Yes, it's me! Again! The beauty of posting a story that you've already written on tumblr is that readers don't have to wait six months for me to find time to write. So this continues the conceit of this story and inserts Sybil into the storyline of the third episode of the fourth series of Downton Abbey. That episode was the house party that the Crawleys host and includes the performance by the opera singer. In the episode, Cora asks Tom to look after an older woman who we later learn is a widow herself, but Tom feels very much like a fish out of water, not feeling like he fits in with the family (wearing full tails for the first time, not just a tuxedo dinner jacket) or with his former colleagues in service. Edna, the one time housemaid turned lady's maid, who tries to entangle herself with Tom does not come up in my version of things, so don't expect a mention here.
Because Tom had a significant storyline in this episode and one that was easily transferrable to a Sybil-lives universe, this particular update will be longer and hopefully feel more satisfying than the previous one. Hope you enjoy!
"Tom, would you be so kind as to look after the Duchess of Yeovil, this afternoon and evening, after she arrives?" Cora said as she buttered her toast, while Sybil, on her left, sipped her tea.
Tom looked up in surprise hoping against hope that he'd not heard Cora correctly. "What?"
Cora looked up at him with her usual expectant smile. "The duchess. It would be nice if you were to talk with her at tea time and sit with her at dinner."
"Why me?"
"She has Irish relatives," Cora said blithely. "Perhaps you two have a mutual acquaintance."
Sybil could no longer contain her laughter, which came out in one comical, rather unladylike burst, which she immediately tried to silence by putting her hands over her face.
Cora looked at Sybil, somewhat indignant. "What?"
After taking a deep breath to calm herself, Sybil lowered her hands said, "Mama, how many people do you think live in Ireland? Three dozen? And do you think any Branson who was active enough in the republican effort to get himself sent here in exile is going to run in the same social circles as a duchess?"
"Well, he married you didn't he?" Robert said pointedly. "Shows a knack for making friends in high places."
Ignoring Robert's comment, Tom said to Cora, "Sybil is right. I won't know anyone she knows, even if I've heard of them."
"Well, we haven't had this many guests in the house is some time," Cora said, "and with Sybil insisting on working this afternoon and past dinner time, we're a bit stretched thin. I just want to make sure she doesn't lack for interesting conversation while she's here."
"I already told you, I'll be back and dressed by the time you pass through," Sybil said. "The hospital is short-staffed at the moment, and if you want the house up to its old standard, then you can understand that we at the hospital won't use the excuse of a house party at Downton to lower ours."
"It's all right, I'll do it," Tom jumped in, in an effort to get Cora's attention off of Sybil's work, still something of a sore subject between them.
"Doesn't look like you have much choice," Edith piped in from the other end of the table, smiling behind her teacup.
Robert chuckled behind his newspaper. "We choose our mate, not our in-laws."
"That's a bit unforgiving," Cora said to her husband.
"It's what mama said when I married you."
As Cora rolled her eyes, Thomas came into the room and looked over to Sybil.
"Pardon me, milady, but nanny said to tell you that Miss Sybil is awake."
"Thank you, Thomas," Sybil said standing.
"I'll come with you," Tom said. "I'll need an early start if I'm to be back when the guests arrive."
"Thank you, Tom," Cora said, and he couldn't help but smile at the sincere gratitude in her eyes. Cora always treated him with respect, even if what she sometimes asked of him in terms of stretching his social graces felt rather silly.
That night
"There you are," Tom said walking down the hall to their room. "It's past ten. I honestly thought you'd decided to stay for the overnight shift."
Sybil smiled, but her expression became one of concern as she noticed that Tom didn't respond in kind. He was dressed to the nines, looking rather handsome though Sybil knew the clothes were not what Tom would ever choose to wear if he were given a choice. She's missed the reception for the guests as well as dinner. She suddenly realized he might think she'd abandoned him, and the God's honest truth was she didn't like house parties or the niceties they required any more than he did. Now, seeing his dour expression, she realized just how long a night he might have suffered.
"Nurse James fell ill," she said, "so I thought I'd stay and help while the on-call nurse came, and that turned into two extra hours. Is everything all right? You seem . . ."
"Ridiculous?"
"Tom," Sybil said quietly.
