. It's about time you had a look at it."

"Oh, why not?" Tom said with a shrug of his shoulders. "If I stick around, mam is just going to find something for me to fix."

"Has she shown you her new lamp?" Isobel asked with a smile.

"Yes! She's finally decided to join the twentieth century!" Tom exclaimed with a laugh.

"Not everyone took to electricity right away," Matthew said.

"Cora said Violet was a hold out as well," Isobel said. "Do you wonder if they have anything else in common?"

"Mam and Cousin Violet?" Tom thought for a minute. Then, with a cheeky smile, he said, "They both wish I'd hold my tongue more often."

Matthew and Isobel laughed. Tom heard a snicker behind him, and he turned to see Moseley standing in his usual place holding back a smile.

"Something to add on the matter, Moseley."

"Not at all, sir."

"Well, we should get going," Matthew said, standing. "Mother, what is your day like?"

"I'll be going to the hospital. Violet is determined to keep modernity out of there too, so I must stand as its only defender."

After the two young men said their goodbyes to Isobel and after Tom went to the kitchen to say a quick goodbye to his mother, Tom and Matthew stood outside waiting for Pratt to come pick them up.

"Isn't the big house close enough to walk?" Tom asked.

"Yes, but I need to go visit one of the farms first before the interviews—you don't mind do you?"

Tom shook his head.

A few minutes later, Pratt pulled up to the house. Matthew opened the door, leaving it open for Tom to follow, but Tom had other ideas.

"Pratt, would you like the day off?"

The confused chauffer looked to Matthew. "Sir?"

"Tom, what are you up to?"

"If I drive us, Mr. Pratt here can take the afternoon. Would you deny a working man a day's rest?"

Matthew rolled his eyes then sighed. "Pratt, would you like a ride back to the house?"

"Uh, I suppose."

A grinning Tom rubbed his hands together and walked around the motor to the driver's seat, as Pratt slid over. Tom put his hands on the wheel, then turned to the chauffer. "Has anyone ever driven you anywhere?"

Pratt smiled. "Can't say as they have."

XXX

"So why did you tell Sybil, really?"

Tom's head whipped over to look at Matthew. "What?"

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

Tom rolled his eyes. "We're not going to crash, for God's sake. This isn't the first time I've done this."

Matthew smiled. "So answer my question."

"I told you. She asked me if I wanted the chance to see my mother again. I said, 'I see her everyday,' and went on to explain why."

"What was the context?" Matthew asked with a smirk.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I'd like for you to admit that you like her, for starters."

Tom laughed. "I do like her."

"So what happened to the guy who wasn't going to fall in love with an earl's daughter."

"Who said anything about love?"

"Your face."

"I am not that transparent, neither am I in love with Sybil Crawley."

"No, you're certainly not transparent, but this is me you're talking to, and I happen to know you better than anyone. You're in something with her."

Tom thought for a moment "I'm . . ."

"What?"

"Intrigued."

"Intrigued? So, it's worse than I thought," Matthew said with a laugh.

"What!? I like her. We're friends. Is that wrong?"

Matthew smiled. "No." He looked at Tom out of the corner of his eye. "Is she why you think you need to tell them about where you come from?"

Tom sighed, but didn't say anything, so Matthew spoke again.

"You're wrong to assume out of hand that they wouldn't allow you to court her properly if they knew."

"Am I?"

"Cousin Robert likes you very much, Tom, so does Cousin Cora. Much more than they like me, I'm not embarrassed to admit."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"It's true. All our lives, when we're around other people you defer to me, play second fiddle, in deference to my father and the fact that I'm his natural son. I don't think you realize you're doing it, but you are, which is absurd since most of the time the chap everyone finds most interesting is you."

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Look, I don't think you have to say anything, but I also don't think you'd have as much to fear as you think you do if you did tell them."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You have an heir to produce, don't you?"

"Oh, look! We're here!" Matthew said over enthusiastically, which made Tom laugh.

Tom pulled over next to a barn where two men, one who looked to be in his fifties and one much younger stood waiting.

"Hello, Mr. Mason," Matthew said.

The older man came over to shake Matthew's hand. "Mr. Crawley, good to see you again. This is my son, William."

When all introductions were done. The foursome began their walk around the Mason's farm as Matthew discussed his plans for the estate and modernizing production.

"As you can see, we've done a bit of modernizing ourselves," William said pointing to some of their equipment.

"It's to your credit," Matthew said. "Too many fields lay fallow because the yield is so low the work is not worth it for some of the older tenants."

"Well, I've had the benefit of having William home with me the last year. We've done much better than in years past."

"Where were you before?" Tom asked William.

"I was a footman at the big house for several years before the move forced them to let me go."

"Do you want the position again?" Matthew asked. "Because I know the family is in need of one, now that they'll be back at Downton Abbey."

William and his father looked at one another and smiled, before Mr. Mason answered for his son. "We're negotiating that right now. William would like to stay and work the farm, but it's my wife's preference that he work in service."

