A/N: You could play a drinking game with this chapter and take a drink every time you read some real Downton dialogue.

During his years as the chauffeur at Downton, Tom's growing affection for Sybil didn't apply to her family especially not to her eldest sister. He couldn't reconcile the person Sybil lovingly talked about with the cold and haughty figure he drove about.

"What a dreadful luncheon" Mary remarked as Tom drove the motor car away from the front of Heaton House.

"Why?" Edith snarked. "Just because the men weren't falling all over you?"

"Oh please" Mary responded just as curtly. "As if I would be interested in John Laver or Richard Crimsfield or Sir Barton."

"Why ever not?" Edith wouldn't drop the subject. "They seem to be just your type. Of course you might have to wait quite awhile before John or Richard become lord of the manor."

"Actually Edith they seemed more your type … dreadful bores."

Tom glanced in the rearview mirror and even at this distance he could tell Edith's cheeks turned bright red.

"Sir Barton is a good friend of Rosamond's" Cora finally spoke and Tom thought maybe her ladyship was hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.

"Sybil always says poor Aunt Rosamond all alone in that big house" Edith stated.

"I don't" Mary began. "All alone, with plenty of money, in a house in Eaton Square. I can't imagine anything better."

Tom knew it was because of her love for her sister rather than her approval of Sybil's choice of husband that Mary had attended their wedding where she was civil, she was after all trained in the niceties of polite society, but by no means exhibited any warmth to Tom or his family.

"Why did you never tell on us?" Judging by the look of puzzlement on Mary's face she had no idea what Tom was talking about.

"When you found out about my feelings for Sybil you didn't tell your father. Even after you drove through the night to stop our elopement you didn't tell your father" Tom offered in explanation. "You asked me how it started between Sybil and me, I've often wondered why you never reported me to your father."

Mary nodded her head in understanding of Tom's question. "I wanted to … and if it had been Edith I probably would have told but it was Sybil and I …"

Standing straight, her arms hanging down with her right fist opening and closing, she then turned to face the sweeping view of the estate rather than her brother-in-law.

"I don't know really." She shuddered and took a deep breath. I won't betray him, on one condition. You must promise not to do anything stupid. But then Sybil had done something stupid and had run away with him and even though she had stopped the elopement she didn't tell her father.

"I thought-" Mary paused and sighed again. "I thought it would blow over … that Sybil would come to her senses … that …"

She took a step forward and then turned back to face Tom. "That night at the Swan Inn, you sitting in that chair while she was in the bed ...I might not have liked it but I realized she was in love and so were you."

Mary shivered as she raised her head to look up at the sky. "I envied Sybil. She was in love and wasn't afraid to act on it."

"Unlike you" Tom stated quietly causing Mary to snap her head back to look at him. "You were in love with Matthew not that Carlisle fellow.

Noticing the puzzled frown on her face, Tom continued "Servants aren't blind and they see and hear much more than their masters realize."

Mary narrowed her eyes as she studied her brother-in-law. "Care to tell me some other things you noticed?"

With his cheeky grin spreading across his face, Tom replied "No."

Smiling Mary uttered "fair enough" before turning once again towards the view. Tom knew that look she had, he had seen it enough not only on Mary but on Sybil too, and he knew she was thinking and she would only tell him when, and if, she felt like it. While it came natural for him to express his emotions, it wasn't so for the Crawley sisters. Even Sybil who seemed so outgoing and kind could bottle up her feelings.

"Do you remember the first time Matthew and I took our boys fishing?"

Mary looked at Tom as if he had had suddenly sprouted wings.

"You know that time when" Tom began but was suddenly interrupted by Mary.

"That time when you all came back soaking wet and with no fish except for that small one that had gotten in Arthur's pocket?"

Tom grinned as he nodded his head yes. Walking over to Mary he put his arm around her. "We have our memories you and I. Some may be sad because those people are no longer with us, some may be of sad times, but we also have so many happy memories, of good times."

They spent the rest of their morning reminiscing about some of those good times, those happy memories of which each recalled different ones to the delight of the other. In fact both were in such good spirits when they returned to the house that everyone was quite surprised having expected that the pair had spent the morning tearfully talking about the past.

No one was more surprised than Howard for he knew how much Mary dreaded saying what she had described to him as probably her last good-bye to Tom. Yet the good mood lasted through the light early luncheon and it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that all present were sorry to see the Bransons leave.

