If Things Were Different

by magfreak

What if Robert had squandered Cora's fortune before the Titanic sank? What if Matthew had inherited the money needed to save Downton before he became the heir? What if Tom had made something of himself before he met Sybil? An alternate Downton universe set in season one that explores how Sybil and Tom's relationship would have developed if they'd met under different circumstances.

37. Chapter 37

Thank you, as always, everyone, for your comments!

Before I get to this chapter, a quick note on Anna and Mary: A couple of you commented on my having made them friends from childhood, so I thought I would explain where that came from. I can't remember exactly where—the script book, maybe, or an interview either with Michelle Dockery or Julian Fellows—but somewhere I saw a discussion about Anna and Mary's relationship that made mention of the fact that Fellowes once told Michelle that it was common for children of country houses to know and be friends with children from the neighboring villages, some of whom would grow up to go into service in those houses, and that Anna and Mary would have probably known each other and played together as children. It may seem far fetched, but consider that Mary trusts Anna with her life (as we saw on the show with the Pamuk death). In my mind, given how reticent Mary is to let her guard down around anyone, that trust doesn't come merely from Anna having dressed Mary for a few years, it comes from a friendship that predates their lady-servant relationship.

Anyway, Thank you again for all your comments. Please keep sending them, good and bad, as well as questions—or PM me if you prefer.

This chapter brings resolution to the Drake storyline, so this is a very Sybil-centric update. The cricket match is still to come (I'll get there someday, I promise). Hope you enjoy!

---

In the days that followed Sybil and Violet's confrontation regarding Mr. Drake's treatment, no more mention was made of the topic among the family. Knowing her parents' watchful eyes were on her more acutely than normal, Sybil chose not to push the envelope and stayed home for the most part, keeping quiet about when she might go back to the hospital. Contrary to what her parents and grandmother might have made of that, however, Mr. Drake's health remained at the top of Sybil's mind. In fact, even though she hadn't had a chance to talk with Isobel about it, Sybil had formulated a plan to address the situation and simply needed a bit of help to carry it out. That help came on Wednesday in the form of estate manager William Mason.

Tom had come over to the house early so he could discuss his plan for the new chauffeur with Pratt before filling Robert in later in the morning, a fact Robert had let slip at breakfast. The Reginald Crawleys hadn't dined at Downton Abbey since the Saturday night of Sybil's outburst, so this being her first opportunity to see Tom in several days, Sybil was waiting in the yard outside the garage for him to finish when she saw William walking up to the service entrance.

"Good morning, Lady Sybil," William said cheerfully, removing his hat.

"Hello, Mason," she said. "Are you here to meet with Lord Grantham?"

"Yes, milady, and Mr. Crawley and Mr. Branson."

"Mr. Branson is talking with Pratt at the moment, and I don't believe Mr. Crawley has arrived yet. We can have Carson telephone Crawley House, if you'd like, to let him know you're here."

"No need, milady. I always come a bit early so I can say hello to old friends. I'm happy to wait for Mr. Crawley."

Sybil smiled. "It's hard for me to remember you used to be a footman here. That was so long ago now."

William fidgeted with his hat. "And yet to me it seems like yesterday."

"Do you miss it?"

"I miss the people," William said quietly. "I'm never exactly alone in this job, but it's not quite the same. I don't mean to sound ungrateful—"

"Oh, please don't worry about that. I'm glad to know that you have pleasant memories of working here. I'm sure Lord and Lady Grantham would feel the same."

William smiled bashfully. "Well, I won't take any more of your time, milady."

"Actually, Mason," Sybil said moving to follow him as he stepped away. "Now that you're here, it's rather lucky that I've run into you. I wonder if you could help me with something. I was going to ask Mr. Branson, but you probably have better knowledge of this than he does."

William's brow furrowed. "I can try," he replied, "but I can't think of anything I have better knowledge of than he would."

"Well, I'm sure you are aware of Mr. Drake's illness."

"I am," William said. "Mr. Drake has Longfield Farm. We've brought in some extra lads to help see to it while he's in the hospital."

"Mrs. Patmore is making up a basket of food for the family, and I know it's likely that one of the hallboys will be tasked with delivering it. I'd like to do it myself, only I don't know where they live exactly. Could you tell me where Longfield Farm is?"

"I'd be happy to, miladay, but I could also deliver the parcel myself so you don't have to."

"Oh, I couldn't trouble you with that when you've actual business to attend to! And anyway, it's been a few weeks since I've ridden my bicycle and it's a nice day. I'll enjoy taking it myself. It'll be nice that they know they have the family's support."

"All right, then. I'll just write the information down and give it to Mrs. Patmore when I see her in a bit."

"Thank you! I really appreciate it!" Sybil said excitedly.

Sybil watched William walk into the servants hall, then turned quickly toward the garage, not realizing that Tom was walking up behind her.

"Oh!" She exclaimed as he caught her after she bumped into him.

"Good morning," he said smiling, continuing to hold onto her shoulders after she'd regained her balance, merely for the chance to touch her. "Has the naughty princess finally been let out from her tower?" He asked playfully.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "I forget sometimes that it can be a crime to merely speak in this house."

"You had every right," he said firmly. "And you were in the right."

She smiled. "Thank you, and now I have a chance to do something about it."

Tom looked at Sybil curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I wish we could talk now but there's no time," she said, moving toward the garage. "I have to ask Pratt to get my bicycle out."

"Where are you going?" Tom called out.

Sybil turned and waved. "You'll see!"

Tom laughed as she went into the garage. He scratched his head for a moment, wondering what she was up to, then turned to go into the house.

XXX

About a quarter of an hour later, Sybil was on her way.

After asking Pratt to bring her bicycle out of the garage, she went into the servants hall and asked the housemaid Alice to fetch her hat and coat and bring it into the yard. Then, she got the basket and directions from Mrs. Patmore, and while she waited for Alice to come back down, Peter, one of the hallboys, helped her secure the basket onto her bicycle.