He didn't respond, only looked away and started to pull off his jacket as he opened the door and went into their room. "Did you see Sybbie?" He asked as she followed him in and closed the door behind her. She watched him undress, tension dripping from his every movement.
"I did, just now," Sybil said finally removing her coat and hat. "Nanny said she was good most of the afternoon, though she missed seeing you before bed, so getting her down was harder than usual."
Tom slumped down on the bed with a sigh and pulled his tie off. "I really tried to get away but—"
"No, it's all right," Sybil said cutting him off, and sitting down next to him. "I know how mama and granny can be."
"Speaking of your grandmother, she felt it necessary to give me a lesson in how to address the duchess properly in the middle of the drawing room."
Sybil's shoulders' slumped. Having been on the receiving end of such lectures many times as a child, she knew how absurd and mortifying they were. She stood and moved around to face him and pull off his already unbuttoned waistcoat. "Did she at least acknowledge that you wore tails tonight?" Sybil asked trying to lighten his mood. "Considering how long it took for you to give in, I'd have thought she'd be very proud."
But what she intended to be comforting words had the opposite effect.
"More's the pity," he said, not meeting her eyes. "I've never felt more stupid in my life."
Sybil gently brought her hand to his face and tilted it toward her. She brushed her thumb over his cheek and whispered, "If you want to wear your tuxedo or even your regular suit to dinner tomorrow, you know I'll support you."
Tom closed his eyes. "I'm trying to walk a tight rope here."
"I know, but you don't have to do it for me. You don't have to do it at all. That's all I'm saying."
"I'm trying not to embarrass you or myself or Sybbie, but it seems that's what happens no matter what I do. Even Thomas—no excuse me, bloody Barrow—put me in my place tonight."
Sybil couldn't help but chuckle at this. "I'm sure he didn't mean any harm by it. He's proud of his promotion, that's all."
Tom looked at her skeptically then rolled his eyes. "He was promoted almost two years ago. And he never corrects you."
Sybil smiled. "That's because I'm his friend."
"And what am I? We worked together, he and I!"
"And so did we! More to the point, when you carry as many sick and wounded soldiers and dead bodies into and out of that hospital as he and I did together, you go way past pleasantries."
This finally seemed to get through to Tom and he cracked a smile. Sybil took the opportunity to take his face in both of her hands and leaned down to give him a long kiss. When she pulled away she said, "Thank you for going it alone tonight. It's dreadful, I know. And I suppose I stayed at the hospital longer than I needed to in an effort to avoid it altogether, which means I owe you a great debt. How shall I make my payment?"
Tom raised his eye brow. "You could take that uniform off, to start."
Sybil laughed, pushed him down onto the bed and climbed over him. "I think we can skip that step."
The following day
Tom's mood was not much improved from the night before. Even after having made love twice—once with almost all of their clothes still on and a second time fully naked and buried under the covers—Sybil could sense that something was still bothering him. She knew that he was hiding it for her sake, but she couldn't figure out how to get him to open up. He was closing off in a way he never had before, and it worried her deeply.
She was working again today, to her parents' ongoing annoyance, but she did promise to do everything she could to be back by dinner this time. Sybbie had woken early, not unusual after a fit-full night's sleep for her, so Sybil didn't join the family for breakfast, taking it instead with her daughter and nephew, who was fed by nanny. She and Tom took a walk to the village with Sybbie in her pram for the two hours Tom was allowed "off" from his duties as co-host of the large contingent of guests staying at the house. After taking an early lunch at the pub, Tom and Sybbie left Sybil at the hospital and headed back to the house.
On some level it was amusing to Tom that Robert and Cora had stopped fighting Sybil on how to behave in the house since they'd been forced to return from Ireland with their tails between their legs. The prodigal daughter, ever the rebel, exerted her wishes to live as she had lived away from the house as much as she could once she was back.
But it was different for Tom. The events that had brought him back and the knowledge that he was a marked man with the Home Office chained him to England, but it was his own conscience that chained him to Downton. He wanted desperately to leave, but he wasn't sure how he could.
By the time Sybil came back to the house that evening, dinner had been served and Rose had set up the gramophone in the hall for dancing. Anna brought up a tray for Sybil and helped her get into her dress. Sybil had long since stopped having anyone dress her, but welcomed the extra hands on this night to be able to come to her husband's rescue more quickly.