Tom leaned back on the rather plush seat of the train compartment, his head resting against the back of the seat but turned so he could watch the passing scenery as the train sped through the English countryside. Howard's secretary had made the arrangements for the Bransons' travel back to Ireland. These arrangements had included first class compartments on the trains and the ferry as well as a luggage service that had whisked away their bags at the small Downton railway station and would ensure the bags would be waiting for them dockside in Ireland.

Tom was especially grateful for the luggage service because it left him with only the wicker picnic basket to carry when they changed trains in Ripon and then again in Leeds on their way to Liverpool where they would take a ferry to Ireland. He hadn't expected such a basket since they could buy food on their journey but he thought it was a sign of Mary's graciousness as a hostess. The tarts, both savory and sweet, and the sandwiches would be better than anything offered for sale on the train or even on the ferry. In addition the bags of crisps, crackers, cheeses, and fruit would ensure they could snack all evening.

While he had the basket, the girls had their day packs full of he wasn't sure what but they had been faithfully carried around London and in addition each now sported new leather totes courtesy of the Downton Country Hotel Spa. He knew these were full of creams and lotions, lipsticks, soaps and shampoos as he had witnessed the girls spread the totes' contents on the seat between them and had spent the last hour exclaiming over each item.

"There's even something here for you Grand Da." The glint in Aine's eyes belied the rather serious tone of her voice.

As he took the oblong plastic package from her, both girls began to giggle. As his eyes widen as he read "the best of spa mud" on the label, the giggles turned into laughter.

"Believe me Grand Da, after you try this you'll be sending requests to Aunt Mary for more" Aine managed to say.

"It was truly wonderful Grand Da" Ciara added.

"Rejuvenating" Aine agreed causing Tom to mockingly ask "So you two think I need rejuvenating?"

"You'll feel ten years younger!"

"Well then I should probably ask Mary for a case and I can be thirty again!" he joined the girls in laughing.

He had to admit the girls looked wonderful, not that they weren't before to his eyes, but now both seemed to glow. He especially liked the chin length bob that Aine had opted for at the salon.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Aine asked. Even if her eyes hadn't drifted towards the brown paper wrapped package that sat beside Tom he would have known she was referring to it.

"I think this means more to you than anyone else" Mary had said as she gave it to him just before he got in the old station wagon for the trip to the Downton railway station. Clinging tightly to Howard, Mary had smiled as she handed the package to Tom but there was no mistaking the tears in her eyes when Tom hugged her goodbye.

He smiled at his granddaughters as he lifted the surprisingly heavy package and placed it on his lap. From the size and shape of it Tom surmised it was a photograph album although it seemed a bit heavy for such.

Using his pocket knife he cut the string that was tied around the package. Peeling back the brown wrapping revealed a dark blue leather bound book which Tom immediately recognized.

"A book?" Aine asked.

Tom shook his head. "Not a book but the …"

"The story of our friendship" Tom whispered. He didn't open the book but rather held it close to his chest and closed his eyes.

He wasn't sure what to expect when Mr. Carson had said his lordship would meet him in the library. Thinking it was just a fancy name for his lordship's office, Tom was surprise to find himself in a room that was befitting the title of library.

He couldn't help but take glances at the shelves of books which Lord Grantham obviously noticed.

"You're very welcome to borrow books if you wish."

"Really, m'lord?" Tom could hardly contain his astonishment.

"There's a ledger over there that I make everyone use, even my daughters."

Mary slowly walked into the room, her eyes clouded with sadness as she surveyed the room which had been stripped of all Sybil's possessions making it now seem so barren and lifeless. It was only right that Tom and his family have her things but in the year since Sybil's death coming into this room and looking at those familiar items had given Mary a sense of comfort, a sense that Sybil would be back to sit at the vanity table, that she'd style her hair with the comb and brush set, that she look in the vanity's mirror as she adjusted the earrings she took from one of the porcelain boxes, or that she'd spray on the lilac water that she had been using since she was a teenager. It was in this room that Mary could still feel the presence of her beloved sister.

As Mary walked down the corridor she thought it odd to see the door to Sybil's bedroom ajar since other than the housemaids no one went into the room now that Sybil was living in Ireland. Knowing the housemaids would leave the door fully open while they did they work, Mary quietly pushed the door open a bit more.

To her astonishment, her father was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the fireplace.

Curious as to why her father would be in here, Mary stepped into the room calling out "Papa … Papa."

He gave no indication he had heard her so Mary walked into the room and stood in front of him and asked "What are you doing in here?"

"I … I … I feel close to her in here surrounded by her things."