She'd have liked to talk to Tom for longer than a mere moment and ask his opinion on what she was about to do, but as she pedaled toward Longfield Farm, it occurred to her that it was best that he not know. It was likely that after everything was done, she would be reprimanded again—or worse—and she knew him well enough to know that he'd likely try to take some of the blame, even if he'd had nothing to do with the scheme, in order to protect her from her parents' wrath. But Sybil was not afraid of what Robert or Cora would do or say. How could she when a man's life was on the line? The twisted morality of her position was such that the supposedly "correct" way to behave in this situation would be to leave well enough alone, keep her opinions to herself and allow Dr. Clarkson's shortsighted care to rule the day. But Sybil saw things differently. To refrain from acting on Mr. Drake's behalf merely to sooth her family's ire was, in her mind, the greater sin. Her actions were hers alone. And as she rode in quiet determination, she was resolute and prepared for whatever consequences would come.

Longfield Farm was on the outer edges of the estate, so it took some time and effort for Sybil to get there. As she neared her destination, she was a bit out of breath. Based on William's instructions, she knew she was close and upon reaching the top of a small hill, she stopped for a short rest and saw the farmhouse finally come into view. The road sloped down, and Sybil happily cruised to the bottom. To her right as she approached, the sheep were grazing in the paddock, and seeing one of the farm hands sitting on the fence watching over them, Sybil raised her arm and waved, smiling at the young man's confused expression. The sheepdog that had been sitting at the young man's feet got up and began running along the fence and barking at Sybil. When it reached the edge of the paddock, the dog leaped over the fence and continued to follow Sybil until she came to a stop just outside the house door. She barely had time to hop off the bicycle before the dog was upon her. Having been caught off balance, she fell onto her back as the dog pushed her over and began to lick her face. Sybil yelped and laughed at the creature's play.

"Dodger! Get off, you silly beast!"

Mrs. Drake had heard the commotion outside, ran out of the house and quickly pulled the dog off the visitor. Her eyes widened when she realized it was one of the Crawley daughters.

"Oh, milady! Deepest apologies!" She exclaimed, still trying to hold the dog back.

Sybil laughed as she stood and brushed the dirt and mud off her skirt. "It's quite all right," she said, kneeling again and motioning for the dog to come forward, which he did, tail still wagging furiously, and set to licking Sybil's face up and down once more, this time with her permission.

"Sorry 'bout that!"

Sybil looked up to see the farmhand running up behind Mrs. Drake.

"Took off running before I had a chance to stop him," the young man said, bending over to try to catch his breath.

"That wretched dog's got spirit, all right," Mrs. Drake said. More quietly, she added, "Only minds one master, I'm afraid."

Sybil looked up to Mrs. Drake from where she was scratching the dog's ears, then looked back down and into the dog's eyes. "You must miss him, very much, old boy," Sybil said. After a moment Sybil stood again. "I hope you'll pardon the intrusion Mrs. Drake. I'm Sybil Crawley. I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."

Mrs. Drake nodded uncertainly, then turned to the farmhand and said, "Take him away, will you? And mind he doesn't run off again."

The young man straightened up and called out, "Come on, Dodger! Come along!"

The dog made a circle around Sybil but eventually followed, and Mrs. Drake and Sybil were left alone.

Mrs. Drake was a small, plain woman, about 30 or so years of age from what Sybil could tell, with blonde hair pulled into a tight bun on the back of her head. Despite her small size, Sybil could see strength in her frame and the way she stood, with shoulders set back proudly—strength that Sybil could only imagine was a byproduct of helping her husband in his work. Immediately, she had Sybil's respect.

"Given Mr. Drakes' condition, the family thought you might like to have some extra supplies and food," Sybil said, moving to take the basket off the bicycle.

Mrs. Drake stepped forward to help her. "You're very kind, milady."

"It's the very least we could do."

Mrs. Drake nodded taking the basket into her hands. The two stood in silence for about a minute, and Sybil realized that Mrs. Drake assumed she'd give her the basket and leave straight away.

"I do hate to impose on you, Mrs. Drake," Sybil continued. "I know how busy you must be, and I don't want to burden you any further, but I wonder if I may have another moment of your time."

Mrs. Drake's eyes widened. "Well, we don't really have a sitting area fit to host a lady such as yourself, so you'll pardon my rudeness for not inviting you in."

"Please don't concern yourself with that. I'd like to talk with you about, um . . . about your husband's condition. Whether outside or in, is up to you. I'll be most comfortable where you are most comfortable."

Mrs. Drake gave a small smile, and Sybil couldn't help but detect a measure of skepticism in it, so she went on.

"I know my being here may seem strange," Sybil said. "You'd not be the first to note that my behavior is unusual for a person of my position, but I'd like to help. Whether you accept that help is your choice and yours alone and shall be accepted by me without prejudice. You need not fear offending me if you choose not to listen to what I have to say."

Mrs. Drake's brow furrowed a bit as she considered Sybil's words. Then, after a moment, she said, "Will you excuse me for a moment?"

Sybil nodded, and Mrs. Drake walked over to the door of the house, opened it and called out, "Mariah?"

A minute or so later, a little girl, perhaps five years old, came to the door. Her mother leaned over and said, "Take this to the kitchen, dearest. I'll come back in shortly."

The little girl took the basket, which might have weighed as much as she did. "Who's that, mummy?"

Mrs. Drake looked at Sybil, then back to her daughter. "That's Lady Sybil. She's come to offer some help, now go and take this to the kitchen."

"Is she going to help papa?"

Mrs. Drake sighed. "Just mind your mummy and go back inside." She pushed the girl along and closed the door behind her again. She walked back toward Sybil, who was still staring in the direction of the door Mrs. Drake had just closed, as if trying to look past it, and into the house, to follow the path the little girl would take.

"I hope you don't find me rude, milady, but I'd prefer if we speak outside, if that's all right."

Mrs. Drake's words brought Sybil back into the moment. "Of course," Sybil replied. "This is your home. I'm the one imposing on you with an unannounced visit, and I do apologize. In my urgency this morning, it didn't occur to me—"

"Urgency?" Mrs. Drake asked a bit alarmed. "Is everything all right at the hospital, with my husband?"

"Everything is as it's been, which is to say that he remains in a critical state. I've not been to the hospital myself since Saturday, but one of the maids of the house was by yesterday and she told me his condition is unchanged."

Mrs. Drake nodded, a measure of relief on her face. "I sat with him for some time Sunday after church, but so much needs doing here and without him to take care of it all . . . the lads have been a good help, but it's not the same. It's hard to see him there helpless, when he used to be so strong."