When she finally made it down, she spied Tom dancing with the duchess whose comfort he'd been put in charge of. Sybil rolled her eyes when the duchess obtusely asked if Tom knew her niece. Knowing it would be rude to interrupt, Sybil figured she'd wait until the song was over to approach. As she waited, she saw Mary come in with Tony Gillingham and smiled softly, knowing how fond Mary was of dancing and how hard it must be to do so without the partner one loved so dear.
Sybil watched her sister until the latter's eyes landed on the gramophone—Matthew's gramophone. Mary ran up the stairs quickly, and without a thought, Sybil followed. When Sybil entered her sister's room, Sybil was surprised to see that Mary wasn't crying, only sitting on the edge of the bed on Matthew's side, staring at nothing.
"Matthew wanted to live on our own after we got married," Mary said without looking up. "Did I ever tell you?"
"He mentioned it to Tom once," Sybil said, sitting next to her sister and taking her hand.
"I didn't want to, so we stayed, and now . . ." Mary's voice cracked.
Sybil squeezed Mary's hand.
"Now, I wish I'd listened. I wish there was a place that held all of the memories of our life together, short as it was. I wish I could have left that place behind and come here and found comfort in these walls. But I insisted on having my way and must now be punished by memories I can't escape."
With that, Mary turned to Sybil, who opened her arms and held her sister in a tight embrace.
A short while later, Sybil came back down the staircase, having left Mary as Anna came in to check on her. As she crossed the landing into the hall, where some of the party were still gathered, Sybil saw Tom coming toward her, as if headed up to their room already.
"I'm sorry I was late again," she said with a smile.
"There wasn't much to miss," he said with a shrug. "Just me playing the fool."
"Darling—"
"I look like a fool. I talk like a fool. I am a fool."
"Why are you being so hard on yourself, and what does it matter what this lot thinks?"
Tom looked away and let out an exasperated sigh.
"I saw you dancing with the duchess," Sybil offered gently.
"She's an old bat who could be my granny and thinks I grew up in a cave. These clothes? They deceive no one."
Sybil's brow crinkled. "Do you really want them to? Do you not want people to recognize who you really are?"
Tom shot her an angry expression. "I'm only trying—"
"Never mind," Sybil said cutting him off, wanting to avoid an argument. "I came down to have a dance with my husband, and so we shall have that dance."
She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the hall as another tune was starting. They were both tense and their expressions a bit hard, but as the song went on and as they danced slowly across the hall, their stances softened.
Sybil took a deep breath. "You told me something once about Carson asking you if you had no shame in marrying me when you told the staff about our plans. Do you remember what you told me your response to him was?"
Tom looked away and did not answer.
"Tom?" Sybil prodded.
"I told him I had no shame," he answered quietly.
"So why do you have it now?"
Tom sighed. "You don't understand. It's different for you. No matter what you do or how you behave, you'll always be one of them. I'm a fish out of water and I never felt it more than today."
As Tom spoke, the song ended and before Sybil had a chance to respond, he stepped away. "I'm going up now. You should stay and enjoy the party."
And without another word he was gone.
The following morning
Tom had already fallen asleep (or had been pretending to be asleep) when Sybil had gotten back to their room the night before, and he had somehow managed to leave before she had woken up the following morning.
As she got herself dressed, Sybil reflected on his behavior the last few days. His self-pitying attitude, if she was perfectly honest with herself, was starting to try her patience. She knew that his pride had taken a big hit when they had been forced to accept the Home secretary's deal that he stay at Downton. The job of estate manager was a far cry from the humble dream he'd been living out in Dublin as a journalist in support of his own politics as well as his own country.
He'd accepted the job—they had accepted it—because it had felt like a peace offering from her family and a chance to get back on their feet. Sybil had been happy when her father and Matthew had offered it because it meant they could have a measure of independence and made them both feel a little bit less like they were living off of her parents money—even if they remained living at her parents' house.
