What You Never Had
It was very strange to go on as if life were normal. Anna thought that perhaps it was another role that they had to perform downstairs; that their going unnoticed from here to there and back again would somehow go a way to settling things into place.
But there was not anyone under the roof that had been left untouched by the shock and raw sadness brought on by Lady Sybil's passing, only hours after she had been made a mother. Even those who only knew her as a name and by a few glimpses of her pretty face, Alfred and Jimmy and Ivy as well as the hall boys and maids too young to remember what had been only a couple of years ago, were made sombre and reflective by the memories of others that were left lingering. Anna had only helped to dress her once when she had been back at Downton, Madge being put to the task instead on Mrs Hughes's recommendation that she needed the practice. She remembered very fondly, Lady Sybil always being the least fuss and having hardly changed in all the years since. The only bother she complained of was of hot flushes and feeling too big for everything she tried on. Anna had smiled seeing the sizeable bump Lady Sybil carried, assuring her that she suited her clothes better than ever.
The funeral was in two days time, and mourning in the house had not yet reached its peak, Anna could tell. Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore were as busy as ever – if they ever stopped, it seemed as though the world really would cease to spin. Not wanting to feel useless, she volunteered to go into the village and pick up what was usually needed to make the house run; there was enough extra for either housekeeper or cook to worry about. She took the basket into her hands, feeling a little guilty for carrying her bag – and the letter that was within – inside it. No doubt Mrs Hughes would have told her off if she had confessed it. News about Mr Bates was a glimmer of hope on the horizon that kept them all going. She had sacrificed her last visit to Mr Murray, but it had been worth it to get things moving. In the meantime she had wrote, pouring out her grief in the next best way she was able. He had always liked Lady Sybil too, and she knew he would feel the pain as much as the rest of them.
Tears came fast to her eyes as it drizzled unseasonably. She couldn't help thinking of Mr Branson and the anguish he had been plunged into. The baby girl, held but once by a mother she would have no recollection of. They wouldn't be without help, but sometimes all the help in the world could prove no use.
She stopped crying before she got to the first shop. Lady Sybil was one of a kind and would want to be remembered happily.
On the way back, shopping bought and letter safely posted, she found herself thinking back to a little over a year ago. It was so strange; so much had happened in the time being that in some sense it seemed like it had only been a dream she had had one night; a mere illusion. It had been, really, but the way she had forgotten the importance troubled her.
Her cycle had not come for two months. She had not skipped one before, and it seemed like too much of a coincidence. She hadn't expected that it could have happened so soon – after a single night spent together – but perhaps it was a blessing sent from God, having known the tests that would be ahead. The thought kept her strong, and though it would be hard not to have him there, she began to cherish deeply, the more days that passed.
When the first spots of blood arrived, the telltale signs of the delay in her body as it had ground to a halt since his arrest, she pretended that she had known all along. Her mother's voice came to her, telling her that what you never had you never missed. She knew in her bones that was true, but it didn't stop her heart from feeling differently.
She hadn't put it in the letter, though she had come close. It was something that needed to wait, for a time when she could look him in the eyes, and they could grieve together.