Sybil bit her lip. When she'd mounted her bicycle and set off, she was determined to persuade Mrs. Drake to go to Dr. Clarkson herself with Isobel's proposed treatment and, as next of kin, demand that the doctor do his best to implement it and save the man. But the sight of the little girl, the sound of her wispy voice as she asked after her father, was like a dagger to Sybil's confidence. Would her defiance be worth anything if this small child still lost her father? If this woman lost her husband? The responsibility that rested on Dr. Clarkson's hands suddenly became all too clear to Sybil. He offered help and comfort where he could, but he could not offer hope, not too much, not to those for whom its promises were too often false.

Wasn't it true, after all, that those who were poor were taught not to hope? That was the lesson that Gwen had very gently tried to impress upon Sybil once.

You're brought up to think it's all within your grasp, that if you want something enough it will come to you. Well, we're not like that. We don't think our dreams are bound to come true, because . . . because they almost never do.

To offer the possibility of a cure now would be to offer hope, and what trust could Mrs. Drake have in Sybil to deliver on that hope?

"Does it remain true that nothing may be done?" Mrs. Drake asked meekly. "Dr. Clarkson has leveled with me as to his chances, but when there's nothing left, there's still hope, right?"

Sybil looked deep into Mrs. Drake's eyes. When there's nothing left, there's still hope, Sybil thought, and who I am to withhold hope?

"That's actually why I'm here, Mrs. Drake," she said finally. "To talk to you about what may be done."

"So there's something?"

Sybil took a deep breath. "I am neither a nurse nor a doctor, so please do not mistake me. Unfortunately, I cannot promise that your husband will get well." She paused, gathered what courage she could and continued. "You may know that Mrs. Isobel Crawley, my cousin and mother to Lord Grantham's heir, trained as a nurse and served during the Boer wars. Her husband was a doctor and she assisted him in his practice, so she has some knowledge of Mr. Drake's condition. She believes there is a treatment that may save him."

Mrs. Drake's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and indignation. "But Dr. Clarkson said there was no treatment! Was he wrong?!"

"He is reluctant because he has not performed the procedure before. There are complications and . . . well, Mr. Drake might not come through, you see."

"But he'll have a chance?"

"Again, Mrs. Drake I feel I must impress upon you that I cannot make you any promise regarding Mr. Drake's recovery."

"But he'll have a chance?" Mrs. Drake repeated.

Sybil smiled. "Yes. If this treatment is administered, he will a chance."

"And you came here to tell me about it, so that I'd be the one to persuade Dr. Clarkson?"

"I did. I hope you don't see it as an affront to his authority as the village doctor, or as a lack of faith in his skills as a physician."

"It's all right milady. I'm perfectly aware that men don't have all the answers. And that sometimes they need to be reminded of that."

Sybil smiled again. "He means to protect you from having to make a difficult decision, but I rather think that you are strong enough to make it."

Mrs. Drake smiled confidently. "Life has not given me much, my lady, but I've got fortitude in spades."

"Good," Sybil said nodding affirmatively.

"I'd like to do this today, if possible," Mrs. Drake said. "Only I need to wait for my sister to come see to the children. She should be by soon."

"I'll tell you what," Sybil said, "I'll be off now to fetch Mrs. Crawley. Once I've told her of our plans, I'll return to the house and come back with the motor to pick you up."

Mrs. Drake looked taken aback and didn't say anything.

"I think that time is of the essence in this matter, don't you? It'll take far too long for you to walk into the village on your own."

Mrs. Drake only nodded, still taken aback at the lengths to which Sybil seemed to be willing to go for her and for her husband.

"I'll be off then," Sybil said, walking back toward her bicycle with Mrs. Drake following behind. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I can't tell you what this means, milady."

Sybil smiled as she hopped on her bicycle. "Well, let's just hope that it all works out for the best."

"No, I . . . even if it doesn't—even if . . . the worst happens, I'm prepared for that. What I mean to say is, it means a great deal that you would be willing to take a chance for us."

"Well it's like you said, when there's nothing left, there's still hope, and I'm of the mind that hope exists in equal measure for all of us."

With that, Sybil pushed off the ground and began to pedal as quickly as she could.

XXX

Halfway back from Longfield Farm, at the point where the road diverged, with one path going toward the village and the other toward the house, Sybil made a split-moment decision and turned for Downton Abbey, instead of toward the village and Crawley House. She figured she could save time by simply calling Isobel from the house telephone and meeting her at the hospital with Mrs. Drake. Luckily for Sybil, at the moment she practically dropped her bicycle in the yard and ran back into the house, her father, Matthew and Tom were still deep into their discussion with William in the library and, therefore, did not see or hear her make the call from the telephone in the entrance hall.

It was a short conversation. Isobel was surprised by Sybil's boldness but supported the plan straight away. The truth was, she herself had been thinking about how to approach Dr. Clarkson about the issue again in a manner that would make him reconsider his position. She quickly got her hat and coat, alerted Claire that she'd likely be gone for luncheon and headed out. It wasn't until Isobel was on her way that the possible ramifications of Sybil's actions began to worry Isobel. She knew Sybil to be a thoughtful, caring person and believed she would not have naively promised a positive outcome to Mrs. Drake. And anyway, there was no use in concerning herself with that now, not when things had already been set in motion. There was, however, another worry that she could not shake from her mind—how the family would react, Sybil's grandmother in particular. Isobel was well used to Violet by now, but given the events of Saturday evening, Isobel had to admit that come death or life for Mr. Drake, the burden of the reaction would rest more heavily Sybil's shoulders than her own, no matter what efforts Isobel could take to shield Sybil from whatever that reaction might be.

Meanwhile, back at the house, once Sybil hung up, she ran back down to the garage for Pratt and the motor, praying that he was not otherwise engaged. Once again, luck was on her side. He was free and had not been ordered to drive anyone before luncheon. So the two set out back toward Longfield Farm.

Had they left some twenty minutes later—if Pratt had been tinkering with the engine when Sybil sought him out or if Sybil had chosen to rest or freshen up before leaving again—they might have been spotted on the road by Cora as she walked back to the house from the village with Edith. They had seen Isobel on her way to the hospital but noticing the focus of her step, did not bother to call out to her from across the road. If Cora had seen Sybil, she might have put two and two together. As it was, she assumed her youngest daughter remained in the house, the ire that had arisen in her over the weekend, Cora hoped, long forgotten. But despite how easily Sybil had been able to leave the house and take the motor to aid in her purposes, divine providence did not see fit to remove all obstacles from her path.