"Well, let us know. If you want the post again, I'll speak with Carson and it shall be yours."

"Thank you, sir," William said.

"So what of the changes for the tenants?" Asked Mr. Mason.

"I'm sure you've heard of some resistance among some of the tenants, but it's really quite simple," Matthew began. "We want the estate to be self-sustaining. The upkeep of the house and grounds are too much of a drain for anyone to hope to maintain them without some influx of revenues."

"What does that mean for the tenants?" William asked.

Matthew continued, "We need all the lands to be in production, and we need at least some of the output to be sold in trade with the proceeds going back into the estate. We're asking the tenants who do not wish to work the land to take some compensation and turn the farms back over to us. We are rebuilding the cottages in the village, and once they are ready, those tenants will be able to take their retirements there. The tenants who wish to work with us will have their agreements honored. What we would be asking is your help in working the fallow fields. You could keep the yields from your own lands and for your additional work on what would become the estate's farms, you would receive a small payment or an equal reduction in rent—"

"Or . . ." Tom cut in.

Matthew smiled. "Or we could deposit the payment in a savings account with which you could eventually purchase your plot."

Mr. Mason's face went white. "You mean . . . own this land myself."

Tom and Matthew both smiled and nodded, and Tom filled in the details.

"Based on what we've calculated, once full production has begun and the initial investment of equipment and labor has been paid off, production from only about a third of the land currently held by the Grantham estate will be needed to keep it running self-sufficiently. We could simply sell the rest off, but it's in our interest that it remain farmland, so we'll keep it in tenancy or reserve sale to those who are already here."

"I can't quite believe it—it sounds a bit too good to be true," said a still bewildered Mr. Mason.

Tom laughed. "I believe that's our main problem in convincing some of the other tenants."

"Landlords have a long, colorful history of misconduct," Matthew said. "Those were men of the upper classes, who believed themselves entitled to what they were taking from you. We were raised by a doctor who taught us to understand the value of work. We know how much you've put in here, and we want to honor that."

"And Lord Grantham has agreed to all this?" Mr. Mason asked.

Tom nodded. "It wasn't easy to convince him, but he's lived the consequences of sticking to the old ways. This way Downton Abbey is protected, which is his greatest wish, and the tenants are given a choice as to their fate, not left with nothing, which is what would have happened if the whole estate had been sold after the move. This is a good idea, but it's new, which is why it's scary."

"I could help," William said, excitedly. Turning to his father, he said, "Surely, the goal of owning the farm ourselves will convince mother I should stay here with you and not go back to service. And I could talk to the other tenants to get them to sign on. I could help with the transition once things get going."

"He could," Mr. Mason said to Tom and Matthew. "He knows the new equipment, having worked it with me this past year, and he knows the other tenants well—he grew up on this land, as I did."

Tom and Matthew looked at one another, then back to the Masons. "Any help you could give us would be most welcome," Matthew said.

Hands shook and agreements eagerly made, Tom and Matthew were on their way a quarter of an hour later.

"How old do you suppose William is?" Matthew asked as they made their way back to Downton Abbey.

Tom shrugged. "Twenty, twenty-one, perhaps. Why?"

"He'd make a great agent if he had a bit more experience."

Tom stopped the car. "What experience does he need, exactly?"

Matthew thought for a minute. "He knows the land."

"He knows the tenants," Tom added.

"He'd not be tied to the old ideas."

"Anything he doesn't know of management or accounting, we could teach him."

Matthew rubbed his forehead, then looked at Tom. "Are we mad?"

Tom laughed. "Yes, we are." Then, he turned the car around to drive back to Mason farm so they could offer William the job.

XXX

The following Monday, the day that the family was to return to Downton, Matthew and Tom traveled to Ripon to work together for the first time. Once they had arrived, Matthew followed one of the stewards into the office of the partners, who were there to welcome him on his first day, while Tom proceeded to his office.

After hanging his hat and suit jacket, Tom sat down at his desk only to find a small envelope addressed to him. He turned it over, but there was no return address. The handwriting was unknown to him. He walked to the room where the secretaries sat to ask as to its provenance.

"It came in this morning's post, Mr. Branson," one of them said without looking up from her typewriter.

Tom walked back to his office, looking at the envelope and running his thumb over the handwriting. He had a guess, but it couldn't be.

Could it?

He closed the door to his office and sat down. He stared at the envelope for several minutes before finally opening it. He grinned upon seeing her name at the bottom of it. He'd been right.

Mr. Branson,

Sitting here thinking about the haunting novel you gave me to read, it occurred to me that you've sent me two notes now, and I have not had the decency to send you a response in kind. I hope you do not think me impertinent for sending it to your office and without a return address, but I didn't want you to be the subject of gossip at your place of work or the subject of teasing at Crawley House.