Staying at Downton Abbey was a mutual decision, given Sybil's difficult delivery and her need for take it easy in the weeks that followed Sybbie's birth. That they had remained living in the house for so long now, with the possibility of the agent's house still open to them, was not something either of them had foreseen. But given the circumstances—the aftermath of Sybbie's birth and Sybil's need to convalesce for weeks after; then, having a helping hand with Sybbie when Dr. Clarkson offered her a position at the hospital again; then, George's birth and Matthew's death on the same day—it was no surprise. Still, more than two years had gone by since their return from Ireland. They agreed that they needed to leave at some point, but lately, as much as Sybil insisted that the time was right, Tom was the one who was reluctant.
Sybil believed that fact had something to do with his attitude this week, with the house run over with guests and resembling something like what it had been when he had been a servant there. The root cause of what was bothering him eluded her, and she was starting to find his caginess frustrating.
Today, the day of the long-awaited concert, Sybil planned to be home all day, and she had very much been looking forward to hearing the renowned Nellie Melba sing. But she ended up spending most of the day looking for her husband. At breakfast, Robert reported that Tom had insisted on heading out to see some of the tenants and had said he'd likely be out all day. Indeed, he didn't return until after tea time. Sybbie, having refused to nap that afternoon, chose that exact time to throw a tantrum that took all of Sybil's patience to get under control. When Sybil was finally able to return to their room to change, he was already gone, and when she made it down to the drawing room, the party was already proceeding to dinner.
When the women left the dining room, Dame Nellie took her leave to prepare for the concert, which would start in half an hour. After sitting restlessly in the drawing room for several minutes, Sybil left to seek out Tom. She found him sulking on the bench by the landing. He didn't look up when she walked up to him, so she just watched him for several minutes. When he finally raised his head and his eyes finally met hers, she saw that he was on the verge of tears.
Without a word, she held out her hand, and he took up.
"Come on," she said, tugging on his hand to get him to stand.
"Where are we going?"
She smiled softly. "You'll see."
Sybil led Tom through the front hall to the front door and outside. They walked, always hand in hand, around the house and it wasn't until the garage was in sight that he realized that's where she was taking him.
Sybil knocked on the door.
"Pratt's probably inside having dinner," Tom said quietly.
"Good," she said, pulling him inside.
"What are we doing here, Sybil?"
Sybil walked over to the bench and sat down. "You seem unable to get out of your own head, and I think perhaps you've been in the house too long. I thought a return to old stomping grounds might be in order."
Tom smiled sadly as he looked around. "I do miss this place."
"What do you miss about it?" Sybil asked.
"I was in charge here. I knew what I was doing. It's not just in contrast to now. Even back in Ireland, there were so many days at the newspaper office when I felt out of my depth. I always belonged here."
"I'm sorry," Sybil said quietly looking at her hands.
Tom came over to her and sat down next to her. "Whatever for?"
"I told you not to take that job with Kieran in Liverpool. It was wrong of me to suggest such a job was a step back, especially if it would have made you happier than you are now."
Tom reached over and took Sybil's hands into his. "My darling, I chose to stay here too, and it isn't about not working on cars."
"What is it, then? Tom, I'm so worried that you regret being here, that you regret … being, well, us."
"Sybil, I could never regret anything about us. Please put that thought out of your mind. I just . . ."
"Don't belong in that house?"
Tom shook his head sadly.
"I don't either! What you've been feeling today and yesterday is precisely what I have felt my entirely life. Honestly, Tom, why do you think I was always here, in this garage with you?"
Tom looked away, but she could see the smile forming on his face.
"Look," Sybil said. "I don't know why you've been creating reasons for why we can't leave, but staying at Downton is clearly affecting you. I won't have us worry about whether we fit here, because the truth is I don't want to. Why do you, all of a sudden?"
Tom let Sybil's hand go and stood, agitated. "Isn't it obvious?! I failed! I married you and tried to make a life for us in Ireland and less than a year later, here we were again! What will happen if we leave and I fail again? I'm scared that I've started us on this endless cycle of wanting more than we can have and never reaching it and being punished for wanting it by having to sit through a million endless bloody dinner parties!"
Sybil immediately went to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Tom, you didn't fail! You were a wonderful writer. Your supposed friends threw you to the authorities because they thought you a traitor for loving me. We knew at the start it wouldn't be easy, but we love each other as much as ever and we have a beautiful daughter—how can you think that any of that makes us failures?"
Tom sighed, tracing his fingers along her hairline. "Not us. Me."
Sybil grabbed his hand and kissed it. "Rubbish and you know it."