Indeed, as Cora and Edith walked home, they were passed by Violet's motor, the Dowager Countess being herself on the way to the house. Her chauffeur recognized Lady Grantham and Lady Edith easily and asked his mistress permission to stop in order to pick them up. Violet granted it, and Cora and Edith were happy for the rescue on what had turned out to be a warmer morning than either anticipated. The chauffeur hadn't so much as restarted the engine when Cora made mention of Isobel.

"Poor Dr. Clarkson," Violet said with a sigh. "And what has he done to deserve that termagant?"

"Granny, why must you be so unforgiving," Edith said. "Cousin Isobel is only trying to help. The same of true of Sybil."

"Don't remind me of that unpleasantness," Violet responded. "Once the calendar turns and Sybil can begin to look forward to June, perhaps, she'll be done with all this nonsense."

Edith could only sit back and shake her head.

"Well, Sybil's intentions aside, I think he's in for another uncomfortable afternoon at Isobel's hands," Cora said.

Violet looked taken aback. "Really? Why?"

"In the village, we saw her go into the hospital," Cora answered. "She looked extremely determined."

Violet rapped her cane against the floor of the motor. "Not as determined as I am!"

"What do you plan to do about it?" Edith asked. "You've known she's been volunteering at the hospital since she came to Downton. Did you honestly not guess before Saturday that she offers Dr. Clarkson her opinion, even when they disagree?"

"My dear, you couldn't begin to guess my assumptions when it comes to Isobel, and just because she's been walking around the place like she owns it for the past year, that doesn't mean I can't put a stop to it now. I'm president of the board."

"Isn't she chairwoman?" Edith asked, with a playful smile.

Violet narrowed her eyes at her granddaughter in a way that suggested Edith should not pursue her argument further. Directing her attention forward, she called out, "Kingston?"

"Yes, your ladyship?"

"After we leave Lady Grantham and Lady Edith at the house, we'll be returning to the village—the hospital to be exact."

"Certainly, your ladyship."

"And do hurry it up please, a man's dignity is at stake."

"I'm not sure Dr. Clarkson would be pleased to know you mean to protect his interests so righteously," Edith said.

"Oh, not him," Violet said. "I mean Mr. Drake. I intend for the poor soul to be allowed to die in peace if I have to kill everyone else myself."

XXX

Isobel didn't bother with removing her coat and hat when she stepped into the hospital building and headed straight for the medical stores. The two nurses who were on duty at the stores knew her well and so did not question her taking anything, but having heard of the disagreement between her and the doctor, they followed her with their eyes as she marched down the hall toward his office. She raised her hand to knock but thought better of it and, instead, returned to the hospital entryway and sat down to wait. When Sybil arrived with Mrs. Drake, Isobel stood immediately.

"Good morning, Mrs. Drake," Isobel said. "Are you quite prepared for what's to come?"

"I am, Mrs. Crawley," she said.

"And you, my dear?" She asked, looking to Sybil.

"This is the right thing to do," Sybil said.

"Well, we'll give the doctor one more chance," Isobel said. "I'll speak with him, and if he won't budge—"

"Then I'll speak with him," Mrs. Drake said with finality.

Isobel nodded and then turned and walked back down the hall. When she stepped into Dr. Clarkson's office, it didn't take much guessing on his part to know why she was there.

"I have the adrenaline here in my hand," she said, dispensing with any pleasantries. "Will you really deny the man his chance of life?"

Dr. Clarkson sighed. "I just wish it was a treatment I was more familiar with."

"Will that serve as your excuse when he dies?"

Dr. Clarkson looked at Isobel for a long moment. He pushed himself off of his chair, took the vial from her and opened the door. "Nurse!"

Quickly, one came to the door.

"Can you prepare Mr. Drake for his procedure, please?" He said.

Isobel held back a smile, pleased that the doctor had made his choice from her medical advice and not the emotional plea from Mrs. Drake that she and Sybil had been prepared to present him with.

After speaking to the nurse, Dr. Clarkson looked back toward Isobel. With weariness and challenge in his eyes, he said, "Well, Mrs. Crawley, I have a feeling we will sink or swim together."

In the hall, Sybil and Mrs. Drake had heard Dr. Clarkson's order. On seeing the nurse walk past them on her way to where she knew her husband lay in misery, Emiline Drake's resolve faltered. With watery eyes, she looked at Sybil, "I suppose this is it, ain't it? I'll leave here with a recovering husband or I'll leave a widow."

Sybil took the woman's hands. "Courage, Mrs. Drake. Even while we prepare for all outcomes, we must hope for the best."

Mrs. Drake looked down at their hands and nodded uncertainly.

"Let us go to him," Sybil said. "So you'll be by his side no matter what."

The two women walked into the hospital's main ward and to John Drake's bedside, where the nurse had already removed his shirt and was wiping down his chest with an alcohol soaked puff of cotton. Sybil pulled up a chair and motioned for Mrs. Drake to sit down. She did, immediately taking her husband's hand. Sybil moved to stand behind her, as Dr. Clarkson and Isobel came around the curtain. The doctor, who had removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, hesitated for a moment, seeing both of them there, but continued on to the foot of his patient's bed without a word.

The nurse moved to give the doctor room, and a second nurse appeared shortly thereafter with a tray on which the instruments for the procedure were laid out. There being no more reason for delay, Dr. Clarkson took one more look at Isobel, who nodded encouragingly. Finally, addressing his patient, Dr. Clarkson spoke, "Mr. Drake, your heart is not functioning properly and, as a result, your pericardial sac is full of fluid. I am proposing first to withdraw the fluid, and then to inject the adrenaline to stimulate the heart and restore normal activity."

"Is it dangerous, Doctor?" Mrs. Drake asked, concern dripping from every syllable.

"The draining may stop the heart, and the adrenaline may not be able to restart it," Dr. Clarkson answered plainly.

"Mrs. Drake, the choice is simple," Isobel said. "If your husband endures this procedure, he may live. If not, he will die."