Mary had never seen her father so melancholy.

In a voice so quiet she almost strained to hear, he replied "I keep forgetting that she's gone. I see things in the paper that would make her laugh. I come inside to tell her that her favorite rose is in bloom and then, suddenly

I remember she's gone."

"Oh Papa" an exasperated Mary sighed deeply. "You make it sound as if she's dead."

"Well …" Robert shrugged.

It was too much for Mary, she was so tired of her father acting as if Sybil were dead. Mary snapped "Unless you want to lose her forever, you have to accept what's happened."

"You sound like your mother" Robert mumbled.

Mary snickered for it wasn't often that she agreed with her mother.

"And you gave them your blessing Papa" Mary countered.

The room became quiet as both Mary and Robert retreated into their own thoughts. After a minute or so Mary sat down next to her father. "Oh Papa, if you would have seen her when she walked down that aisle …" Mary shook her head slightly tilting it so she looked up at the ceiling before continuing. "You would have seen her glowing face as she looked at him."

"That doesn't really make it any easier Mary" Robert began "that she left everything I could give her … that she turned her back on everything she knew. How could she think her happiness lies with him?"

"There's no doubt Papa … she loves him very much."

Now all those things as well as the decorative items like the vases and porcelain boxes and crystal jars, the small gold clock, had been packed and shipped to Dublin. For the first time since Sybil had moved into this room over 60 years ago, the mahogany wardrobe and dresser were empty. All of her remaining clothes had been neatly folded and wrapped and shipped to Dublin also.

She had debated about keeping the silk hand fan with the Japanese print that Sybil had lovingly placed on her fireplace mantel. Sybil had been at her bubbliest when she had shown her new purchase to Mary. Oh Mary isn't this the most beautiful thing you've ever seen she had exclaimed as she carefully unfolded the fan to show her big sister. It would be the one keepsake she'd have of Sybil's but in the end she decided to send that too to Dublin. As Tom had said they had their memories and with that in mind she decided she didn't need any keepsakes to remember her beloved sister.

She had written notes to accompany many of the keepsakes describing how they came into Sybil's possession or what they had meant to Sybil. It had taken her a week to do so but it had been a task borne of love. She knew how much Ciara and Aine had devoured the stories of their grandmother and thought so too would other members of Sybil's family.

Thinking of Ciara, Mary wished she could see the young girl's face when she opened the crate that contained the vanity table and matching chair. Although Mary had always intended to send Sybil's possessions she hadn't thought of sending the vanity table until that morning when she saw Ciara sitting at it reminding her so much of Sybil at that age.

Mary rose from the bed and walked towards the door. Turning around and giving the room one last look she decided she'd have the room redone for her daughter Clarissa's young girls. She'd call them tonight and ask them what color they'd like the room painted.

Despite it being too early to dress for dinner, Mary had retreated to her bedroom. Although she had given the excuse that she had some letters to write, the truth was that she just couldn't bear sitting any longer with her mother and Edith and Granny. There was nothing that she could really point to but she had found them especially grating this afternoon.

She sat down at her dressing table and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes began to well up with unshed tears as she put her elbows on the table and lowered her head into her hands.

She was so deep in thought that she didn't hear her bedroom door open.

It was only when the small hand touched her back that she became aware of Sybil's presence.

"Are you alright Mary?"

Mary took a moment to compose herself before looking up at the mirror, a smile plastered on her face which was something she had perfected despite whatever she was actually feeling. Talking to Sybil's reflection in the mirror she said "Of course I'm alright darling."

Sybil continued to gently rub her hand across Mary's back. Then leaning close to Mary's ear, she whispered "Don't let what Granny or Edith say bother you. They don't mean to hurt you."

Mary narrowed her eyes as she looked closely at her eleven year old sister. As she often did Sybil had surprised her with her observations. Good, kind Sybil didn't embroil herself in the prickly relations between Mary and Edith. Often Mary thought Sybil was the only person living who thought that she and Edith were nice people.

"You do know that my birthday is coming up" Sybil shifted the conversation.

Mary chuckled. "Are you hinting about your present?"

"Oh silly no. It's that this is a very big birthday for me."

Although she knew what Sybil was alluding to, Mary feigned ignorance. "More than any other year?"

Mary couldn't help but laugh at Sybil's theatrics as she rolled her eyes and stamped her foot. "I'll be twelve Mary. I get my very own bedroom."

Sybil reached out and grabbed Mary's arm. "Come see which room I've picked."