"Do I?"
"Yes! You're scared, and a small bit of fear is fine. It keeps you honest, but you can't let get so big that it paralyzes you. I spent bloody years trapped inside that house for fear of what would happen when I finally told you I loved you as much as you loved me, but I've learned my lesson, and I won't let the same thing happen to you."
Tom let out a long sigh and leaned his forehead against hers. "But what if—"
"No! No what ifs. What happens to us is what happens to us. It's just living life. Where we belong doesn't matter—what matters is with whom we belong. You belong with me and Sybbie and as long as we're all together we haven't failed. I promise."
Sybil pulled him the rest of the way into her arms and took a deep breath as she felt him head fall against her shoulder and heard him trying to hold back a quiet sob. They stood there, holding each other tightly for several minutes until all the tears were gone. When he lifted his head again, their lips met in a soft kiss, full of the hope that had felt too small for too many months.
Tom stepped away, still holding her hand, and moved as if to leave the garage, but Sybil's feet stayed firmly planted. "Come now, or we'll miss the concert," he said.
"How much time do you suppose we have before Pratt comes back?" Sybil asked.
Tom smiled as she looked over to the Renault with a saucy smile and tilted her head. "More than enough," he said, pulling her into the car.
A third of the guests, along with Dame Nellie left on the morning after the concert, but enough remained that Robert and Cora thought it necessary to keep the party up for one more night and insisted on white tie once more for dinner. Rose, always eager to liven things up but wary of offending her cousin Mary, ordered a new gramophone to be brought in from Ripon that afternoon. Mary was grateful for the gesture.
Sybil and Tom woke on that morning snuggled up together, both still smiling about their escape to the garage the evening before and feeling closer than they had in some time. They spent the morning walking to the agent's house with Sybbie to inspect the level of repairs and upkeep it would need if they were serious about moving in. Having sat vacant for more than two years, the work was going to be considerable, but having resolved that the "where" mattered less than the "with whom," they were happy to wait however long was needed and, indeed, looked forward to doing much of the labor themselves. They also agreed that the house, lovely and humble as it was, would not be their ultimate destination, only a first step back toward the life they wanted for themselves and their daughter. It would take time, but eventually, Mary would be ready to lead Downton without Tom's help and to hire an agent of her own choosing—a truth Robert would simply have to accept.
When it was time for Sybil to head off to work, Tom took Sybbie back to the abbey for a private father-daughter luncheon in the nursery, courtesy of Daisy, who included a simple vanilla custard that she knew Sybbie loved. When Tom took the small bowl off the tray and set it in front of Sybbie on her high chair, her eyes opened widely, colored by a combination of wonder and excitement, as if she'd been given a right treasure. She proceeded to dig her small hands and face in it so excitedly that most of it ended up all over her face, hair and dress. But the delight she took in it was unmistakable, and Tom pledged then and there that the life he'd give his daughter would not be one that would ever allow her to grow bored with privilege, unable to appreciate with this level of humble wonderment life's simplest pleasures.
When Sybil returned that night. She found her husband in a familiar spot.
"I'm having a bit of deja-vu," she said playfully swinging her gloves around as she approached his slumped figure on the bench near the landing.
"Oh," he said, standing, a glowing smile forming on his face. "There you are."
Sybil couldn't help but smile back, adoringly back. "What are you doing out here?"
"Hiding from Rose," he said with a laugh. "Unfortunately, the departed guests left a deficit of dancing partners and I've been ordered to pull my weight."
Sybil laughed. "Well, no more of that because for the rest of the night you are only dancing with your wife."
Sybil pulled him into the hall where, over Violet's objections, Rose had pulled Thomas onto the floor to dance with Edith, while taking Jimmy for herself. Jimmy, naturally, quietly teased her about the number of lonely young men she'd left behind at village dance halls across the county.
Tom took Sybil's hand and playfully pulled her into him slightly closer than was appropriate. She grinned at his antics, but did not pull away, even when she noticed her mother shaking her head at them with a knowing smile. They were dancing so close, in fact, that Sybil could have placed her head on Tom's shoulder. She didn't, though. Doing so wouldn't have allowed her to look into his eyes, and when they were as clear and bright and hopeful and proud as they were tonight, there was no better view anywhere.