Behind her, Mrs. Drake felt Sybil squeeze her shoulder and too fraught with love for a man she could not bear to lose to think about impropriety, took Sybil's hand and held it. She took a deep breath and, looking back at Dr. Clarkson, nodded for him to proceed.

But the doctor hadn't taken a step forward before a huffy voice beyond the curtain made all heads turn in its direction.

"Please, please. No, let me pass. I must see the doctor at once."

Sybil recognized her grandmother immediately, and let out a frustrated sigh as she came around the screen. Mrs. Drake let go of Sybil's hand and her husband's and stood.

"Your ladyship!" Dr. Clarkson said.

Violet's lips were in a firm, unforgiving line as she looked around. "Yes, it's just as I thought. Dr. Clarkson, tell me you will not permit this amateur to influence your professional opinion."

"Amateur?" Isobel repeated quietly.

"Granny!" Sybil exclaimed indignant.

Violet looked sharply at her granddaughter for a moment before taking a step forward and speaking to Mrs. Drake directly. "My dear woman, do not let them bully you. My granddaughter may mean well, but this is not a matter in which she has any business interfering. They'll not disturb the peace of your husband's last hours, not if I can help it."

Mrs. Drake took several breaths to calm herself. "But that's just it, my lady," she said, her voice faltering. "I don't want them to be his last hours. Not if there's a chance." She looked at Dr. Clarkson again and stepped out of his way. "Please, Doctor, do what you must."

Sybil put her hands on Mrs. Drake's shoulders and pulled her aside, giving her a slight squeeze of encouragement. As Dr. Clarkson stepped into where Mrs. Drake had been sitting, the nurse handed him a needle and the head of a draining tube, onto which Dr. Clarkson attached the needle.

Violet blanched, realizing what was about to happen. "As—"

"Granny, please!" Sybil cut in quietly.

The two exchanged hard glances before looking back at the doctor and his patient.

With the nurse's hands on Mr. Drake to hold him steady, Dr. Clarkson pushed the needle into the man's chest cavity. Unable to bear witness any longer, Mrs. Drake turned away and, accepting Sybil's comforting shoulder, cried as silently as she could.

"Steady," Dr. Clarkson said quietly, as the pericardial fluid began to fill the pump. "Yeah, all right."

"Yes," the nurse said, following Dr. Clarkson's lead.

Dr. Clarkson's hands steadied as the fluid continued to come out. "Nice and steady."

As the procedure continued, Violet regained her composure and spoke again, "As president of this hospital, I feel I must . . ."

"Valve," Dr. Clarkson said to the nurse, too deep into his task to listen to Violet. Following his order, the nurse turned the nozzle on the pump, and Dr. Clarkson pushed the liquid into the jar on the table next to the bed.

Meanwhile, Violet continued. ". . . tell you, I . . . I shall bring this to the attention of the board."

"You're doing very well," Dr. Clarkson said, speaking to Mr. Drake, who remained barely conscious.

"Have you no pity?" Violet added lamely.

"Have you none?" Sybil asked her grandmother, her own eyes now wet with tears.

Violet looked at her again, her earlier resolve draining from her.

"Just let him do his job, please," Sybil added quietly.

For several moments, the only sound to be heard was that of the fluid emptying into the jar.

It was the only sound because Mr. Drake's breathing had stopped.

"Adrenaline!" Dr. Clarkson said quietly but firmly. "Quickly, quickly. His heart's stopped."

As quickly as his hands would allow him, Dr. Clarkson detached the pump from the needle and put the syringe with the adrenaline in its place. He pushed the liquid into the chest cavity and with the nurse pressing a dressing against Mr. Drake's chest, pulled the syringe out again.

It took several interminable seconds but John Drake opened his eyes and began to take deep breaths.

Seeing the life come back into his face again, Sybil's eyes spilled over with tears. She took a deep breath herself and turned Mrs. Drake, whose eyes had been tightly shut, toward her husband. Mrs. Drake quickly went to his side and brought his hand to her face, washing it with what were now happy tears.

"Oh, my dear," Mr. Drake said, too weak to do much but look at his wife and breathe.

Sybil wiped her tears quickly and looked in awe between the nurse and Dr. Clarkson. They had saved a life and were now merely standing quietly and stoically aside to allow the patient and his wife time to share in the joy of the moment—joy that their professionalism did not allow them to participate in.

Could I ever be so calm at such a moment?

She contemplated that question briefly, then felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Isobel, who gestured with a nod of her head that the couple and Mr. Drake's caretakers should be left to their privacy. Sybil nodded and turned to leave, but as she did so, Mrs. Drake stood up.

"Lady Sybil?"

Sybil looked back at the teary-eyed woman whose domain she had invaded not two hours ago.

"Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts."

Sybil stepped forward and took Mrs. Drake's hands. "Please, Mrs. Drake, let's not forget who did the actual work. Dr. Clarkson and his nurse are to be commended and thanked, not me. I simply brought you to the hospital."

"Well, then, for that, if nothing else, please accept my gratitude."

Sybil smiled, then walked away. When she reached the hospital entryway, Violet and Isobel were staring each other down, but to Sybil's surprise not quarreling.

"Will you put your complaint aside now that he's been saved, granny?" Sybil asked, as meekly as she could. "I know you did not wish him ill, and I recognize that your actions, though in disagreement with mine on this matter, are generally executed in the favor of the patients. If I've suggested anything else previously, I do apologize. But this was the right thing to do. We put the choice to Mrs. Drake and it was her decision to move forward. She may be only a farmer's wife in your eyes, but she deserves to look after the interests of the person she loves."

Violet let out a weary sigh. "When you're quite finished, I'd like us to be on our way. I find myself rather famished now. I couldn't possibly continue this line of argument on an empty stomach."

"Let us hope it's hearty luncheon, then," Isobel said, finally cracking a teasing smile.

"Come along, my dear," Violet said, motioning to Sybil.

"Actually, I think I'll walk back," she replied.

"And is Pratt to be sent back?" Violet asked.

"Oh, no!" Sybil responded. "I'll have him wait to take Mrs. Drake back to Longfield Farm when she is ready."

Violet pursed her lips in disapproval, but before she could speak, Sybil said, "Indulge me just this once, granny!"

"Just this once?" Violet asked incredulously. Turning to go, she said to nobody in particular, "I'm going to need a rather large sherry with my pudding."

Sybil snickered, then followed them out.

