One more chapter after this one, and I feel like crying! I'm going to miss these people so much. Maybe they'll be back for a one-shot here or there, who knows?
You don't need someone's permission to live the life you want. Be brave to live from your heart. - Roy T. Bennett
August 17, 1921
Downton Abbey
"Do you think you might remove the scowl from your face, darling?" Cora said, without looking at her husband. "They'll see you." Mary and Matthew, lined up next to the Earl and Countess of Grantham, glanced sideways to see the object of her comment.
Lord Grantham rearranged his face with care. He had thought he looked fine; at least as well as could be expected when the entire island of Ireland was coming to stay at his home. But inside he was fuming. This was all Cora's fault! She'd insisted on inviting all of Sybil's newfound relatives for Mary's baby's christening. Had she had any notion how many of them there were? An uncharitable vision of rabbits invaded his mind, and he did his best to force it out.
The first car rolled up the drive. There were two others following right behind, each filled with people. Blimey, how many of them were there?
The car pulled up in front of the massive front doors, and out climbed his mother-in-law. He could almost believe that Martha had set this whole thing up, except that he knew it was Cora who had invited them all. But look at that smug face! If Martha hadn't had a hand in this, she was certainly enjoying it! He was determined not to give her the satisfaction of seeing his discomfiture.
Martha glided over to kiss Cora, and then gave him a peck on the cheek. Behind her was that wild sister of Tom's, the one who had dressed him down in front of everyone during the wedding visit. All right, she had apologised, and she seemed somewhat tame right now, but he'd be keeping an eye on her. She was followed by a nice looking young man, someone he'd never seen before. Cora had said the girl—what was her name?—Mary? Myra?—was married and living with Martha now. Well, that was a role model, wasn't it? His mother-in-law wasn't likely to improve the girl's disposition!
"Robert, do you remember Tom's sister, Maire?" Martha purred. At his stiff nod, she continued, "and this is her husband, Evan. You'll like him, he's your kind." The young man shook Robert's hand.
"Evan Langdon. Very nice to meet you, your Lordship," he said politely. "Thank you for having us. Your home is lovely."
Lord Grantham started. An Englishman! What the hell was that Irish firebrand doing with an Englishman…and one with some manners, to boot! Would wonders never cease!
Cars continued to pull up, spilling out people he vaguely remembered and people he'd never met. A real menagerie of Irish working class society, he thought. Cora glared at him as if reading his mind.
Tom and Sybil presented themselves, and Robert felt some of his irritation fall away in a rush of affection for the young man he'd once considered the enemy. He had certainly seen the light there on his visit to Ireland for the wedding! He kissed his youngest daughter and shook his son-in-law's hand.
"Hello, Tom," he said, with real warmth. "And who's this lovely lady?" he cooed, as Sybil presented Miss Abigeál Branson. Abby grinned at him and held out her arms. Robert took the baby and grinned. Another spitfire, he thought. With those two for parents, what could you expect? He wanted to leave this infernal reception line and go inside to play with his grandchild. His first grandchild! She was simply adorable.
He was stuck, though, as more people poured out of the motors. He held tight to Abby as if she were a lifeline, as Sybil moved on with Tom, grinning. Cora was hugging Claire Branson, whispering something in her ear as if they were old schoolmates catching up on gossip.
Another of Tom's brothers, with an attractive young woman he had never met. A sister, blonde and petite, but obviously a Branson, accompanied by a dark-haired young man who couldn't take his eyes off her for more than a minute.
And there was Edith, looking happier than he'd ever seen her. Robert's face soured, despite his best intentions. She'd left, twice, remained in Ireland for a completely inappropriate amount of time, and Cora told him that this time she was staying there, making that war-ravaged country her home. What the hell was wrong with her! He had never understood his middle daughter.
Edith came up and kissed him on the cheek, and then turned to the young man beside her. Another Branson, of course, but he couldn't remember having met this one before.
"Papa, this is Patrick," she said. The young man stepped forward and extended his hand.
"Nice to see you again, sir," he said. Good lord, thought Robert, the lad looked scared to death! Was he that frightening? And then he realised what the boy had said. Again?