Having made up my mind to send it, I couldn't be sure whether this letter would reach you before our return to Downton, but I simply couldn't wait to discuss Frankenstein. Macabre, indeed! I've never read anything like it, and I mean that in the best way possible. You mentioned that the author was the daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft. I do love my mama dearly, but I must admit I've thought this week how thrilling it would have been to be raised by a woman of such ideas. The work in this novel, from a woman's hand, is an obvious testament as to what we can be capable of when our minds and imaginations are given license to run free, rather than stifled by the silly constraints of propriety.

As to the book itself, what a marvelously dark exploration of the human mind and what can happen when we succumb to our basest instincts. For surely base is the only word for Dr. Frankenstein's choice to use his intelligence for such a dark purpose, isn't it? Perhaps I am being unfairly judgmental. The creature, after all, was made evil by the treatment it was subject to at the hands of other humans who might have given their compassion. It's all too interesting! I am eager for your next recommendation. I am also bringing back a few books from my Aunt Rosamund's collection. Her late husband, dear Uncle Marmaduke, was himself an avid reader and a lover of mysteries. I hope you have not read the work of Arthur Conan Doyle. His Sherlock Holmes stories are quite thrilling, and I'd love nothing more than to introduce you to something that you might consider half as exciting as what you have given me.

Alas, the dressing gong has just sounded. So I must be off. Thank you, again. I look forward to more chats with you, although there are no places at Downton quite like the alcove to hide away in. Perhaps I shall build one myself someday.

Your friend, Sybil Crawley

Tom might have kept reading the letter over and over late into the morning had not one of the stewards knocked on his door about ten minutes after he first opened it.

"Sir, a Stewart Pratt here to see you. Lord Grantham's chauffer, he said."

"Yes, send him in."

Tom stood as Pratt stepped in, hat in hand. "Hello, Pratt. What brings you by?"

"Well, sir, I hate to inconvenience you at your place of work, but, the family returns today and both motors are needed to fetch them at the train station. Mr. Taylor, who works for her ladyship, the Dowager Countess, had agreed last week to come along with me, but it seems he's out of sorts this morning. Knowing now that you can drive, and having no other option, I was wondering if you'd help."

Tom smiled. "I'd be happy to. What time do they arrive?"

"On the 3:45 train, sir."

"All right, I'll be by the house to meet you at the appropriate time."

"Much obliged, sir."

Tom smiled as Pratt stepped out of the room. He folded up the letter and put it in his waistcoat pocket, holding his hand against it for a long moment before getting back to work.

XXX

That afternoon, the family was delighted to see Tom at the train station to pick them up. After Pratt explained the situation and Tom helped him mount their luggage on the two automobiles, they set off. Pratt drove Robert and Cora, while Tom drove the girls, with Mary and Edith siting in the very back and Sybil facing them in the seat directly behind the driver. She'd taken care to sit on the opposite side of the driver's seat so she could see Tom if she turned her head only slightly to her left.

He'd been silent most of the way as the sisters chatted idly about the train ride, but Sybil so wanted to hear his voice that about three-quarters of the way through the journey, she finally turned to him and spoke.

"I didn't know you could drive. You really are a jack of all trades."

Tom took a peak at her and smiled.

"How did you learn?" Edith asked, leaning forward a bit.

"A mechanic in Manchester taught me. I gave him some legal help, and he wasn't able to pay the full fee, so I asked if he'd teach me about cars instead."

"That was neighborly of you," Sybil said.

"I'd like to buy my own eventually, so it seemed a practical deal to make."

"Well, if you do, don't make it one of these," Mary said. "They're frightfully uncomfortable. I much prefer whatever it is Aunt Rosamund keeps in London."

"I don't suppose you remember the make?" Tom asked her.

"Why in the world would I bother myself with that knowledge," Mary answered, her tone making Sybil and Edith laugh.

"I'd like to drive someday," Edith said.

Mary turned to her with a look as if she'd grown a second head. "Whatever for?"

"Why not? Gentlemen like driving, why shouldn't women."

Mary rolled her eyes.

"I'd settle for learning how to ride a bicycle," Sybil said. "Oh look, there it is!"

Sybil turned and got to her knees to see the old house as it appeared in the distance and rose to its full majesty as they approached. None of the sisters had seen it since the day they'd left. Edith felt a squeeze on her hand, and turned to see a teary-eyed Mary holding it tightly. Sybil sat back down and seeing this rare display of emotional solidarity between her sisters, leaned toward them to cover their joined hands with hers. They remained that way until Tom brought the car to a stop at the front door.

Tom hopped out of the car and went around the side to help the girls out. Edith stepped out first, then Mary, who stopped in front of Tom and said, "I know we owe this to you and Matthew, so thank you. It means so much to be here again."

Tom smiled at Mary. Then he turned to Sybil who followed Mary out of the car. She took the hand he held out for her.

"Welcome home," he said quietly.

Sybil looked into the depths of his blue eyes, then, still holding his hand, turned to look at the house that until this moment had never felt like home before.

"Thank you for the letter," he added.

"Thank you," she said, turning back to him with a smile and squeezing his hand before letting go.

"For what, exactly?"

"'Everything. This."

"This is just the beginning."

Sybil smiled. "I know. That's the best part."