Several minutes later, having given Pratt his instructions, Sybil sat outside of Dr. Clarkson's office collecting her thoughts. She looked up upon hearing his slowing steps as he approached.

"Lady Sybil, I'd have thought you'd left by now," he said as she stood.

"My grandmother and Mrs. Crawley have gone, but I was wondering if I could have a word?"

Dr. Clarkson nodded and opened the door to his office, stepping aside to let her walk in. Sybil sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk and took a deep breath. Dr. Clarkson sat down, folding his hands in front of him and giving her a small smile.

"I should apologize," Sybil said.

Dr. Clarkson's brow furrowed. "Whatever for?"

"I was the one who brought Mrs. Drake here today. It was my intention to have her convince you to go forward with the procedure on her husband, but you came around and so it wasn't necessary."

Dr. Clarkson let out a long sigh. "You were trying to help. I can appreciate that."

Sybil laughed mirthlessly. "Actually, I'm not sure I was trying to help—I mean, I was . . . but not just her."

"May I ask what you mean?"

"I found it upsetting that you would not budge when Mrs. Crawley offered a treatment for Mr. Drake and rather short-sightedly, I cast judgment on you, not as a doctor, for I know and recognize my deep lack of knowledge on the subject of medicine, but as man, not interested in listening to the voice of a woman."

Sybil paused to give him a chance to respond, but Dr. Clarkson remained silent, so she went on.

"On my way to the Drakes' farm, I was so sure of what I was doing, and then I saw their daughter . . . it occurred to me that as much as I wanted to help, I also just wanted Isobel to be right. I wanted her to be proven right."

"She has been," Dr. Clarkson said quietly, and with a humility that surprised Sybil.

"Mariah is the girl's name. In seeing her, I realized how little I know of the responsibility you take when you offer your services. I believe it was right to ask Mrs. Drake to weigh in on what was best for herself and her family, but in my righteousness, I overlooked the challenge that you face in caring for the people of this village, and once faced with it, I almost faltered in my own pursuit. You look to the health of your patients and to the emotional well-being of their families. I apologize for not taking the difficulty of both tasks into consideration before I acted."

"It comes with the territory, milady. You'll find that achieving that balance will get easier—assuming you want to keep coming here."

"I do!" Sybil said quickly.

Dr. Clarkson smiled at her eagerness.

"That's why I'm leveling with you," Sybil said. "I want to be of help, and I want . . . well, I want to learn from you. Not just about medicine, but about how you do it, that is, perform your duties without allowing your emotions or temper to lead you astray."

"Concern for Mrs. Drake having to face a more gruesome and sudden death for her husband was the reason I balked at the treatment at first—but I was also concerned about the precedent it might set and what would be expected of me, from other patients, regarding new and radical treatments. There was selfishness in that, so you see that this lesson, one you wisely recognize as important, is one we never really finish learning."

Sybil smiled at his honesty, and Dr. Clarkson smiled back. "But if a medical education is your aim," he continued, "I believe you've passed your first test today."

"How is that?"

"In the end, you didn't falter, did you? You brought her here and now her husband will be well."

Sybil smiled and felt proud.

Many decades hence, in the last years of her life, Sybil's mind would begin to fail and many of her memories would be lost in the deep recesses of her mind. But there would be several moments in her life that she would never forget and, indeed, always remember as clearly as the day she had lived them. Looking into Tom's eyes for the first time outside Crawley House. Losing her virginity. Giving birth to each of her children. Casting a vote for the first time.

And she would remember this moment in the offices of Dr. Richard Clarkson in the Downton village hospital. Because it was in this moment that she finally knew what her purpose in life would be.

XXX

Back at the house, in the library, with the business of the estate done with, William stood to go.

"Thank you for your attention to your work, Mason," Robert said, as he, Matthew and Tom also stood.

"Thank you, your lordship," William said, smiling bashfully. "It was a steep learning curve, but I've enjoyed it."

"Don't be silly, Mason," Matthew said with a smile. "You've taught us more than we could have taught you. You're the native son after all."

"Oh, yes," Robert said with a sigh. "I suppose the village is happy to have you on their side this year."

"What do you mean, sir?" William asked.

"The cricket match, of course," Robert answered.

"Oh, I'm not playing for the village," William said. "Doesn't feel quite appropriate. They've plenty of lads anyway, and I only ever played for the house, while I was footman here. "

Robert's face brightened, and Tom immediately laughed, seeing the plan hatching on Robert's face. "I hadn't thought of that!" Robert said. "Surely, then, there will be no objection if you join our team again. You are technically a family employee still—if you want to that is?"

Matthew and Tom looked a bewildered William, who wasn't sure what to say.

"You can say no," Tom said with a smirk that was met with a sharp look from Robert.

"Actually, your lordship, I'd be honored."

"Excellent!" Robert said, sending a smug look in Tom's direction. "We'll have a practice tomorrow afternoon at 3 o'clock, if you can make it."

"I'll do my best, sir."

With another slight bow, William took his leave, and the three men he left behind all sat down again. Tom picked up a newspaper he'd brought in with him and began to read.

"So how's the team coming along?" Matthew asked Robert

"We're still two short," Robert said, "assuming everyone downstairs that's able to play does. Carson will have a report on that today."

"And you're still determined not to play?" Matthew asked, looking over at Tom.

Tom lowered the newspaper with a bit of exasperation. "Even if I wanted to, I can't play. I don't know how."

"Stop twisting his arm," Cora said walking in, having taken some time to rest and refresh herself after returning from her walk with Edith.

"Thank you for the solidarity," Tom said as he, Robert and Matthew stood again to greet her.

Cora smiled, sitting down in the spot Tom had offered to her. "When we were first married, Robert somehow convinced my brother, who was visiting from New York at the time, to take part despite the fact that he had no knowledge of the game and no athletic inclinations whatsoever. It was not pretty."

"He was a good sport," Robert said.

"He was drunk," Cora said with a laugh.

"Whatever gets you through it, I suppose," Tom added.

"Where are the girls?" Robert asked.

"Edith is upstairs taking a rest after our walk. Anna said Mary is out in the gardens. I haven't seen Sybil all morning. I assume she's in her room reading as she does."