Patrick's face lightened as he recognized the confusion on Lord Grantham's face. "We met, at the wedding," he said. "I was the gargoyle with all the cuts and bruises."
"Ahh," said Robert in relief. "I remember. Well, you've certainly healed up nicely. Glad you could come." How could he forget that night? This was the brother that had been beaten up and nearly killed, the same night that the Myra girl had torn into him like a harridan. What a nightmare that had been! He'd almost turned around and come home, right then!
He looked at the crowd in front of him. Eight, not counting his daughters, all gawking in astonishment at the house, speechless with wonder. Robert interrupted their gaping to announce, "Tea is served in the drawing room, ladies and gentlemen. And now, you'll have to excuse me for a few minutes. I am going to be busy getting acquainted with my granddaughter, Miss Abigail!
August 18, 1921
Downton Abbey
The dining room was huge, cavernous…and quiet. The Branson clan was pushing food around on their plates, plainly intimidated by the formality and all the utensils required to eat dinner in an English manor house. Conversation was non-existent except for Cora and Claire Branson, who acted like sisters reconnecting after a long absence.
"I was sorry to hear what happened to Bernadette," Cora was saying. "I can't imagine how it must be to lose a child."
"She's strong," Claire answered. "The family is visiting the western coast right now. I think it's what she needs."
"So," Robert said to Tom. "Ireland has won her independence. Does that mean that it'll be safer to travel now? Because I think I might have to come over once in a while to visit my granddaughter, just to make sure you two are taking good care of her."
"Well," Tom said. "We have a truce, but now the politicians are in charge of forging a real, lasting treaty. And you know what that's like! But no matter, you know you're welcome anytime."
"And what are you going to do, now that the war is ending?" Robert turned to Michael, on his left side.
Michael looked startled to be the focus of Lord Grantham's attention. "Um, well, I'm still in the army, but I work for my brother now." He indicated Patrick, who was across the table in deep conversation with Martha.
"Oh? And what is it that he does?" Robert asked, politely.
"He designs and makes the finest furniture in Ireland," Michael said, his voice proud. "And everywhere else, most like."
Mary, seated next to Evan, had been half listening to this dialogue. Suddenly she spoke up, staring at Patrick in astonishment. "Furniture? Branson Furniture? Are you saying you're Branson Furniture?" Her face was alive with incredulity.
Patrick blushed. "Yes, that's me."
"Good heavens!" she said. "Matthew, we have several Branson pieces. Remember, I joked with you that maybe the artist was related to Tom? Well, apparently he is! Oh, my goodness!" She stared at Patrick. "I don't believe it. Everyone wants your furniture! Our friends are quite jealous that I have three pieces! They're impossible to get!" She surveyed those around the table with an expression that clearly said everyone should know this.
Patrick looked embarrassed. He caught Edith's eye across the expanse of white linen, signalling her to change the subject. She grinned at him as if to say, I told you that it wouldn't be a secret for long; now my sister will pester you forever! He rolled his eyes at her, and they shared a secretive smile.
Not secretive enough. Robert, who rarely caught on to subtlety, chose this time to notice something odd. He narrowed his eyes at his daughter. What was he missing? Why was she grinning like the Cheshire Cat? He followed her gaze, and stiffened. There was something going on here, and he would like very much to know what it was.
He didn't have to wait long. Martha, who never missed anything and thought that subtlety was for fools, boomed down the table. "So, Edith, when are you two going to get married?"
A shocked silence fell upon the dining table. Sybil's eyes darted to her husband, who looked as if he'd been carved out of stone, and took in the puzzled looks of Evan, Deaglan, and Aislinn, the frozen faces of her mother and Mary, and the appalled look on the Dowager's face. Patrick's blue eyes were round and his face had drained of color. Then Sybil looked at her sister.
Edith was sitting bolt upright, her face alight, eyes fixed upon her father as she answered Martha's question. "Well, grandmama, it's funny you should ask that. We were just talking about that very thing on the voyage over, weren't we, darling?" And she turned to look at Patrick, her face shining with love and pride.