Mary had to admit she assumed Sybil would pick the room next to hers so she was quite surprised that Sybil led her down the corridor to a room near the top of the stairway.

"From here I can sit by the window and watch the comings and goings and I can see the sunrise."

"You're up early enough to see the sunrise?"

Sybil shrugged her little shoulders. "Sometimes. I won't have to sneak outdoors now I can see from my room."

"Mama is taking me to the shops tomorrow to pick out the paint or wallpaper. She says I can choose any color I want. I'm thinking about something blue… like the sky on a sunny summer day not that dark blue like Granny has."

But in the end Sybil hadn't chosen blue or red or even the deep green that covered so many of the halls of Downton. No Sybil, showing that independent streak, had chosen a sunny yellow. It was the only room in the house that was so light and airy.

Two Years Later

Tom woke with the early summer sun streaming into his bedroom which at this time of year in Ireland could be as early as five. As he always did when he first woke he turned his head to see Sybil's photograph on his nightstand. Actually he had two of Sybil on his nightstand, in one a young Sybil smiled at the camera, her beautiful face full of love and hope. But it was the other one, of Sybil on their 50th wedding anniversary that Tom always looked at. In that one, a candid shot that had been taken without Sybil's notice, the face was still beautiful but with the grace of one that had aged well even if one could see the small lines around the eyes or the gray in the once almost black hair. That was the photograph that reminded Tom of all the years of happiness the two had shared.

Today instead of instantly getting out of bed, Tom sat on the edge of his bed, his feet planted firmly on the bedroom floor, and reached for the anniversary photograph. Holding it in one hand he gently ran the fingers of his other hand across it.

It had been just over three years ago, three years and twelve days to be exact, that the photograph had been taken. This year he had observed the occasion by taking Aoife, Eamon, and Aibrean to his and Sybil's favorite restaurant for lunch. Despite the pleas of each of his children to spend the evening at their houses, he opted to stay at home.

But he didn't go directly home instead, taking a colorful bouquet of flowers, he visited her grace. He wasn't the first to visit there that day since there was already a large bouquet resting against the headstone. The card read "your loving children." Buoyed by their thoughtfulness, Tom took a couple of flowers from his bouquet and added them to the small vase that permanently sat at the base of her headstone. He left the rest of his bouquet at Aidan's grave.

As Tom stroked Sybil's picture once again he smiled thinking about how much today would be one of those days that Sybil had loved. The family was celebrating Tom's 80th birthday which had actually been in mid-May but they waited until Roisin and her family were able to visit from Virginia. In addition, they were celebrating Aine's and Ciara's graduation from university and the high school graduation of another granddaughter Brianna.

All of their children and grandchildren would be here today. There would even be the newest member of the Branson clan, fifteen month old Sybil Branson, the daughter of Eamon's oldest son and Tom's first great grandchild. Sybbie, as the family called her, with her blond hair and blue eyes resembled the Bransons but Tom thought her smile was pure Sybil.

Tom took a deep breath as he laid the photograph back on his nightstand. "I feel every bit of those 80 years" he thought as his knees creaked as he stood up.

By midafternoon the back garden of the Branson house was full of people. A keg and bottles of wine and a table of hot and cold hors d'oeuvres were keeping every happy until the actual dinner was served.

Tom, sitting in his favorite lawn chair, wondered why the delay in firing up the grill. When he had asked Aoife she had handed him another glass of lager and told him it would be done when the time was right. The boisterous crowd of Bransons suddenly became even louder and Tom wondered if he had had too many lagers that afternoon for he thought he had detected the faint sound of English accents.

Looking towards the back door, Tom thought he spotted someone who looked so much like … shaking his head he closed his eyes …

"I wouldn't think you were the type to fall asleep at your own party." There was no mistaking the crisp cut-glass English accent. Tom opened his eyes and blinked several times just to be sure he wasn't seeing things."

"Mary?" he mumbled still in disbelief that she was standing there. "Is that really you?"

"I know it's been two years Tom but really have you forgotten what I look like?"

Tom jumped, well as much as an 80 year old can, up from his seat. Reaching out and pulling her into a tight hug he cheerily exclaimed "it's you. It really is you."

A/N: And so we come to the final chapter of this story. I have to say I have really enjoyed writing this one and stretched it out far longer than I originally planned. I have so many other flashbacks I didn't use that I might post them later. Thank you to all who wrote the kind reviews. Also thanks to all who followed or favored this story.

I do have an epilogue written that I'll most next week.