Tom looked around the room quickly and realized that neither Robert nor Cora had noticed that Sybil had gone out on her bicycle that morning. It was possible she had returned and was, in fact, in her room as Cora suggested, but he had a feeling that she wasn't. He wondered whether he should have pressed her on her destination when he saw her earlier—not to keep her from whatever it was she was doing, but to help in case her leaving undetected was an intentional step in a grander scheme. He smiled to himself, thinking of the note she'd written him. He'd yet to come up with a worthy and equally saucy reply.

"Are you two staying for luncheon?" Cora asked Matthew and Tom.

"I'd love to, but I have to go into Ripon this afternoon to the partnership and need to return to Crawley House first. In fact, I should get going," Matthew said, standing up.

"And you, Tom?"

"I'd be happy to," he replied. "There's still the matter of the new chauffeur that we need to discuss."

"Right," Robert said. "Any progress on the search?"

"In that case, I'll walk you out, Matthew," Cora said before Tom could answer Robert. "And leave these two to their business."

As Cora and Matthew headed toward the hall, Carson stepped into the library, and Cora and Matthew stopped so the butler could speak.

"Excuse me, your lordship, my lady," he said.

"Yes, Carson," Cora said.

"Alfred saw Mr. Mason out and said Mr. Mason mentioned he'd be playing for the house on Saturday. So assuming your business was done, I thought I might take the opportunity to bring your lordship up to date with the rest of the team."

"Are we in good shape?" Robert asked.

"I reckon that with three family players and seven from downstairs, including Mr. Mason, we're only one short."

"Two short," Robert said curtly. "Mr. Branson won't play."

"Mr. Branson is busy at the moment," Cora said, stepping toward the door again with a smiling Matthew at her heels. Tom rolled his eyes, sat down and opened the newspaper again.

"Is he my lady," Carson said, rather haughtily considering the topic of conversation was in the room. "Might I point out that we're all busy, but we still find time to support the honor of the house."

Cora turned back toward Matthew and rolled her eyes before finally stepping through the door. No longer able to contain his laughter, Matthew merely lifted his hand to wave goodbye and followed her.

"Yes," Robert replied with a sigh, "but that is not the right road to travel, Carson, if we want to remain in her ladyship's good graces."

Tom snickered at Carson's not so subtle rebuke and peered over from behind the newspaper to find two sets of judgmental eyes trained on him. "Oh, gentlemen, am I really such a disappointment to you? I can assure you I'd be rubbish so if I were you, I'd consider the team very lucky not to have me."

"Was there anything else, Carson?" Robert asked, turning back to the butler.

"No, sir," Carson replied, "though I do wonder if Mr. Branson would be at least generous enough to allow Mr. Moseley to play. That would put us closer to a full side, in any case."

Smiling, Tom folded the paper once again and stood. "I'll let him know this afternoon. I'm sure he'll be thrilled at the prospect."

"Very good, sirs," Carson said with a bow and turned to leave.

"Just a moment, Carson," Tom said. "The business of the chauffeur concerns you as well, if you don't mind waiting a moment."

"How is that?" Robert asked.

"Well," Tom said, taking a deep breath. "I've talked it over with Pratt and if you and Carson agree, he's prepared to take Joseph on as an apprentice and believes the boy is rather keen to do it."

"The hall boy?" Carson asked surprised.

"Indeed," Tom said. "It'd be a bit more economical, as far as salary is concerned. Joseph would get a raise in his current wages, but wouldn't begin to earn the full salary of a chauffeur until he's been trained up properly and is fully able to share the responsibilities of the job with Pratt. Naturally, that leaves an absence elsewhere on the staff and shifts the burden of searching for a new employee to Carson's hands. But if you don't mind, Carson, I think this is the best route to take. Matthew is in agreement as well."

Tom looked back and forth between Robert and Carson—in so many ways bookends in the class structure they both revered. They looked at one another and considered what Tom was proposing: To allow a servant, one who had been entrusted to their care as a young boy, to learn a trade that might eventually give him the power to leave the house and move up in the world.

"Well, Carson?" Robert asked finally.

"I shall do as your lordship suggests," Carson said.

Robert smiled. "Given the additional work that Mr. Branson has laid at your feet, I'm inclined to leave the decision in your hands."

Carson sighed. "It isn't just the matter of finding a replacement for Joseph . . . he's been with us for three years, came through the move to Downton Place and return here . . . all that time and training was in preparation for him to become a footman."

"If I may, Carson, how old is Joseph, exactly?" Tom asked.

"He's near sixteen," the butler replied.

"Then, it was likely you were going to have to replace him soon anyway, isn't that right? He can't have stayed a hallboy forever."

"We'd have found him a post, if there was no room for a third footman here, though I would be willing to make that argument to Mr. Crawley."

"But still, he'd depend on this house and the success of other houses like this one for his employment," Tom said. "Working on motors—there's a future in that. It would give him greater freedom, and if his desire is to stay here at Downton and he does the job well, he'd have a job guaranteed long past Pratt's retirement."

Carson sighed.

"If it doesn't suit you, Carson, then by all means, say the word," Robert said. "The run of the house is yours, after all."

Carson smiled at Robert, proud of his employer's confidence in him. Then, he looked over at Tom. Carson understood that Mr. Branson, despite his clear affection for the family, had no patience for their manner of living and merely put up with it for their sake—a fact that he made clear as often as he could, this business with refusing to play cricket being another ploy in that same vein. It bothered Carson that an otherwise promising young man—a young man of his own class—could be allowed to be so cavalier in the face of tradition. And yet, the pragmatist in Carson, the angel on his shoulder that bore a striking resemblance to the housekeeper of the house, reminded him that Mr. Branson was right. A third footman at Downton Abbey would be too much to hope for. Carson wanted the best for Joseph, even if it meant going along with a plan that would take him off the path Carson had envisioned for the boy when his parents had entrusted him to Carson and Mrs. Hughes' care. Carson would do right by his promise to them, and go along with Tom's plan, but not before wrestling a compromise out of Tom first.

"I'll agree to it . . . " Carson said finally.

Tom grinned in response. "Excellent."

". . . . on one condition."

"And what's that, Carson?" Robert asked.

"That Mr. Branson play cricket for the house."

Tom's eyes rolled heavenward and he let out a long laugh. "For God's sake!" Once again, he looked back and forth between the two pairs of expectant eyes and dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh. He thought of Sybil, then, and pictured her watching him look the fool on the pitch and teasing him about it mercilessly for all eternity.