Lord Grantham's eyes were glassy. A mottled red moved up his neck and onto his set face as he looked at his daughter. Time stood still. Then, without another word, he stood up, pushed his chair back, and strode from the room.
August 21
Downton Abbey
The christening had gone off without a hitch, as everyone had known it would. Mary would have it no other way, of course, so she chose to ignore the surly silence of her father, for which she blamed her sister Edith. Nothing new there, Edith had always spoiled everything.
Sybil sighed as she climbed the stairs to check on her daughter. At least they had her to turn to when the tension grew too thick. Abby had taken to the Downton nursery as she did to everything else in her life, with joyful abandon and a natural complacency that she had certainly not inherited from either of her parents. She and Tom did not deserve such an easy-going child, they knew, but they accepted the gift nevertheless. The next one was sure to be a monster.
As she entered the nursery, Sybil saw that she was not alone. Her father stood next to the baby's cot, staring down at his grandchild. He turned to look at his daughter, and then turned away again to watch Abby sleep. They stood side by side in silence, allowing the peace of the room and the innocence of its small inhabitant to steal over them.
"Why?" said Lord Grantham, his voice bleak. "What did I do wrong?"
Sybil bit back the angry retort that rose to her lips, knowing that this moment was her only chance. "You did nothing wrong, Papa."
He snorted. "I had three daughters, raised them in a world that anyone would envy, gave them everything, and look what happened!" His tone was one of anguish mixed with confusion. "Why did none of you want what I gave you?"
Sybil took a moment to consider her next words.
"Papa, you were the best father anyone could wish for. You gave us the courage to reach for the stars, to find our own joy in the world. You allowed us to think for ourselves."
Of course, she thought, a part of that was our rebellion against the things you thought we should think and want, but she didn't think this was the best time for that insight.
"But why?" It was almost a moan. "Why didn't you want Downton? Why did you and Edith have to choose men from such a different world? A world of danger, and hardship? None of you chose men from our class. Even Mary married a middle-class lawyer—a working man!"
"Well, Matthew is going to be an earl," Sybil said, the corner of her mouth twitching. "That's something, isn't it?"
"Don't laugh at me!" Robert Crawley turned on his daughter. "Don't you dare laugh at me!"
Sybil placed her hand on her father's arm. It was rigid under her touch.
"Papa, do you like Tom? Do you think I made the right choice?" She waited, looking into his eyes.
He sighed. "Yes, I think you made the right choice. He's a wonderful man, and he's made you happier than I would ever have thought possible. He was right for you…but what about Edith? She's not like you. She's the opposite of courageous! She never cared about working, or women's rights, or all that. How could she do it?"
"The world is changing, Papa. Women are finding that they can be useful, that their happiness doesn't depend on the rules of society. And you…you brought us up to be brave enough—yes, even Edith—to find our place in the new world, even if it wasn't where we ever thought it would be!"
She stepped back, putting her hands on her hips. "Would you ever have thought Edith could do what she did at dinner? Yes, she could have timed it better, I know…but have you ever seen her look so happy? Patrick is a good man, Papa. Like Tom. He was raised right, and he's good for her."
Without waiting for his response, Sybil went up on her toes and placed a kiss on her father's cheek. "We didn't need your permission to live the lives we wanted, Papa. But we hope we have it, anyway. Your children love you. That's something wonderful, and rare in this world. Try to keep it in mind, would you?" And she left him standing there, next to the crib. If his granddaughter had been awake, she would have seen tears in his eyes.
A/N: Lord Grantham was not alone in his fears. The role of women in society had taken a massive leap forward in 1918 when women over the age of 30 were given the right to vote. Women began to step out of their rigid class structure to embrace new fashions, personal freedom and new ideas that challenged the traditional role of women. Traditionalists feared that this new morality and bid for freedom threatened class and family values and the conventional role of women in the home. Little did they know, it was just the tip of the iceberg.
Pronunciation Guide:
Aislinn - ash + ling
Deaglan - deck + lan
Maire - my + ra