With a sigh, he looked up again and finally gave in. "If it means that much to you."

There had been moments when both Robert and Carson had looked more pleased than they did just then. But not too many.

XXX

By the time Sybil made it back to the house, Violet and Isobel had each given their version of the events at the hospital, which, to everyone's surprise, didn't vary all that much. Robert and Cora were, of course, upset that she had left the house without word. But given the happy outcome for the Drakes—and the fact that Dr. Clarkson ended up making the decision to treat Mr. Drake on his own, before Sybil's planned interference had been put into play—they chose to offer no punishment. That determination didn't matter much anyway, considering the fact that Sybil herself chose to forgo sitting down to luncheon with the family, preferring instead to enjoy a long hot bath to clean herself up and reflect on everything that had transpired that morning.

Later that afternoon, when the family had dispersed again, she and Tom met at their secret spot and caught each other up on the decisions they'd taken that day. Tom acknowledged that Sybil's was decidedly more life-changing than his and, naturally, was immensely proud. Once again, he offered whatever help he could in the pursuit of her new ambition. She, in turn, reminded him that she'd sent the note merely to tease him (and Mary) and that he did not actually have to play cricket on her account. And yet, since he had already made the promise, to both Robert and Carson, she was happy to know that she would get to enjoy the sight of him anyway.

All things being fair and equal in their relationship, she rather suggestively asked if there was a particular dress he would enjoy seeing her in on the day of the match.

Sybil was sitting on the grass leaning against the large rock by the bank of the creek. He was laying down on the grass with his head on her lap.

"While I do think you look lovely wearing the very latest fashions, Sybil, I'm afraid there isn't clothing on this earth that could compare with what I see you in when I close my eyes."

Sybil gasped at his suggestion and then, taking her hat from her head, used it to cover her face as she laughed.

Tom sat up and gently pulled the hat away to reveal a bright smile and slightly blushing cheeks.

Sybil looked into his eyes for a long moment and her expression changed. She took a breath and said, "Well, I couldn't possibly show up wearing nothing, even if I wanted to, so you'll have to settle for fine white linen."

This time is was Tom's turn to blush. "I didn't say that to embarrass you, you know," he said quietly, the earlier teasing gone from his voice.

"I know." Sybil bit her lip. "It's not as if women don't have similar thoughts from time to time."

Tom looked at his hands for a few minutes. In their moments alone here in the woods, he sensed an increasing passion and desire in Sybil, and they'd begun to to let their lips wander beyond lips to ears and necks and shoulders. His hands remained faithfully at her waist, but her own had been given the liberty to run down his chest and explore the broadness of his back. Their love had yet to be formalized, and though both knew it would come in time, their bodies seemed more impatient than their minds and hearts. He'd been bold to speak in such a manner to her, but he did so knowing she'd understand his meaning and not take offense. He also wanted to offer the opportunity for a real conversation and hoped she would take it.

He shifted so he was facing her directly, then said, "I know that there are . . . for lack of a better word, rules about . . . certain types of behavior between people who are in love. I would never want you to feel as if I am pressuring you to do anything you'd rather not."

"You're not," Sybil said with a smile. "We have only just kissed, and I dare say that will have to suffice until . . . everything is settled."

Tom let out a short breath of relief, happy that she'd made clear her intentions and wishes so easily. "It will—it does. But, even so, I hope you know that if you wanted to talk openly about, well, anything with me, you could."

Sybil reached out for his hand. "I know, and thank you for saying that. Women are given so little room to be . . . curious, as if we don't feel things the way men do. Which is all rather silly, anyway, when you consider that an ambitious girl can get a hold of a racy book if she's really interested."

Tom laughed. "And you're nothing if not ambitious."

Sybil narrowed her eyes for a moment and considered whether she really wanted to know the answer to the question she was about to ask. She asked it anyway. "Have you ever . . . been with a woman?"

Tom nodded without hesitation. "Just one, but it was several times."

"May I ask who?"

"I fear my answer will test the boundaries of what you may find acceptable, but having promised you my honesty forever and always—"

"Just say it!"

Tom laughed. "She was the wife of a professor of mine at university."

Sybil's eyes went wide. "Heavens!"

"Before you think I came between a man and a woman in a loving marriage, let me assure I didn't. Certainly, I wasn't her first indiscretion. Theirs wasn't a marriage at all, really. It was more of an arrangement of convenience."

"How so?"

"Well, let's just say she liked to have her pick of the young men he taught and so did he."

"Oh . . . OH! My goodness! That's quite . . . something."

Tom smiled. "There was certainly more than poetry to be learned at Trinity College."

"I'll say. Did you love her at all?"

"No."

"But you enjoyed it?"

"It was an experience I won't forget, I'll put it that way."

Sybil smiled. "Thank you for not hiding it from me."

Tom smiled. "Thank you for not thinking less of me."

"How could I, when what I wish is not that we had the same level of experience, but rather that we were judged under the same set of standards. If I'd ever had such an adventure I'd be cast out of society for good."

"If I ever told mam of my indiscretion, she'd certainly not approve, but you're right that women bear the burden of the act far more heavily than men."

"Do you suppose women will be allowed to live so freely as men someday?"

"I don't know, but I'll hope so."

"Me too," Sybil said with a sigh. She leaned in and gave him a small lingering kiss on the lips. It was soft and though not as deep or full of passion and urgency as their kisses sometimes were, it felt more intimate, given the intimacy of their talk and the underlying promise it held.

"I think I should go," Sybil said pulling away. "Who knows what may happen if we stay here and continue on this topic for too much longer."

Tom blushed again, but picked himself up and then gave her his hand to stand. She walked into his arms and they held each other in a tight embrace for several minutes.

"About what I said before, about what I want to do with my life. Do you really think that I can do it?" Sybil asked speaking into his shoulder.

"I know you can," Tom answered.

"Well at least I know the first step—telling them—will be the hardest," she said stepping away.

"Wait until Saturday," Tom said with a laugh. "If the house team wins, then you'll know Robert will be in a happy mood."

"Can I count on you for a victory?" She asked smiling.

Tom took her hand and they began walking back. "I'll do my level best," he said. "I have proper motivation now that I know I'm playing for you."